​Today marks the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of a season the Church has cherished for centuries. Advent begins on the Sunday closest to November 30 and carries us all the way to Christmas Eve. It is a season of anticipation—of watching, waiting, and preparing our hearts for the coming of Christ.

Many churches and homes mark this season with an Advent wreath, a simple yet profound symbol rich with meaning. The Advent wreath originated in the middle of the nineteenth century as a custom in small Protestant communities in northern Germany.[1] The wreath’s circular shape, without beginning or end, reminds us of God's eternal nature and unchanging faithfulness. The evergreen branches speak of the everlasting life we find in Christ, a life that remains vibrant and steadfast even in the coldest seasons.

In many modern usages, the four outer candles represent the four Sundays/weeks of Advent, and are associated with themes like hope, peace, joy, and love.

Traditionally, the wreath includes three purple candles, one pink candle, and one white candle.

• The purple candles represent repentance, reflection, and the royal dignity of Christ.
• The pink candle signifies joy—a moment of celebration in the midst of waiting.
• The white candle represents purity and victory, symbolizing Christ Himself, who cleanses us from all sin.
  
  

Each Sunday, we light a new candle, and with each small flame, the glow grows stronger. It is a weekly reminder that the darkness is giving way, hope is rising, and the coming of Christ, His return we await, draws nearer with every passing day.

Advent invites us to slow down; to wait, to watch, and to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ. It is more than a prelude to Christmas morning; it is a season of spiritual renewal rooted in repentance, reflection, and hope.

With that in mind, today we’re going to look specifically at Advent through the lens of repentance. Drawing from John 1:1–18, see how this theme has shaped Advent historically and how it continues to speak to our lives today. Ultimately, Advent calls us to open ourselves to the light of Christ, the light that enters the darkness of life and of ourselves, and exposes what needs to be changed and renewed in our lives.

Advent Through the Lens of John 1:1–18

The Gospel of John introduces us to the point of Advent. In his opening verses, John does not begin with shepherds or angels but with eternity itself.

“In the beginning, the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

This verse reveals that Jesus did not come into existence at Bethlehem; He is eternal, has always been. The Son of God is eternal, divine, and the very Word through whom all things were made. John declares that the One who formed the heavens and earth has stepped into His creation, taking on flesh to redeem it.

“So the Word became human and made His home among us.”
​
This incarnation is the heart of Advent. The infinite became finite. The Creator entered the world He created, not as a conqueror but as a child. This act of divine humility reveals the depth of God’s love and His desire to dwell among His people.

“The Word gave life to everything that was created, and His life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

Here, we see the two great symbols of Advent: light and life. The light of Christ exposes sin, illuminates truth, and brings hope to a world shrouded in darkness. Yet even as this light shines, humanity often turns away.

“He came to His own people, and even they rejected Him.”

That rejection reveals our deep need for repentance—a turning from darkness toward the light that has come.

The Call to Repentance
The earliest Christians did not treat Advent as a festive countdown but as a season of repentance and preparation. In many early regions (around the 4th to 6th century), of the Church, especially in what is now France and Western Europe, Advent was observed as a period of fasting and reflection similar in spirit to Lent, sometimes lasting as long as forty days, beginning after St. Martin’s Day. It was a time set aside to confront personal sin, pursue reconciliation, and renew one’s relationship with God in anticipation of celebrating the joy of Christ’s birth.

And this still speaks to us today. Advent reminds us that we cannot fully embrace the light until we are willing to face the darkness. It calls us to confess, to surrender, and to open our hearts to the transforming grace of God. Fleming Rutledge captures this tension beautifully when she writes:

“Advent is the season that, when properly understood, does not flinch from the darkness that stalks us in this world. Advent begins in the dark and moves toward the light.”[2]

To begin in darkness is not an act of despair but of honesty. We acknowledge the brokenness of our world and the sin within our hearts, but we do so with the confidence that light (Jesus) is coming, and it cannot be overcome.

Repentance, then, is not punishment but preparation. It clears away what clutters the heart. It allows God’s light to shine where shadows once lingered. When we turn from sin, we make space for grace; when we confess our need, we open ourselves to joy.

Historical Context
The word Advent comes from the Latin adventus, meaning “arrival” or “coming.” It translates a Greek word often used in the New Testament to describe the second coming of Christ. Advent as a season of the Church likely began sometime after the fourth century. Initially, it wasn’t about Christmas at all—it was a time of preparation for Epiphany (also known as Three Kings’ Day), when believers celebrated the manifestation of Jesus to the Gentiles through the visit of the Magi and His baptism in the Jordan River.

By the eighth century, the Western Church began observing Advent as we know it today—a time to both remember Christ’s birth in Bethlehem and to look forward to His glorious return. Advent now holds three beautiful truths in tension:

1. Christ has come – The Incarnation
2. Christ is present – The Holy Spirit
3. Christ will come again – The Coming King

Advent has carried a dual focus: looking back to the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem and looking forward to His return as King.

While many modern celebrations focus on the nativity, the Church emphasized Christ’s future coming, the day when He will return to make all things new. This broader vision of Advent reminds us that the season is not merely about nostalgia; it is about hope rooted in eternity.
At the same time, Advent highlights Christ's humility. The angel’s announcement to Mary declared, “He will be very great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give Him the throne of His ancestor David” (Luke 1:32).

