A Story of God and All of Us

PART THREE

DEFENDING THE HOMELAND

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The massive walled citadel is named Jericho. The word means "fragrant,"

which is apt, for the aroma of its many palm trees and clear springs carries across the desert in all directions like a sweet perfume. Jericho is an ancient city, settled time and again over the centuries by different cultures. Tall, thick walls that have kept out many an enemy surround it. The Hebrews have crossed into the Promised Land, and this cherished settlement calls to them.

For forty years since escaping Pharaoh, the Israelites have wandered the wilderness of the desert. They have brought with them the Ark of the Covenant--the sacred vessel, designed from specifications passed down from God, that holds the Ten Commandments. Their Ark needs a home, as do they. And they are prepared to fight for it.

The great walls of Jericho loom before the Hebrews. It is many years after Moses, and the now-muscular, sixty-year-old Joshua has taken over as their leader. He has sent a pair of spies, Nashon and Ram, into the city on a reconnaissance. In the dead of night, they scale the high walls and witness a scene of chaos. On the outside, Jericho appears impregnable. But inside, its people fear a siege. They hoard food and water, knowing all too well the starvation that will ensue once the Hebrews stop all supplies coming in and out of the city. Jericho's military commanders will certainly put up a fight, but there won't be much they can do if the Hebrews choke the life out of the city, which means a shortage of ammunition and weapons as well as of

sustenance.

"Go home," one of Jericho's military leaders, a strapping man with an eye for the ladies, screams as he walks through the darkened city streets, lit only by torches. "Lock your doors. The enemy are close, but they won't get in."

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Unbeknownst to the commander, Nashon and Ram are already high up on the city walls. They prowl its darkened parapets, searching for signs of weakness and military vulnerability--anything that will allow Joshua and the his army to defeat Jericho's Canaanite inhabitants.

A lone woman walks down a street inside Jericho, her face radiant in the moonlight. Rahab carries her water jar in preparation for the siege, which nearly falls to the ground when four Jericho soldiers intentionally collide with her. Her beauty is legendary in Jericho, as is her trade--she sells her body to make money. This flawed and fragile single mother is imperfect. God has selected her to see that His will is done. Rather than choose a man or woman who might seem more upright or virtuous, God will prove His



strength in her weakness.

As God begins his work with Rahab, it seems like just another ordinary night. Men ogle her as she walks from the well. Wives gaze at her with contempt, jealous of her sensual beauty, angry that their husbands would prefer Rahab's bed to theirs.

A small group of soldiers blocks her path home, jostling Rahab and flirting coarsely. They step aside when Achish, their commander, forcibly stops her.

"Rahab, my little whore," he says, as if the words are an endearment. He brings his face close enough to hers that she recoils from his stale breath.

"What are you doing out?" he asks. "Those wilderness people are so close that I swear I can smell them from here. You know it's not safe."

"I'm safe enough," she responds, though her voice is shaky.

"No one is safe," the commander hisses.

Encouraged by their leader, the soldiers press in around Rahab. They are no longer playful, but rapacious. Their eyes are hungry and their hands positioned to grope her, as they have on so many other occasions. Yet they defer to their commander, and it is Achish who grabs Rahab, sending her water jar clattering to the ground. She tries to squirm away, but he manages to kiss her face. Only then does she free herself from his oily grasp.

The commander hasn't quite gotten what he'd hoped for, but there

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will be no more advances in the company of his men. "Go home," he purrs to Rahab. The insinuation is clear: Achish is keeping a close eye on Rahab.

His intentions are far from honorable.

He struts down the street, followed by his soldiers. A distressed Rahab picks up her half-empty jug and staggers into the night.

Meanwhile, Nashon and Ram, the two Israelite spies, cautiously throw down a rope and rappel down the enormous city walls. Jericho is still in a frantic mood, with the smell of fear in the air. But the two take nothing for granted, and move with stealth and caution. Nashon wields a battle-axe, while Ram slides his dagger into his belt. At the bottom of the wall, they conceal their rope and move carefully across a broad courtyard. This is the first time they've been in the open since entering the city, and both men are frightened about the danger. The penalty for getting caught will be just enough torture to loosen their tongues, followed by an immediate beheading.

An old woman surprises them. Nashon, the more fearless of the two spies, calmly places a finger to his lips to shush her. He smiles when she seems to comply, thankful that he has had the presence of mind to remain calm. But then she suddenly screams at the top of her lungs. Nashon and Ram run out of the courtyard and leap into an alley. They run with all their might, with each stride and footfall transforming themselves from spies to scared young men who will do anything to get out of Jericho immediately.

