Child Sacrifice

Passages: Judges 11; 1 Samuel 1; Genesis 22:1-18; John 3:16

In the first several books of the Old Testament, God repeatedly prohibits child sacrifice. In contrast to his pagan counterparts, God is a compassionate preserver of life. However, on a few occasions God allows, or even invites, people to give up their children.

Judges 11 tells the story of Jephthah, a mighty warrior who rescues Israel from the Ammonites. In the heat of battle, Jephthah vows that if God gives him success, he’ll sacrifice the first living thing he encounters when he returns to his homestead. Jephthah returns home successful. And in one of the Bible’s most cruelly ironic moments, Jephthah’s only daughter runs out to greet him. Jephthah has made a vow to God, and is duty-bound to keep it. It’s important to note that nowhere in this story does God invite the vow. It is made rashly. The subtle warning is not to make a promise to God that you’re unwilling or unable to keep.

The Book of 1 Samuel introduces us to a grief-stricken woman who wants nothing more than to have a child. In the throes of despair Hannah, like Jepthah, makes a vow to God. She promises that if God gives her a son, she will give the child up to serve at the temple. Sure enough, Hannah becomes pregnant. As soon as the promised child is weaned, she brings him to the temple to be raised by the priest. Like Jephthah, we can only imagine that Hannah is painfully torn at this point between clinging to the son that has been her heart’s desire, and making good her promise to the God who gave him.

Hannah’s journey to the temple is reminiscent of Abraham’s journey up Mt. Moriah. In Genesis 22 God gives Abraham an unthinkable command: to take his son Isaac – the son whom God promised to give – and sacrifice him at the top of a nearby mountain. As the story unfolds, God proves to be testing Abraham’s faith. It is never his intent for Abraham to kill his son. However, Abraham is given the same dilemma as Hannah: choosing the thing his heart desires most, or choosing obedience to God. As a shining example of faith, Abraham chooses the latter. The epitome of faith in God is truly wanting God more than anything else. The person of faith discovers, in the process, that God is gracious and compassionate, giving his children what they desire most.

At the center of our Scriptures is another story of a parent who gives up a child. It turns out that God doesn’t ask any of his children to do something he himself is unwilling to do. The only God-mandated child sacrifice in the Bible is God’s sacrifice of his own child. Jesus, the child in question, explains why and how God orchestrates this sacrifice in the most famous verse of the New Testament: John 3:16.

It is precisely because God establishes his unwavering and unshakable love for us that he is able to ask our wholehearted commitment in return. If we are to love God, we can only love him one way: all or nothing, the way he loves us.

What Have We Become?

Passage: Judges 19

In chapter 18 the author of Judges introduced the phrase, “In those days Israel had no king.” This becomes a steady refrain throughout the remaining chapters of the book. The phrase serves two purposes. First, it serves to foreshadow the next phase in the life of God’s people: the Monarchic period, in which Israel is ruled by a procession of kings. Second, it draws the reader’s attention to the fact that no one is watching over Israel. In the absence of a king – or more properly, The King – life in Israel spirals out of control.

The gravity of Israel’s need for a shepherd is brought to the fore in Judges 19. The narrator tells this story in such a matter-of-fact tone that it’s easy to miss the foreboding nature of certain facts. The story begins with an introduction that wouldn’t be out of place in a film by Alfred Hitchcock or Wes Craven. A couple has had a fight. She goes to stay with her father. Her partner arrives the next day to talk her into coming back home. When he shows up, the woman’s father welcomes him, and the mission turns into a five-day visit. The scene is fairly innocuous.

But already we should note some things that are out of place. First, the man in question is a Levite – part of a class of people intended to be extra-holy servants of God. Second, The woman is not his wife. She’s his concubine. Their relationship is one of convenience, devoid of the commitment and sanctity of marriage. Third, the father, as host, imposes on his guests to stay beyond what’s expected, or comfortable, for them. He’s having a good time. He ignores his guests’ express desire to leave. According to custom, the guests cannot refuse his demand that they stay. They’re stuck, and end up leaving, in desperation, at a less-than-ideal time.