This promise speaks of majesty and kingship, yet the fulfillment came in the humblest way possible—a manger, a carpenter’s son, a suffering servant. The irony of Advent is that the Sovereign Lord came not in power, but in weakness, not in splendor, but in humility.

This humility shapes how we are to prepare our hearts. Just as Christ stooped to serve, so we must bow before Him in repentance and gratitude. The first coming of Jesus was wrapped in humility; so should be our response to it.

Tish Harrison Warren describes Advent as a time to be “unsettled, undone, and remade by the coming of Christ.” Advent waiting is not passive; it is transformative. It confronts our pride and teaches us to wait in faith, trusting that God’s ways are higher than ours.

Advent for us Today
Advent is not only a theological reflection, but it is also a lived practice. It invites us into practices that promote repentance, hope, and anticipation. Here are three spiritual practices that can help us live out Advent this year with intentionality.

1. Embrace Silence and Reflection: The pace of life often drowns out the voice of God. Advent calls us to slow down, to carve out moments of quiet for prayer, confession, and meditation. In silence, we make room for God to speak. Setting aside time to read passages like John 1:1–18 allows us to remember who Christ is, the eternal Word, the true Light, the One who brings life to all who believe.
   
2. Engage in Acts of Humility and Service: Christ’s coming was an act of self-giving love. He humbled Himself for our sake, and we honor Him by doing the same. Acts of kindness, generosity, and compassion become living reflections of His character. When we serve those experiencing poverty, forgive those who have wronged us, or simply show patience in our daily lives, we participate in the humility of Advent. These practices prepare our hearts for the King who came not to be served but to serve.
   
3. Anticipate Through Worship and Expectation: Worship grounds our waiting in hope. Advent worship looks backward to Christ’s birth and forward to His return. Singing hymns, reading Scripture, and praying with expectation all remind us that Christ’s light is still breaking into the darkness. Each act of worship declares that the world’s story is not one of despair, but of redemption.

Through these practices, silence, service, and worship, we turn repentance into renewal. They help us raise an awareness of God’s presence and prepare us to receive His grace anew.

Conclusion
Advent is a season of holy tension, between darkness and light, humility and majesty, waiting and fulfillment. It calls us not only to remember Christ’s first coming but to long for His return. It invites us to journey inward, confronting the shadows of our hearts, even as we lift our eyes toward the dawning light of His glory.

“The Word gave life to everything that was created, and His life brought light to everyone.” John reminds us that Jesus is the eternal Word, the source of life, and the true light that no darkness can overcome. Advent, therefore, is not merely about anticipation; it is about transformation. As we wait, we are shaped. As we repent, we are renewed. As we worship, we are filled with hope.

This season does not shy away from the world’s pain but moves through it toward promise. In our waiting, we are reminded that the light has already come—and that it will come again.
Through silence, service, and worship, we prepare room in our hearts for the One who came and will come again. The story of Advent is not just the story of Bethlehem; it is the story of redemption unfolding in every generation.

Let us, therefore, enter this season with humility and anticipation, confident that the same Word who became flesh still dwells among us. May the light of Christ shine in our darkness and lead us on the journey of repentance, renewal, and everlasting hope.
 

[1] Fleming Rutledge, Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2018), 2.

[2] Fleming Rutledge, Advent: The Once & Future Coming of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2018), 251.

When most people think about Samson in the Bible, they picture someone with raw muscle and superhuman strength, a man who could tear a lion apart with his bare hands, lift city gates onto his shoulders, and kill thousands of Philistines with only the jawbone of a donkey. Yet beneath all his physical power was a heart that struggled deeply with the one virtue God most desires in His people: humility. Samson’s story is not merely about a strong man with a tragic ending; it is a story about the danger of pride and the mercy of a God who uses imperfect, self-focused people to accomplish His purposes. Samson shows us what can happen when God’s gifts meet human arrogance, and Christ shows us what strength looks like when clothed in humility.
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We live in a self-centered, self-promoting, self-glorifying world—a culture that constantly shouts, “Look at me!” Our culture idolizes confidence, power, fame, and influence. Social media encourages us to build platforms around ourselves. Colleges and employers tell us to “sell ourselves.” Advertisers tell us we deserve more, better, and faster. Even the Church, at times, absorbs these worldly messages, producing a shallow Christianity focused on personal fulfillment, spiritual consumerism, and self-improvement instead of Christlike humility and obedience.

Into this culture speaks the story of Samson, a man who had everything except humility. His life is a warning. But it is also a window into God’s grace.

Samson: A Man Gifted by God, but Guided by Self
Samson was the last of the major judges of Israel. Before he was even conceived, the Angel of the Lord appeared to his parents and announced that Samson would be set apart as a Nazarite and chosen by God to deliver Israel from the Philistines. Samson grew up blessed by God, empowered by the Holy Spirit, and called to a life of holiness and purpose. Yet from the moment he reached adulthood, Samson lived as though God’s blessings were his personal possessions.

One of the first recorded decisions of Samson’s adult life reveals his heart. He demanded that his parents arrange his marriage to a Philistine woman. His father and mother objected, not because they were overprotective and unreasonable, but because Samson’s calling was a call to holiness and ultimately to deliver Israel from the Philistines, not to join their families. But Samson insisted. Judges 14:3 says bluntly, “Get her for me! She looks good to me.” If you want to understand Samson, those words tell the complete story.