They make a hard right turn around a corner, but run only three more steps before spotting the dark silhouette of a Jericho soldier blocking their path.

Another soldier steps out of an alley. Nashon and Ram come to an

immediate halt, and then turn to sprint back the way they came. A third soldier struts out onto the street, this one pulling a sword from its scabbard.

"Brother," Nashon cries to Ram. "For Israel!"

That's all that needs to be said. Ram knows exactly what Nashon is 90

saying. With a dramatic swipe, he jerks his dagger from his belt and squares to fight.

"Get more men," one of the soldiers calls out loudly, knowing that there are dozens of soldiers within earshot. "The enemy is inside! Sound the alarm!

Sound the alarm! They're here!"

Within seconds, soldiers fill the streets. Among them is Achish, the commander. One of the soldiers blows a ram's horn, the signal that battle is imminent. In that instant, Nashon spies a way out. He sprints into a narrow gap between two homes, through a fetid goat pen, and away into the darkness. Ram is right behind him, running for all he is worth. The spies hug the walls, and try each doorway that they pass, but all are locked. The alley leads to another, and more doors. Finally, in the darkness, Nashon finds an unlocked door. He slowly pushes it open and finds the small home empty.

He and Ram waste no time hiding deep in the shadows, praying that the soldiers don't conduct a house-to-house search.

Behind them, the soldiers of Jericho mistakenly believe many more



members of the Israelite army are within their walls and frantically assemble for battle.

The countdown to war has begun.

Rahab has refilled her water jug when she hears the call of the ram's horn and starts to run home. It is a simple set of rooms built into the city's thick walls, with windows looking out into the street. Rahab's concern is not her own safety, but that of her young son. He is home with her parents, and if the Israelites are going to attack, she needs to be with him. But Rahab moves slowly, bearing her bulky water jug on her head, and she is soon exhausted.

Two of the soldiers who taunted her earlier run right past her, no longer interested in a whore when their lives may soon be on the line.

She watches incredulously as four soldiers run down an al ey, hunting Nashon and Ram. Despite the weight of her jug, Rahab forces herself to move faster. She is relieved as she approaches home. Rahab places her 91

water jug on the ground and leans back on to the smooth wood of her doorway. Exhausted, she is out of breath, and her chest heaves as she gulps for air. There is no telling if she will live until morning, or what the Israelites might do to her if Jericho falls. But for now she is safe.

Rahab lifts her water jug and pushes her front door open. The room is only half-lit by the moon streaming in the window, but Rahab doesn't need a candle to make the short way from the door to her table. She puts down the jug and tenses up. She notices nothing out of place about the room. She hears no shuffle of feet or deep breath to indicate anything is out of place.

She just knows that something is wrong. "Hello?" she says to the darkness.

Suddenly, a knife is pressed to her throat. Rahab tries to scream, but a hand covers her mouth. "Sshhh," hisses Ram.

Rahab's eyes widen in terror as she looks into the shadows and sees the broad-shouldered Nashon holding her son--the gleaming blade of a battle-axe pressed to the boy's throat. In the corner, her mother and father cower in fear. "We are a good and honest people," Nashon tells Rahab. "Help us, and



I promise I won't hurt him."

Rahab nods. She has no choice.

Ram releases his grip and takes the blade from Rahab's throat. He slides his knife into his belt once more. At the same time, Nashon puts the boy down and lets him run into his mother's arms. The boy cries out in happiness, but Rahab quickly shushes him.

"You're Hebrews?" she asks.

Nashon nods.

"Don't you have a god who commands the winds?"

Nashon nods.

"And parts the seas?"

Nashon nods again and speaks. "Our fathers were there on that day. God saved our people. We are His chosen flock."

Now Rahab is terrified. "All of us in Jericho have heard these many things about your God. Tell me this: how can we fight a people whose God can do those things?"

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"You can't," Nashon tells her.

"Everyone in Jericho knows this, and it fills us with fear. For your God is powerful."

"Yes," says Nashon. "Trust in Him."

They hear soldiers outside pounding on doors, drawing nearer and nearer to Rahab's home. It's only a matter of time before the Israelite spies will be found. There is no way out.

"I will hide you," Rahab tells them.

Nashon and Ram have no right to expect Rahab's assistance. They have entered the city illegally, they have entered a woman's home without her permission, and now they hide in the thatch of her roof, knowing that she might be forced to lie for them. But they have offered her something in return--safety for her and her family and a chance to trust in their God, to learn His ways. Just before she showed them to the roof, from which they can see the Israelites' campfires farther down the valley, Nashon and Ram gave her a scarlet cord to tie in her window. "Tie this scarlet cord in your window. We will convince Joshua, our leader, to prevent the Israelite army from harming you and your family, but only if that cord is hanging in the window."

