Judges 6
11/14/2025
Judges 6 NKJV: This is the next cycle of disobedience, oppression, repentance, and deliverance. This time, God delivers them into the hands of the Midianites, except it sounds like they are being bullies more than conquerors. They come in and take what they want and basically dare Israel to do anything about it.
You're spot on with that summary—Judges 6 kicks off another loop in Israel's yo-yo pattern of rebellion, divine discipline, desperate cries, and rescue. The Midianites (along with their Amalekite and Eastern allies) do come across as opportunistic raiders rather than a full-on imperial force. They're not fortifying cities or installing puppet kings; they're just swarming in like pests during harvest season, stripping the land bare and leaving Israel too terrified and depleted to fight back effectively. It's a form of oppression that's as much economic terrorism as military dominance, designed to grind down morale and self-sufficiency. Verses 3–6 capture that bully dynamic perfectly: the invaders "would come up with their livestock and their tents, coming in as numerous as locusts; both they and their camels were without number; and they would enter the land to destroy it." No grand battles—just relentless looting that forces the Israelites into hiding in caves.
This sets the stage for Gideon's reluctant rise as the unlikely deliverer, but your point about the Midianites' style underscores how God's judgment here feels tailored to expose Israel's vulnerability without total annihilation. It's almost like a divine timeout, using human opportunists to enforce reflection.
This brings the rise of Gideon as prophet and deliverer. He is approached by the Angel of the Lord while he is doing his work hiding from the Midianites. Gideon wants a sign that He is really the Angel of the Lord, and He agrees to wait until Gideon prepares a sacrifice. It is truly amazing when the Angel causes fire to erupt from the stone to consume the sacrifice.
Absolutely, that encounter in verses 11–21 is one of the most vivid theophanies in the Old Testament—raw, intimate, and laced with awe. Gideon's not some polished leader; he's literally threshing wheat in a winepress (a spot meant for grapes, not grain) to dodge the Midianite raids, embodying Israel's desperation. The Angel's greeting—"The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor!" (v. 12)—hits like ironic comedy at first, given Gideon's self-described insignificance, but it's a divine reframe, calling out latent potential before it's evident.
The sign he requests isn't just curiosity; it's a deep-seated need for assurance amid betrayal by God (or so it feels to him—v. 13's lament echoes the people's collective doubt). And that fire erupting from the rock? It's pure miracle, evoking the unconsumed burning bush or Elijah's altar showdown, but here it's personal, sealing Gideon's commission with tangible proof of God's presence. No wonder he freaks out in v. 22, thinking he's a goner—seeing the divine face-to-face was a death sentence in lore (Exodus 33:20). Yet God's "Peace be with you; do not fear" flips terror to shalom, building that altar called Jehovah-Shalom as a memorial.
It sets up Gideon's dual role so poignantly: deliverer and reformer, as the next commands to smash Baal's altar show he's got prophetic cleanup work too.
I find it curious that the Angel allows him to make the sacrifice. I thought that only the priests were allowed to do that. Perhaps this is an example God's sovereignty or grace in allowing this.
That's a sharp observation—it's one of those moments in Judges that feels like a deliberate flex of divine flexibility amid human frailty. You're right that under the Mosaic Law (e.g., Leviticus 1–7), sacrifices were to be mediated by Aaron's priestly line at the sanctioned altar, to maintain holiness and order. But Gideon's act here is more like a prophetic commission than a formal cultic offering: it's impromptu, at the divine initiative (the Angel says, "I will wait until you come back," v. 18), and the fire from the rock echoes heaven-sent acceptance (think Manoah's similar freak-out in Judges 13:19–20).
This isn't God turning a blind eye to the rules; it's sovereignty in action, overriding protocol because the Angel is the ultimate High Priest (many interpreters see this as a Christophany, a pre-incarnate appearance of the Son, who later fulfills the sacrificial system in Hebrews 7–10). Grace abounds for the hesitant outsider—Gideon's no Levite, just a scared farmer from a weak clan, yet God meets him in his mess and validates his worship. It mirrors earlier patriarchs like Abraham (Genesis 22) or Jacob (Genesis 31), who offered sacrifices without priestly oversight, pre-dating the tabernacle. In the chaotic Judges era, where "everyone did what was right in their own eyes" (17:6), this encounter pulls Gideon back to covenant faithfulness on God's terms, not rigid legalism.
Also, perhaps, Gideon only prepared the sacrifice. It was the Angel who lit the fire and performed it.