Samson lived as the Israelites did and did what was right in his own eyes.

Despite his prideful choices, God worked out His larger plan. Samson’s marriage set in motion a series of conflicts between him and the Philistines. His wedding feast sparked a riddle, which led to betrayal, which led to violence, which eventually led to war. Samson burned Philistine fields, killed Philistine men, and escaped Philistine traps. But you’ll notice something missing through these chapters: humility. Samson never once prayed. He never once sought God’s direction. He never gave God any glory. His life was marked not by holiness but by entitlement. God had given him strength, so Samson assumed God owed him victory.

His greatest downfall came through Delilah. She appealed to his weakness: his ego. Three times she asked for the secret of his strength. Three times he lied to her. You’d think after three assassination attempts, he would realize she wasn’t safe. But pride makes a person blind, sometimes literally. When Samson revealed the truth, his hair was shaved, his strength was gone, and Scripture says, tragically, “But he didn’t realize the Lord had left him” (Judg. 16:20).
The man who lived by what was right in his own eyes now lived without eyes at all.

Humiliated, blind, and imprisoned, Samson was reduced to grinding grain—the work of a slave. And it was there, in the lowest moment of his life, that humility finally found him. Samson called out to God. For the first time in the entire book, Samson prayed sincerely: “Then Samson prayed to the Lord, “Sovereign Lord, remember me again. O God, please strengthen me just one more time. With one blow let me pay back the Philistines for the loss of my two eyes.” (Judg. 16:28). God heard him. And in that final act, Samson accomplished more for Israel in his death than he did in his life.

The story of Samson is the story of a man who possessed great power but lacked the humility to use it well.

It is also a story of a God who can redeem even the proudest heart.

Pride vs. Humility in the Life of Samson
Samson’s life is a reminder that pride distorts our calling, damages our witness, and blinds us to the very dangers that will destroy us. Pride made Samson believe:

• He was untouchable.
• He could play with temptation.
• He could ignore God’s commands.
• He could use God’s gifts for self-gratification.
• He could handle sin on his own terms.
  
  

Samson didn’t fall because the Philistines were strong. He fell because he refused to be dependent on God.

And this brings us to the heart of the matter: pride is self-dependence. Humility is God-dependence.

The reason humility is so central to the Christian life is that humility recognizes the truth: we are not God, and we cannot live without God. Pride is the original sin, Lucifer’s downfall, Adam and Eve’s temptation, and humanity’s most significant flaw. Pride says, “I deserve. I am entitled. I must be seen.” Humility says, “I don’t deserve anything, but by God’s grace I receive everything.”
James 4:6 puts the matter plainly: "God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.”

God didn’t oppose Samson’s strength; He opposed Samson’s self-reliance.

So what does humility look like? To understand that, we must turn from Samson’s example to Christ’s.

Philippians 2:1–11

The Apostle Paul gives us one of the clearest pictures of humility in this passage. Here, Paul urges the church to live with unity, love, and selflessness—qualities that flow from humility. But Paul doesn’t simply command humility; he anchors the command in the life of Jesus.

Before the incarnation, Jesus existed eternally with the Father. He was not a mere angel; He was the radiance of God’s glory, the exact imprint of His nature. Yet instead of clinging to His exalted position, Jesus emptied Himself, choosing to come to earth in human flesh.

We also see Jesus could have come as a conqueror, a warrior, or a king. Instead, He came as a baby, weak, dependent, and born into poverty. His first breath was taken in a manger, not a palace. His arrival was announced to shepherds, not nobles.

Jesus lived as a servant. He washed feet, touched lepers, fed the hungry, and taught the poor. He declared, “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matt. 20:28).

Nothing displays humble strength more than the cross. Jesus allowed Himself to be mocked, beaten, betrayed, and crucified—not because He lacked power, but because He submitted to the Father’s will.

And here is the breathtaking truth: Because Jesus humbled Himself, God exalted Him.
Not the other way around. God never exalts a prideful heart. But He always lifts the humble.

What Samson Teaches Us About Humility Today
When we compare Samson to Jesus, the lesson becomes clear: pride destroys, but humility delivers. Samson teaches us that strength without humility becomes weakness. Jesus teaches us that humility is true strength.

So how do we live humbly in a world that rewards pride?
Paul’s words in Philippians 2:3–4 guide us:

Humility is not thinking less of yourself. It is thinking of yourself less. It is shifting your focus from me-centered living to Christ-centered. It means:

• Putting others before ourselves
• Serving without seeking recognition
• Loving without demanding repayment
• Giving without expecting anything in return
• Obeying God even when no one else sees

Samson lived for himself and suffered for it. Jesus lived for others and saved us through it.

Joyful Humility: Living a Different Way
Humility is not natural. Pride is. We were born selfish, self-seeking, and self-protecting. That’s why humility is a work of the Holy Spirit. But humility also brings joy, the kind of joy that Samson never knew until the final moments of his life.
We do not serve to feel good about ourselves.
We do not serve to get applause.

We serve because Jesus served, because His humility has changed us from the inside out.
When our motivation is Christ, our service becomes worship.

Paul says, “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” That doesn’t mean neglecting ourselves; it means seeing others through the lens of Christ’s love. It means recognizing that our talents, resources, money, time, and gifts were never meant to end with us. They were meant to flow through us to others.