Below, they hear the soldiers of Jericho banging on Rahab's door. As she opens the door to let them in, Nashon and Ram let down their rope so that it dangles from her roof to the far side of the city walls. The two men rappel down quietly. No sooner do their feet hit the ground than they are running hard toward the Israelite camp.

"Joshua," exclaims a breathless Nashon as he finds their leader.

Joshua is hunkered down over a fire, breathing in the still night air and wondering how God will choose to get them inside the city. He stands at the sight of Nashon, and tightly embraces the spy. "Tell me," asks Joshua, "did you find a way in? Is there a weakness?"

"The walls are solid and thick, and about as impregnable as any fortress known to man," Nashon tells him.

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Joshua is crestfallen, but tries hard to hide his disappointment. Nashon has shown great courage, and to disrespect this bravery would be an insult. But Joshua is confounded to see that this same terrible news doesn't trouble Nashon in the slightest. In fact, he seems to be growing increasingly excited about what he is going to say next.

"The walls are solid, Joshua," Nashon exclaims, "but their hearts are not.

We met a woman. She thinks that God has already taken the city, and that there is nothing the people of Jericho can do about it. Their people are already melting in fear because they believe God is with us."

Joshua could leap for joy. "He is with us! But we've still got to find a way to get inside those walls."

The Israelites have spent years in the wilderness. They've scarcely seen a



town, let alone captured one. Joshua has no plan of attack.

But he claps Nashon hard on the shoulder and wanders away from the fire.

He thinks of his old friend, long since departed, and his constant demonstrations of faith. "Moses, old friend," Joshua wonders aloud, "what would you do?"

As he saw Moses do so many times when life was hard, Joshua climbs a nearby mountain to think. He carries a torch to light the way, but otherwise it's dark. A moon hangs low and full in the clear air of the desert sky. A wind blows, and Joshua sees dust in the pale moonlight. Joshua stands alone, remembering the way Moses always returned from the mountain with simple answers to complex questions. Hours pass. It's getting late, and Joshua is feeling old, doubting himself. The deep chill of the night air is settling into his bones. In violent exasperation, Joshua plunges his torch into the ground.

Then he falls to his knees and prays. This, he remembers, is what Moses did constantly: pray. When life was uncertain, Moses prayed for guidance. When life was spectacular, Moses prayed words of thanks. When life was mysterious, Moses prayed for wisdom. Prayer was Moses' way. Joshua feels slightly foolish, because he's been standing up here alone in the darkness for hours, and this is

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the first time he's remembered to actually bow his head and talk to God.

"Lord," he begins. "I was a slave when You showed me Your love and Your power... You gave me a new life, a life that I cherish, despite its daily hardships. You have brought us so far, but now these mighty city walls stand before us. What is Your will? What would You have us do?"

Out of the silence comes a whoosh of air. The flames of Joshua's torch burn sideways as a blast of wind levels them. Joshua has seen many things in his life--the plagues in Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, the drowning of Pharaoh's army, and the many miracles God performed during the Hebrews'

forty years of wandering in the wilderness--great and awesome sights, all of them. Never, as long as he lives, will Joshua forget the sensation of walking between the great towers of water after the Red Sea was split.

But he will never forget this next moment.

A great and mighty warrior has appeared out of nowhere and stands before him now. A hood covers his head, but nothing hides his ramrod posture,



broad muscular shoulders, and the great sword in his hand.

Joshua is terrified. "Who are you?" he asks very carefully.

The warrior is silent.

Joshua bows his head, overwhelmed. This warrior is mighty. He slowly looks up and asks, "Are you with us or against us?"

The warrior's face is dark, and his eyes unblinking. "I am with God," he tells Joshua. There is no affect to his voice, just power. "I am Commander of the Lord's Army."

Joshua bows his head. This is an answer to his prayer. As terrifying as the warrior might be, Joshua knows God is with him. "What does God ask of us?"

Joshua feels the smooth blade of the warrior's sword press against the bottom of his bowed chin. But instead of harming him, Joshua feels the warrior press upward, forcing him to look up.

"The Lord parted the water for Moses--but for you..." The angel thrusts the blade of that great sword deep into the ground. Instantly, the earth begins to crack. The fissure widens and widens, spreading out

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around Joshua, but never harming him. "... He will split rock. This is what you must do..."

Joshua listens closely to what the angel tells him. Very closely.