The Levite and his concubine finally extricate themselves at dusk on the fifth day of their visit. They can’t possibly make it home by nightfall, and must find a place to stay because it isn’t safe to travel at night. They opt not to stay in Jebus, the first town they encounter, because it’s inhabited by Gentiles. Too risky – those people can’t be trusted. They journey on to Gibeah, inhabited by Israelites of the tribe of Benjamin. Surely they’ll be welcome here. They wait in the town square, hoping someone will invite them in. Finally an old man shows up. He’s a migrant worker from Ephraim, on his way home from the fields. He says, “What are you doing here? It’s not safe in the town square after dark. Come, you can stay at my house.”

Again, nothing has happened, but much is wrong with this picture. First, there shouldn’t be a town in Israel that is unsafe for Israelites. The fact that these Israelites’ forebears disobeyed God and allowed their enemies to maintain residence in the land has contributed in part to the current problem. Second, no Israelite traveler should be left to fend for himself in any Israelite town. God’s law demands that his people treat any member of the nation as family – even strangers traveling from some other part of the country. Third, the fact that it is a foreigner who finally welcomes the Levite and his concubine in, and his level of alarm that they’re out in the open, implies that something is terribly wrong with the Benjamite inhabitants of the town.

This proves to be the case. No sooner have the travelers settled in for the night than there’s a knock at the door. A mob of local men has gathered outside. They demand that the foreigner open his doors and allow them to have their way with his Levite guest. The man refuses, and offers his virgin daughter and the concubine instead. The townsfolk are only interested in the man. In desperation the Levite tosses his girlfriend out to the mob.

In a sense this scene is the flashpoint of the entire book. This is the point at which the reader is confronted with the extent to which God’s people have been corrupted. The scene at the foreigner’s door is intentionally reminiscent of Lot’s exchange with the men of Sodom and Gomorrah. The difference is that the mob outside aren’t pagans. They’re the people of God. Yet here they are demanding to do the unthinkable to a man of their race. Equally reprehensible is the Levite’s response. To save his own skin he sacrifices a woman who, it becomes clear, he’s been using all along. The reference to Sodom and Gomorrah underscores the mind-numbing reality: Israel has become worse than the worst example of human depravity in recorded history. They have not only failed to live as God’s people, they have failed to live as people. Even the generally accepted rules of human decency have fallen by the wayside in this place.

In a moment of irony it is the Levite himself who sounds the alarm to the rest of Israel. The means of his communication is as grisly as its message. He cuts up what the mob has left of his concubine. He sends the parts to the tribes of Israel with a note: Look at what we’ve become. What are we going to do about it?

This is the message of the Book of Judges: Look at what we’ve become. What are we going to do about it? This is a call to God’s people in every time and place. It’s a call to radical action. A call not to attack one’s countrymen or neighbors, but to attack the evil that has taken residence in one’s own heart. Do we call ourselves children of God? Is it evident in the way we live our lives? If not, how bad does it have to get before we are willing to change?

What Not to Do

Passage: Judges 17-18

Judges is a confounding book. It’s full of stories that just seem off somehow. One of the things that trips us up about Judges is that there aren’t simple ways of applying its lessons. We’re accustomed to looking for one-to-one correspondences between Bible characters and us. We read about Abraham and assume the lesson is, “Kids, be like Abraham.” This approach works less often than you might think. As you read through the Old Testament, you have a harder and harder time finding characters after whom you'd want to model your life. Judges introduces us to too many people who are just plain messed up.

Take, for example, Micah, who is introduced in Judges 17. The first thing we know about Micah is that he has recently stolen a significant amount of cash from his mother. She has just cursed the unknown thief when Micah presents himself and says, “It was me. I’ll give your money back.” His mom is so glad that she says, “As an expression of my gratitude to God, I’ll have the money made into an idol.” She does so, and before you know it Micah has a little shrine in his house. News of Micah’s shrine spreads, and travelers take to stopping by for a prayer or two. One such traveler turns out to be a Levite. Micah thinks, “What luck, my very own personal priest!” He hires the young man. His operation is almost legit.

The next group of travelers belong to the tribe of Dan. They’re out prospecting – looking for unsuspecting villages to sack. They check into the chapel to get God’s blessing on their burning and looting. Micah’s Levite takes one look at the raiding party’s swords and brass knuckles, and says, “Go in peace – everything’s going to go your way.”