And yes, people will take advantage of our service. Sometimes our humility will not be recognized or appreciated. But humility is not about results; it is about obedience.

Conclusion
In the end, Samson’s story is a mirror. It exposes the parts of us that want control, recognition, and self-gratification. It exposes our tendency to treat God’s blessings as personal trophies rather than sacred stewardship. It exposes the danger of living by what is “right in our own eyes.”

But Samson’s story is also a doorway to grace.

Because the same God who forgave Samson, restored Samson, and empowered Samson in his final moments is the same God who invites us into joyful humility today. A humility that reflects Christ. A humility that transforms how we serve, give, live, speak, and love.

Each of us knows what it feels like to wrestle between who we are and who we want to be in Christ. We are aware of the differences between our intentions and our actions; between the character we aspire to be and the desires we constantly struggle with. Sometimes it feels like there are two competing forces within us: one that wants to honor God and one that pulls us back into old ways of living, reacting, and succumbing to temptations. Galatians 5 addresses this struggle directly. It does not shame us for it. Instead, it explains, reframes, and lifts our eyes to the only real power that can transform us from the inside out: the Holy Spirit.

When we examine Paul’s letter to the Galatians, one of the themes that emerges almost immediately is freedom. Paul is writing to believers who have been rescued by Christ, redeemed from the curse of the law, and welcomed into a life of grace. But as is often the case, the human heart, like a pendulum, swings between extremes. On one side is the temptation to rely on the law—rules, rituals, and human effort, to secure God’s approval. On the other hand, there is the temptation to treat freedom as a license to live as we please. Paul writes to the Galatians in Galatians 5 to warn against both misunderstandings and to remind us of what true Christian freedom truly looks like.

Freedom in Christ—But Not Freedom to Sin
“We have freedom in Christ.” Most of us know that phrase. We sing about it, quote it, and celebrate it, but Paul wants us to understand what real freedom looks like. In Christ, we are free: free from sin’s penalty, free from the crushing demands of the law, and free from trying to earn God’s acceptance through our performance. Jesus has accomplished what we could never have done. He has fulfilled the law, broken the chains of sin, and given us access to the Father through His grace.

But Paul is quick to clarify something important: Christian freedom is not moral anarchy. It is not permission to indulge the desires of our old, sinful nature. He says earlier in the chapter, “But don’t use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love.” (5:13)

In other words, the gospel does not give us a license to sin. Freedom in Christ is not freedom from holiness; it is freedom for holiness. It is freedom to live in the Spirit and no longer be dominated by the flesh.

This brings us to the heart of Galatians 5.

Galatians 5:16 – 22

Paul writes, “So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won’t be doing what your sinful nature craves.” Notice he doesn’t say, “When you finally get control over your sinful desires, then you’ll be able to walk in the Spirit.” No, Paul starts with the Spirit because he knows that’s where our hope is found. It’s the Spirit who strengthens us, guides us, and breaks the power of sin in our lives. Walking in the Spirit isn’t something we earn by trying harder; it’s God’s gracious way of fixing what we could never fix on our own.

To “walk” in the Spirit means to live your life under the Spirit’s guidance. It is movement, progress, and purpose. It reflects the ongoing pattern of your life that changes your habits, priorities, decisions, speech, thoughts, and actions.

Paul’s contrast between life in the Spirit and life in the flesh is essential. He explains the struggle when he writes, “The sinful nature wants to do evil, which is just the opposite of what the Spirit wants. And the Spirit gives us desires that are the opposite of what the sinful nature desires. These two forces are constantly fighting each other…”

This conflict is why we need the Spirit, and why we cannot live the Christian life in our own strength.

Galatians 5:22 - 23

When we hear the word “fruit,” we think of something produced naturally from what it is connected to. Likewise, the “fruit of the Spirit” is the natural, visible evidence of the Holy Spirit’s work in the believer’s life. It is not manufactured. It is not achieved by human effort. The Spirit produces it.
Paul lists nine qualities: “But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!”

​Let’s examine each one.

1. Love: This is more than affection or emotion. It is self-giving, sacrificial love based on high regard for others. It loves when it is not convenient, not deserved, and not easy. This is the love God has for us and the love He produces in us.
   
   This kind of love chooses the good of another even when our feelings don’t cooperate. It treats people with dignity, speaks the truth with grace, and seeks reconciliation rather than revenge. It’s the love that keeps showing up when relationships are strained and keeps serving when appreciation is absent. This love is shown by Christ, who laid down His life for us while we were still sinners.
2. Joy: Joy is a spiritual state of gladness and deep contentment. It is not circumstantial but relational; it comes from Christ. Joy thrives even in difficulty because it is rooted in the presence of God.​ 
   
   This joy looks beyond what is happening around us to what is true within us. It is the steady confidence that God is at work, present, and good, regardless of outward pressures. Joy doesn’t ignore pain; it anchors us in hope during pain. It is the settled assurance that Christ has already secured the outcome of our lives.
3. Peace: Peace is inner calm produced by trust in God. It is the quiet confidence that comes from being secure in Christ. Even when life shakes us, peace steadies us because it is not dependent on circumstances; it is dependent on Christ.
   