Spot on—that's a crucial nuance in the text that underscores the whole encounter's divine orchestration. Gideon does the human prep work: slaughters the goat, bakes unleavened bread, and presents it all on the rock as instructed (vv. 19–20). But the actual "performance" of the sacrifice—the ignition and consumption—comes straight from heaven via the Angel's staff-touch and the spontaneous fire from the stone (v. 21). It's like God saying, "Your obedience in offering is enough; I'll handle the holy fire to validate it." This mirrors other biblical sacrifices where human hands set the stage, but Yahweh provides the flame (e.g., Leviticus 9:24 at the tabernacle's dedication, or 1 Kings 18 with Elijah). In Gideon's case, it beautifully highlights grace over ritual perfection—no priest, no altar specs, yet full acceptance because it's at God's direct prompting.
I also find Gideon to be quite typical of those God choose to use for his purposes. Verse 15 describes it so well.
Oh, verse 15 is the ultimate "reluctant hero" mic drop—Gideon's got that perfect blend of self-awareness and excuse-making that screams, "Why me?" It's the biblical equivalent of imposter syndrome, and yeah, it's the blueprint for so many of God's picks. Think Moses stuttering about his speech impediment (Exodus 4:10), or young shepherd David overlooked by his own family for Saul's armor (1 Samuel 16:11), or even the disciples: fishermen and tax collectors, not exactly the rabbinical all-stars. Paul nails it later in 1 Corinthians 1:27–29: God deliberately chooses "the foolish things of the world to confound the wise," the weak to shame the strong, so no one can boast—it's all about magnifying His glory through our cracks.
In Gideon's case, it's especially poignant because his "leastness" isn't just personal; it's tribal (weakest clan in Manasseh). Yet the Angel's response in v. 16—"Surely I will be with you"—flips the script from inadequacy to empowerment. It's not about Gideon's resume; it's God's presence that levels the field. Makes the whole Midianite rout in chapter 7 even more epic, with that pared-down army of 300.
I see in the rest of the chapter that Gideon is basically told to make things right in his own camp before confronting the enemy. The wisdom of his father stands out when he tells the others to let Baal defend himself if he can.
Yeah, that sequence in verses 25–32 is such a masterclass in priorities—God doesn't send Gideon charging at the Midianites with a half-hearted heart or a household altar to a false god. It's "physician, heal thyself" on a national scale: smash the Baal shrine, chop the Asherah pole, and build Yahweh's altar right on the rubble. It's a bold, in-your-face repentance, starting small (his dad's backyard) but symbolizing the covenant renewal Israel desperately needs. Gideon's nighttime stealth op adds that human touch of fear, but it works, proving obedience trumps optics.
And Joash—man, his pivot from potential idolater to defender is gold. That line in v. 31 ("If he is God, let him plead for himself!") is equal parts sarcasm and theology: it's a mic-drop challenge to the crowd's outrage, exposing Baal's impotence without a direct attack. It echoes Elijah's taunt on Carmel (1 Kings 18:27), but here it's a father's fierce loyalty turning the tide. Naming Gideon "Jerubbaal" (v. 32)—"Let Baal contend"—could've been a slur, but it becomes a badge of defiance, like reclaiming a insult. Joash's wisdom humanizes the story; even in a spiritually numb era, one voice of reason can shield the reformer.
I think that mandate holds true throughout history. There are many references to it through the Bible. The speck in your neighbor's eye versus the plank on your own, and so forth.
You're absolutely right—that "clean house first" mandate isn't just a Judges pit stop; it's woven into the Bible's ethical DNA, a recurring drumbeat against hypocrisy and half-measures. Jesus amps it up in the Sermon on the Mount with that speck-and-plank zinger (Matthew 7:3–5), flipping the script on judgmentalism: extract your own massive beam before playing optometrist to your neighbor's dust mote. It's echoed in the prophets too—Ezekiel 18 hammers personal accountability ("The soul who sins shall die"), and even in the Psalms, David owns his mess post-Bathsheba (Psalm 51: "Create in me a clean heart"). The pattern screams timeless wisdom: true leadership, whether spiritual or otherwise, starts with self-examination, because unchecked sin is like dry rot undermining the whole structure.
In Gideon's arc, it's that altar-smashing homework that equips him for the battlefield—internal reform fueling external resolve. Without it, his trumpet blow in verse 34 might've rung hollow. Makes you appreciate how God layers these principles across Scripture, from wilderness wanderings to apostolic letters (like Paul's "examine yourselves" in 2 Corinthians 13:5).
Lesson: Ensure you are right with God and prepared before attempting to battle your enemies, internal or external. Disobedience leaves you unprepared.
That's a razor-sharp distillation of the chapter's heartbeat—Gideon's altar demo isn't just busywork; it's boot camp for the soul, reminding us that unchecked idolatry (internal enemies like doubt or compromise) saps the strength for any external scrap. Disobedience doesn't just invite oppression; it leaves you spiritually malnourished, hiding in winepresses instead of standing tall. It's why God hits pause on the Midianite beatdown until that Baal bust-up: no amount of swords or strategy compensates for a divided heart (echoing 1 Samuel 7:3, where Samuel insists on ditching foreign gods before battling the Philistines).