They go on their way, all the while thinking, “Hey, we could use a shrine and priest. We’ll have to stop back in here on our way to the raid.” So they do. When they come back with their army, the Danites steal Micah’s idols and his priest. Incensed, Micah runs after them; threatens them with violence. But, as they have established, they’re better equipped for violence than Micah. He recognizes that he’s outclassed, and turns back, defeated.

So what in the world is the point of the story? If we place it in the broader narrative of Judges, we recognize that the story of Micah’s idols is full of examples of the way Israelite society has deteriorated. Micah, his mother, the Levite and the Danites cling to fragments of true faith in God – a phrase here; an idea there. They refer to “Yahweh” (or, “the LORD” in our translation), the one true God. They ask “the LORD’s” guidance and blessing. At the same time they build shrines to idols made of silver. Micah remembers that the Levites are set apart as God’s special servants. Micah genuinely believes that putting a Levite to work in his pagan shrine will legitimize it. The Danites ask this sham Levite to speak to them on God’s behalf. They all believe God is speaking when he pronounces blessing on their mission – to slaughter a village of unsuspecting Israelites.

The point of all this is that God isn’t in any of it. The author cautions us to look carefully for signs of God’s presence and absence. In this story, the characters may belong to God’s historic people. They may even know some of the religious lingo and lore of God’s people. But they are in no way, shape or form living as God’s people. They have effectively ceased to be God’s people.

If you wish to locate yourself in this story; if you wish to apply the lesson of Judges 17-18 to your life, do the following: Examine your language and habits for the religious lingo and lore of God’s historic people. Do you talk about God? Do you invoke God’s name? Do you ask God to bless and guide you? If so, do you do this selectively? Do you ask God to bless desires and designs that are, in fact, at odds with what God wants for his people and his world? Do you belong to a community of people who ask for God’s approval and blessing, but are unwilling to commit their lives to him? God’s people cease to be God’s people when their religious life is reduced to lingo and empty ritual. God wants a relationship. God wants you. All of you. Judges is a warning against empty religion and trying to maintain commitments to multiple gods. It’s an ever-unfolding lesson in what not to do.

Nobody Wins

Passage: Judges 9

Judges 9 is reflective of what will become an increasingly prominent feature of the book: apparently gratuitous violence. The conflict that unfolds in this chapter involves two equally unsympathetic parties. As the narrative progresses, we find ourselves trying to figure out who to root for. Initially it seems that Abimelech is the bad guy. After treacherously dispatching his seventy half-brothers, he pursues a national power grab that depends heavily on “shock-and-awe” guerilla tactics. We can’t wait for his surviving brother, Jotham’s, predictions to come true and for Abimelech to get what’s coming to him.

Then Gaal enters the scene. He’s a citizen of Shechem – a town that’s had more than enough of Abimelech’s rampages. He starts rallying the locals, and soon enough has the makings of an insurgency on his hands. Behind the scenes we’re told that God has prompted Abimelech to inflame the anger of the Shechemites in order to set in motion Abimelech’s ultimate undoing. Great, we think, Gaal and his army will take care of Abimelech. Not so. Violence erupts, and Abimelech routes Gaal’s forces. The men of Shechem are slaughtered and their town put to the sword.

What about Abimelech?

Abimelech meets his end not on the sword of a rival warrior, but in the desperate act of an unarmed housewife. As Abimelech and his men surround and prepare to burn a tower full of helpless civilians, one of them as a last resort throws a millstone out a window. Only the hand of God could be attributed to guiding the stone’s trajectory. It meets its mark, and Abimelech finally receives the just reward of his terrible act of treachery.

But why does God allow Abimelech to do such terrible things to Gaal and the citizens of Shechem? At the very end of the passage the author notes that they suffer simply what they deserve for their own wickedness. It turns out that in this story there aren’t good guys and bad guys. Those on both sides of the conflict have flagrantly disregarded God and his rules. Both parties suffer the unrestrained consequences of being given over to evil. The overarching theme of Judges is that bad things happen to God’s people when they reject God. As the book progresses we see more and more evidence that the Israelites have failed to live like God’s people and now suffer the consequences. The new twist in Judges 9 is that the enemies of the Israelites are no longer other nations, but fellow Israelites.