   This peace guards our hearts from anxiety, restlessness, and fear. It reminds us that God is sovereign and at work even when life feels out of control. Peace doesn’t eliminate conflict, but it keeps conflict from controlling us. It is the Spirit’s gift that allows us to breathe deeply and walk confidently when everything around us feels unstable.
4. Patience: Patience, or long-suffering, is the ability to endure under pressure. It is emotional steadiness in trials. It is being slow to anger and slow to retaliate. Patience keeps us from reacting impulsively or harshly.
   
   This patience gives us the ability to wait on God’s timing without losing heart. It helps us persevere through unfair situations, frustrating people, and prolonged seasons of uncertainty. Patience is not passive; it is active trust. It is the Spirit empowering us to respond with grace when our natural impulse is irritation or judgment.
5. Kindness: Kindness is compassion in action. It is offering compassion, encouragement, and help. It reflects the kindness God has shown us through Christ.
   
   Kindness notices needs rather than overlooking them. It speaks gently, listens well, and acts generously without demanding anything in return. Kindness is often expressed in small, quiet ways; words that heal, gestures that uplift, and attitudes that bless. It is love in action.
6. Goodness: Goodness is the uprightness of character, choosing what is morally right and honorable. It is a virtue expressed in everyday life.
   
   Goodness refuses to compromise what is true and righteous. It demonstrates integrity in private moments, honesty in difficult conversations, and purity in our motives. Goodness is the moral beauty of Christ displayed in a believer’s life. It shines in a dark world, attracting others to God.
7. Faithfulness: Faithfulness is trustworthiness and dependability. A faithful person is fixed, loyal, and committed. Their character remains consistent, even when life is not.
   
   Faithfulness stays the course even when enthusiasm fades. It keeps promises, honors commitments, and shows up when others quit. It is reliability rooted in conviction rather than convenience. Faithfulness reflects the character of God, who never fails and never abandons His people.
8. Gentleness: Gentleness is strength submitted to God. It is humility in our attitudes and tenderness in our interactions. Gentleness handles others with care.
   
   Gentleness does not mean weakness; it means controlled strength. It responds to hostility without aggression, receives correction without defensiveness, and restores others without condemnation. Gentleness creates safety in relationships and points people to the compassion of Christ.
9. Self-Control: Self-control refers to the ability to manage impulses, desires, and passions. It is the Spirit-given ability to say “no” to what is harmful and “yes” to what is holy.
   
   Self-control sets healthy boundaries around our thoughts, words, and actions. It empowers us to resist temptation, manage emotions, and pursue obedience even when sacrifice is required. Self-control is not willpower; it is Spirit power shaping us into the likeness of Christ.

Together, these characteristics form a portrait of a Spirit-filled life. They are not nine separate tasks to work on; they are one unified fruit that grows from one source: the Holy Spirit.

Conclusion
Paul makes it clear that these qualities are the natural result of a life fully submitted to Christ. They are not optional add-ons for the extra-spiritual or overly devoted; they are the evidence of a heart transformed by the Holy Spirit. Wherever the Spirit reigns, this fruit appears. But Paul also makes something else equally clear: we cannot produce this fruit on our own. No amount of determination, discipline, or religious effort can manufacture what only the Spirit can grow.

He reminds the Galatians earlier, in Galatians 3:3, “How foolish can you be? After starting your Christian lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human effort?”
Human effort cannot produce spiritual fruit. The flesh cannot imitate the Spirit. Our sinful nature can mimic morality for a moment, but it can never sustain genuine transformation. True spiritual growth begins with surrender, not striving. Christian character does not emerge from trying harder; it emerges from yielding to God.

The flesh and the Spirit are at war within us, and only one can lead. A fruitful Christian life is one marked by submission, obedience, and transformation as the Holy Spirit shapes our thoughts, desires, actions, and reactions. The more we surrender to His leading, the more His fruit becomes visible in us. As we give the Spirit full control, He produces in us what we could never accomplish ourselves, and our lives begin to reflect the beauty, strength, and character of Christ.

Judges 8 ends with Gideon’s victory over the Midianites and forty years of peace. But that peace was fragile. Though Gideon began as a humble, God-dependent warrior, he finished as a man entangled by pride and compromise. His creation of a golden ephod and his many wives sowed seeds of idolatry and dysfunction that would sprout in the next generation.

Judges 9 continues the story, not as another military campaign against foreign oppressors, but as an internal collapse within Israel. The battle now is not fought on the field but in the heart of the nation. This chapter exposes how ambition, politics, and moral compromise can destroy a people from within. Gideon’s failure to guard his heart leads directly to his son Abimelech’s ruthless quest for power. It is a sobering reminder that victory in one season does not guarantee faithfulness in the next.

Judges 9:1–6

After Gideon’s death, his family prospered. He had many wives and seventy sons, and also a concubine from Shechem. From her, he fathered Abimelech, whose name means “My father is king.” The irony is striking: Gideon once refused Israel’s offer of kingship, yet he left behind a son whose very name proclaimed royal ambition.

Shechem had deep roots in Israel’s history. Abraham built an altar there. Joshua renewed the covenant there. Yet by Abimelech’s time, it had become a place of idolatry, housing the Temple of Baal-Berith, a shrine that blended Canaanite worship with corrupted covenant imagery.
Abimelech traveled to Shechem, his mother’s hometown, with a clear and calculated plan to make himself king. His rise to power unfolded in four steps.