It is daytime. The Israelite army assembles into an orderly formation and marches on Jericho. But they do not attack. Instead, they march around the city's walls, just as the Commander of God's Army ordered Joshua. They will repeat this exercise each day for six consecutive days, as instructed.

Joshua marches with his army, the words of the angel ringing in his ears:

"March around the city once a day with all the armed men. Do this for six days. Carry the Ark of the Covenant around the city. It contains God's commandments, showing that the Almighty is with you."



Joshua sees the men carrying the Ark. Thousands of sandal-covered feet kick up dust. Yes , he thinks, we are doing precisely as I was told.

But Joshua also knows that the best is yet to come. For on the seventh day, his men will not rest, as God did when creating the heavens and the earth.

No, the Israelite army will march seven times around the city walls, after which Israelite priests will blow a special trumpet made from the hollowed horn of a ram--the shofar--and then, with an enormous shout from the Israelite army, the mighty walls of Jericho will fall down.

Joshua knows that up and down the ranks, many of his soldiers are struggling with this plan. It seems ludicrous, and most definitely impossible.

To march around Jericho in the hot desert sun, clad in battle armor and coated in the thick clouds of dust produced by an army on the march, is the height of discomfort with no chance for valor. There is a great deal of grumbling, and Joshua knows that if this plan fails, his authority will be in question.

But he follows the plan and does not fear. Joshua has seen for himself what happens when a man has the faith to listen to God and do as instructed. He possesses that faith in great abundance. He marches, his

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mouth dry from the heat, ignores the cool shade of his tent calling to him, and waits eagerly for the seventh day.

The seventh day arrives. Joshua doesn't even wait for daylight to begin the seven laps around Jericho. The Israelites march by torchlight; the Ark of the Covenant is being carried by the strongest of their men, for its weight is considerable. Great expectation is palpable in the ranks, for after forty years of waiting and wandering, God has promised them a home in this land. The Hebrews think of their years sleeping in tents, and of the babies born in the thick, choking grit of the desert floor. They dream of solid roofs over their heads, and homes where they may raise their families in comfort and cleanliness.

One lap. Two. Jericho is not the size of a great metropolis, but it is large nonetheless. Each circuit around its walls is a minor act of endurance. Four.

Five. Men wonder if this far-fetched plan of Joshua's will work. He says it comes from God, and they believe him. But what if the walls don't fall? Will they still attack? Men wonder if this is the day they will die, and with that curiosity comes fear. They think of their loved ones, wondering if they will ever see them again. By the lights of their torches, the Hebrews see the terrified citizens of Jericho peering down from atop the walls. They are starving and scared, yet clinging to the hope that the walls that have protected them from the Hebrews thus far will continue to keep the desert wanderers at bay. Jericho's army stands ready in the battlements atop the city walls with spears, swords, and battle-axes.

Six. Seven. A Hebrew commander holds up a hand to end the march. The men know what to do next, standing still as seven Israelite priests step forth and, in unison, press the shofars to their lips. As one, they sound a long blast.

This is the signal Joshua and his army has been waiting for. The entire Israelite army shouts as loud as possible. The roar of the troops builds as the forty years of wilderness floods out of them. Joshua joins them, tilting his head back and letting loose a primal scream, shouting with

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all his heart and soul, remembering the words of the angel: "Glory will come."

Suddenly, Jericho's soldiers are hit by a shock wave. Their faces distort under the impact of the roaring sound. They fall backward off the walls and crash into the streets below. The noise floods over the walls and into the streets of Jericho. Her terrified citizens have nowhere to hide from these earth-shaking decibels. They run in circles, ears bleeding. The entire city is in chaos.

The noise fills Rahab's house, penetrating the mud walls and forcing her family to cower in the dark. But while her parents huddle beneath a table, afraid to move, this is the moment Rahab has been waiting for. "Mother!" she screams. "The cord!"

But her mother is too terrified to come out from beneath the table. Rahab grabs the red cord and runs to the door. She flings it open and sees people racing past frantically, none of them sure where they're headed or why they're running. Rahab attaches the cord to the doorframe, as instructed.

A bolt of lightning sizzles down from the black sky. A massive storm swirls overhead. Rahab shuts the door and retreats back into the darkness of her



home, unsure what will happen next.

A violent thunder rises from the desert floor. It is even louder than the thunder let loose by the Hebrews, who continue their roaring. The earth begins to shake. The tremors are small at first, and then grow stronger and more convulsive. Inside Rahab's small home, the masonry in the walls falls out and plates clatter to the earthen floor. Rahab covers her son's ears, as he begins to wail in terror. Tears course down Rahab's own cheeks as new noises of destruction from outside cause the room to fill with dust.

Meanwhile, the city walls have begun to collapse.