Step One: Securing his family’s support: He first rallied his mother’s relatives, using their influence as leverage in the city.

Step Two: Persuading Shechem’s leaders: Abimelech instructed his family to appeal to the city’s elders. According to theologian Dale Ralph Davis, “Abimelech asked his mother’s relatives to put a bug in the ears of Shechem’s city fathers. The gospel according to Abimelech was: ‘I don’t want to scare you, but you don’t want seventy men—all Jerubbaal’s sons—trying to rule over you, do you?”[1]

The phrase translated “all the citizens of Shechem” more literally means “the lords or masters of Shechem,” referring to its leading men. Abimelech cleverly appealed to their self-interest—arguing that one ruler was better than seventy, and that one of their own blood was preferable to an outsider. His logic, though manipulative, was persuasive.

Step Three: Financing his coup: The elders of Shechem backed his plan and financed his campaign with seventy shekels of silver from the temple treasury of Baal-Berith. Abimelech used the money to hire “reckless scoundrels”, mercenaries who would do his bidding. The sum was symbolic: one shekel for every brother he intended to kill.

The temple itself, Baal-Berith, meaning “Lord of the Covenant”, represented the nation’s spiritual confusion. It mixed Israel’s covenant language with pagan worship. What should have been a house of devotion to Yahweh had become a monument to idolatry and betrayal.

Step Four: Eliminating his rivals: Abimelech traveled thirty miles north to Ophrah, Gideon’s hometown, and executed sixty-nine of his seventy half-brothers on a single stone. This was not random violence but a calculated act of political slaughter. Only the youngest son, Jotham, escaped.

Judges 9:7–21

The scene now shifts to Jotham, the lone survivor of Abimelech’s massacre. His name means “The LORD is perfect” or “The LORD is upright.” In contrast to Abimelech’s name, “My father is king,” Jotham’s name reflects trust in God’s justice and righteousness.

Fearing for his life, Jotham climbed Mount Gerizim, which overlooks Shechem, and shouted a prophetic parable to the people below. It is the only fable in the Old Testament and serves as both satire and warning.

In his story, the trees seek to anoint a king. They first invite the olive tree, then the fig tree, and finally the vine, each of which declines, content to fulfill its purpose in fruitfulness. Desperate, they turn to the thornbush. The thornbush accepts eagerly, promising shade it cannot give and threatening fire against those who resist.

The meaning is unmistakable: the noble trees represent worthy leaders who serve others; the thornbush symbolizes Abimelech, unfit, dangerous, and destructive. As one commentator observes, “Thornbushes may make good fuel for the fire, but poor kings; they burn better than they rule.”

Jotham’s message is not a rejection of kingship itself but of corrupt, self-made leadership. He rebukes the Shechemites for their betrayal: Gideon risked his life to save them, yet they rewarded him by murdering his sons and crowning a tyrant.

Having spoken, Jotham fled for his life.

Judges 9:22–29

Abimelech reigned for three years, but his rule rested on fear and deceit. Then God intervened. The alliance that had established his power now began to unravel under divine judgment.

Enter Gaal son of Ebed, a brash opportunist who arrived in Shechem and began stirring rebellion. During the grape harvest, a time of joy and festivity, Gaal and the people drank and celebrated in the temple of Baal-Berith. Fueled by wine and arrogance, Gaal mocked Abimelech, boasting that he could overthrow him.

Abimelech’s governor, Zebul, secretly warned his master and helped plan an ambush. When Gaal and his followers marched out, Abimelech’s forces attacked and routed them. Gaal was driven out of Shechem, but Abimelech’s rage only grew.

The next day, as the citizens went into their fields, Abimelech divided his troops into three companies. One blocked their retreat, while the others slaughtered the workers. He then tore down the city, sowed it with salt, and symbolically cursed it to barrenness.

The Shechemites had once trusted Abimelech to protect them; now he turned on them with the fury of divine retribution. Jotham’s curse was beginning to unfold.

Judges 9:46–57

When the surviving leaders of Shechem heard what happened, they fled to the temple of El-Berith, seeking refuge. But their false god could not save them. Abimelech gathered brushwood, set fire to the tower, and burned about a thousand men and women alive. Their sanctuary became their grave.

Still unsatisfied, Abimelech marched against Thebez, another rebellious city. The people retreated into a strong tower. As Abimelech approached to burn it, “a woman dropped a millstone on his head and cracked his skull”. Mortally wounded, he commanded his young armor-bearer to kill him so no one could say a woman had struck him down. Even in death, his pride endured.

Abimelech’s end was poetic justice. The fire he unleashed upon others ultimately consumed him. Evil destroyed evil. Abimelech destroyed Shechem, and Shechem destroyed Abimelech, with a millstone of divine irony.

Lessons and Application

1. Ambition and pride lead to destruction.
Abimelech’s life warns us of the ruin that comes from self-exaltation. His hunger for power drove him to destroy his family, his city, and himself. What began as ambition ended in ashes.
Unchecked ambition always devours the very thing it seeks to control. It blinds the heart, justifying deceit and violence in the name of success. The story of Abimelech cautions believers to check their motives—whether in ministry, leadership, or daily life—lest the pursuit of position overshadow obedience to God.

2. God’s justice always prevails.
Though Abimelech appeared to succeed, God’s justice was working behind the scenes. The Lord orchestrated division, downfall, and ultimate retribution through ordinary events, a boastful man, a city’s rebellion, and a woman’s millstone. What appears accidental is often providential.

When injustice seems to go unpunished, we can trust that God still governs human affairs. His timing may seem slow, but His justice is certain.

3. Leadership without calling or character brings chaos.
Abimelech embodies unqualified leadership, ambitious, manipulative, and self-appointed. Unlike the judges before him, he was not raised up by God; he crowned himself. The result was destruction. Jotham’s parable of the thornbush illustrates the danger of entrusting power to those without integrity: a thornbush cannot provide shade.

In both church and society, charisma and skill are poor substitutes for character. The story challenges us to value faithfulness over fame and humility over influence. True leadership, in God’s eyes, serves rather than rules.

4. God’s mercy preserves His people.
Although Judges 9 is filled with bloodshed and betrayal, it still reveals divine mercy. Israel was not annihilated. God allowed Abimelech’s evil to consume itself, preserving His covenant people despite their sin. Even judgment served a redemptive purpose, purging corruption and restoring moral order.

The same grace operates today. God disciplines His people, not to destroy, but to refine them. Through every act of correction, His goal is renewal.

Conclusion
The story of Abimelech is not just an ancient tragedy—it is a mirror held up to every generation. It warns of what happens when ambition replaces humility, when power outweighs integrity, and when God’s people follow the thornbush instead of the Lord.

Abimelech’s short-lived rule reminds us that success built on sin never lasts. The hand that lights the fire will one day be consumed by it. Yet, even amid the ruins of Shechem, we see hope: God remains sovereign. He judges to restore, disciplines to correct, and works all things for His glory and the good of His people.
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Judges 9 stands as both a warning and a promise, a warning that unqualified, unrighteous leadership brings devastation, and a promise that God’s purposes endure even through judgment. His kingdom, unlike Abimelech’s, will never fall.
 


[1] Dale Ralph Davis, Judges: Such a Great Salvation (Christian Focus, 2000), 122.

The third chapter of Judges introduces the recurring cycle that defines the entire book, a tragic yet redemptive cycle of sin, suffering, supplication, and salvation. Israel quickly drifts from faithful obedience to the Lord, turning away from Him to worship the gods of the surrounding nations. Their rebellion brings divine retribution as God allows foreign oppressors to rise against them. Yet in their suffering, the people cry out to the Lord, and in His mercy, God raises up deliverers, Othniel and Ehud, to rescue them from their enemies. Judges 3 sets the pattern for the rest of the book, revealing both the depths of Israel’s unfaithfulness and the boundless grace of a God who continues to save His people despite their repeated disobedience. This chapter reminds us of a timeless truth: when God’s people turn from Him, He disciplines them to bring them back, and He raises up deliverers who point the rebellious people back to Himself.

Judges 3:1–6

Israel’s spiritual problems began after the death of Joshua and the generation that had witnessed the mighty works of the Lord. When the Lord declared that the next generation of Israelites must “learn war,” His intent was not primarily that they master military strategy but that they grasp the spiritual nature of the conflict.

The Israelites had entered the land as God’s covenant people, charged with driving out the Canaanites and claiming the land as His gift to them. The continued presence of the Canaanites represented both their disobedience and a test, a test of whether they would recognize the Lord as their sovereign and remain loyal to His commands.

The Lord’s purpose is expressed in two ways: “to test the Israelites” and “to see” whether they would remain faithful to Him. This test was not for God’s knowledge; He is omniscient, but for Israel’s own revelation, allowing them to recognize the depth of their unfaithfulness and the justice of His discipline.

Verses 5–6 function as a kind of spiritual scorecard, offering the author’s (and God’s) evaluation of Israel’s performance in this divine examination. The verdict is unmistakable: Israel has failed. In keeping with Israelite law, her guilt is confirmed on three counts, each reflecting compromise with the Canaanites. Whatever Israel did, they failed. The people intermarried with the Canaanites, directly violating Deuteronomy 7:3–4, and in doing so, they broke the first command of the covenant: they served other gods.

So, what are the theological and practical implications of this disobedience? Living among foreigners led to cultural integration, which soon produced spiritual assimilation. The people who had entered the land as God’s chosen nation had blended into the pagan culture around them. In the author’s view, Israel had sold out. From this point forward, everything in the book must be read in this light: Israel has failed and rightly stands under God’s judgment.

Yet, as the narrative unfolds, we discover that God’s justice is never without mercy. Though the Israelites continually rebel, God deals graciously with them, not because they deserve it, but because of His long-term redemptive purpose for the world. He had chosen Israel to be the instrument of His blessing, and He would not allow that purpose to die. Even when the nation seemed determined to destroy itself, God intervened time and again to rescue His people.

Judges 3:7–11

Two clarifying details emerge as the cycle begins again. First, “the Israelites forgot the Lord their God.” Second, “they served the images of Baal and the Asherah poles.” Asherah was a prominent goddess in Canaanite mythology. She was believed to be the wife of the high god El and the mother of seventy gods. The Asherah poles were sacred wooden symbols used in fertility worship, often placed near altars dedicated to Baal. The Israelites had exchanged the worship of the living God for lifeless idols, mere products of human imagination. The lofty theology and moral discipline of Israel’s covenant faith had been replaced with the sensual excitement of Canaanite fertility rituals.

Because of this rebellion, God handed Israel over to King Cushan-rishathaim (KOO-shan RISH-ah-thah-eem), king of Aram-naharaim (AH-rahm nah-hah-RAH-yeem), or Mesopotamia. Who was this ruler? His name is as intriguing as his identity. The phrase likely means “Cushan of Double Wickedness,” suggesting it was a mocking nickname, a way of emphasizing his cruelty. Scholars have found no consensus on his exact historical identity, and no known king matches this name with certainty.

The Israelites’ outcry under his oppression was, again, not one of repentance but of desperation, a cry of pain, not confession. Yet, even in their spiritual confusion, God heard their cry. In His mercy, He raised up a deliverer: Othniel, a Judean hero (and the last judge from that tribe) of noble lineage, the nephew of Caleb. Othniel had already shown courage and leadership in earlier battles, but what truly qualified him as a deliverer were two things: he was raised up by the Lord, and the Spirit of the Lord empowered him.

When Scripture says, “The Spirit of the Lord came upon him,” it describes the empowering presence of God that transforms ordinary people into extraordinary instruments of His will. In Judges, this phrase signals divine empowerment for service. God’s Spirit comes upon individuals, often those who seem unqualified or reluctant, and equips them for a specific task. In Othniel’s case, the Spirit turned a minor officer into a national leader and conqueror.

Through Othniel, the Lord delivered Israel from the hand of the king of Mesopotamia. The result was forty years of peace, a symbolic number representing the span of a generation. The author notes that it was the land, not necessarily the people, that enjoyed rest. This subtle distinction underscores that Israel’s peace was God’s gift, not the fruit of sustained repentance. Othniel’s story stands as a reminder that God’s mercy is always greater than our failure, and His Spirit still empowers unlikely people to accomplish His redemptive purposes.

Judges 3:12 – 30

Once again, Israel fell into sin. “The Israelites did evil in the eyes of the Lord,” and this time, God strengthened Eglon, king of Moab, as His instrument of discipline. Eglon allied with the Ammonites and Amalekites, attacked Israel, and captured the “City of Palms” (Jericho).

Eglon’s rise was no accident of history; God ordained it. Though Eglon himself was unaware of it, he was serving as an agent of divine judgment. Yet, the writer portrays him with irony. His name, Eglon, meaning “little calf,” carries an intentional hint of mockery. The narrative paints him as a comedic villain, a bloated, self-indulgent ruler, the “fattened calf” destined for slaughter.

In their suffering, Israel again cried out to the Lord, not out of deep repentance, but out of desperation. And again, God responded with mercy. He raised up another deliverer, Ehud, a left-handed man from the tribe of Benjamin. The detail of his left-handedness is not incidental; it’s part of the story. In Israelite culture, left-handedness was often viewed as a defect or weakness. Yet God delights in using the unexpected and the underestimated to accomplish His purposes.

Ehud crafted a double-edged dagger about fourteen inches long and concealed it on his right thigh under his clothing. When he brought tribute to King Eglon, he told the king he had a secret message from God. The unsuspecting Eglon dismissed his guards so he could hear the message privately. As the king rose from his seat, Ehud drew the dagger with his left hand and plunged it into Eglon’s belly—the sword sinking so deep that the handle disappeared. The once-oppressive ruler became a grotesque picture of his own arrogance.

Ehud escaped, rallied the Israelites, and struck down ten thousand Moabite soldiers, all “strong and able-bodied men.” The Lord delivered Israel once again, granting them eighty years of peace. Through this shocking and even outrageous story, we see that God’s deliverance does not always come through expected means. He often uses the weak, the flawed, and the unlikely to accomplish His purposes.

Connecting to Christ
Each judge in the Book of Judges points forward to Jesus Christ, the ultimate Deliverer.

• Othniel represents the Spirit-empowered deliverer who brings peace through divine strength.
• Ehud represents the unexpected savior, defeating the enemy through apparent weakness.
  
  

Both imperfect deliverers foreshadow the perfect Deliverer, Christ. Where they brought temporary relief, Jesus brings eternal redemption and peace. Where they fought physical enemies, He conquers sin and death. Where they delivered Israel by the sword, Christ delivers humanity by the cross.

Application
Judges 3 sets a pattern that reflects both the human condition and God’s redemptive plan. When people abandon the Lord for lesser gods, whether idols of wealth, comfort, or self, the result is always bondage. Yet God’s discipline is never meant for destruction; it is an act of mercy, intended to draw His people back to Himself.

For the church today, this passage serves as both a warning and a promise. It warns us that compromise with the world leads to spiritual decay. But it also assures us that God is faithful even when we are not. He still raises up deliverers (pastors, mentors, friends) who call us to repentance and remind us of His grace.

In the words of the prophet Zechariah, “Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6) God’s work of deliverance has always depended on His Spirit, not human strength. Like Israel, we too are prone to forget God’s goodness and fall into sin. But when we cry out, even out of desperation, He hears. He disciplines, He restores, and He saves.

The story of Judges 3 reminds us that God’s mercy is greater than our rebellion. He continues to pursue His people through the ages, culminating in the cross of Christ, where divine justice and mercy meet. And just as Israel’s peace was secured through deliverers raised by God, our peace is secured through Jesus, the Deliverer who came not to wield the sword, but to bear it, for our salvation.
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