The earthquake grows more violent. Many citizens of Jericho have huddled in the city's main square to seek protection, only to have rocks and buildings fall and crush them. The city walls are rubble, and the shaking continues.

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Then, almost as quickly as it began, the trembling stops.

The lightning stops. The roars of the Israelites are no more.

The voice of Joshua cries out to his army. Without their walls to protect them, all of Jericho hear the words of Joshua ring out: "Jericho is ours! Every man must go in. We give this city to the Lord."

Joshua follows his two spies, Nashon and Ram, through a collapsed section of Jericho's wall. Time seems to slow as he surveys the wreckage of this once-great city. The people and soldiers of Jericho stumble, bleeding from the ears and noses. The city's military is helpless, and the Hebrew army cuts them down easily. God has willed that everything in the city be destroyed, and it is Joshua's responsibility to ensure it.

Everything, that is, except Rahab and her family. For God has said that she must be spared for helping the Israelites.

As Israelite troops beat down doors and enter houses, Nashon and Ram race toward Rahab's home, searching for the telltale and all-important red cord. They sprint through the city streets, hurdling fallen rock and the remains of homes, ignoring the cries of the dying. In the distance, that red cord flutters in the wind, and the two hulking Israelites aim toward it.

They kick in Rahab's front door. The entire family is cut and bloodied from the destruction--but alive.

Time is of the essence. "Our men are coming," Nashon screams, holding out a hand. Rahab cowers on the floor from the noise, unsure who to trust or where to turn for help. She hesitates. The Israelites are the enemy of the people of Jericho. To trust Nashon will mean forever turning her back on the place of her birth and the people she has known since childhood.

Nashon can see her dilemma. "You can't stay here," he reminds her softly.

Rahab takes Nashon's hand. He lifts her from the floor and holds her protectively against his body. This is a new sensation for Rahab--being 99

protected by a man, rather than being taken advantage of. In this moment she leaves her Canaanite heritage and joins with the Israelite people, soon to worship their God and stay with them for the rest of her life.

Ram lifts Rahab's son into his arms and uses the same urgent tones to convince Rahab's parents to flee with them. They all stumble out of the house and make their way to the city's main square. The scene is a warped vision of dust, smoke, the bodies of Jericho's fallen citizens, and exhausted Israelite soldiers. Joshua stands at the center of it all, holding up his arms to heaven. "God has kept His promise," he mutters joyfully to himself. "God has kept His promise." The former slave is now master of the Promised Land.

His first thought is to give thanks, for he knows that God cherishes a thankful heart. "Thank you," Joshua shouts to Nashon, the spy who first penetrated these city walls. "Thank you," he shouts to Rahab, who made the Israelite victory possible by hiding the Israelite spies. And, finally, "Lord," he screams to his maker. His heart fills with gratitude and love for God. "Thank You."

Then Joshua hears it, a low and rumbling chant that spreads through Jericho. The words remind him of those days so long ago in Egypt, and the distant dream that someday the Israelite slaves would escape that awful world of toil and strife to create a home all their own. The chant is this: "Is-Ra-El! Is-Ra-El!" and it emanates from the lips of every Israelite soldier standing in the ruins of Jericho. Some are cheering. Some are crying tears of joy and exhaustion. From slaves to a nation. The impossible dream has become a reality: the Israelites are home.

"When we obey the Lord," Joshua tells anyone who will listen, "anything is





possible."

Joshua is a man of faith. And for the next fifty years he leads the Israelite army as they conquer the Promised Land. He forges an Israelite nation built upon the ideal of each man and woman putting their hopes and dreams in the capable hands of God.

But when Joshua dies, that faith seems to die with him. Generations 100

of Israelites forget their covenant with the Lord, turning to other gods to meet their needs--gods of rain and fertility, gods of the previous inhabitants of the Promised Land, who they wrongly believe will bless their new way of life.

God is grieved by this betrayal. He reminds the Israelites of the covenant with Abraham, and that the Promised Land is a gift that must be cherished.

God uses hard, powerful armies to attack the Israelites, like a father disciplines his son.

The cycle will be repeated for hundreds of years: Israel breaks their covenant; God sends foreign armies to subdue and subjugate them; they learn the lesson and cry out for help; God then raises a deliverer or "judge"

to save them; and, once again, the land enjoys peace, until a future generation again forgets God.

Of all the foreign enemies that subdued the rebellious Israelites to this point in history, none was more powerful than the Philistines. They soon conquer the Israelites and claim much of the Promised Land for themselves, yet God has not deserted His chosen people. He longs to renew His covenant with the Israelites and return to them the Promised Land.

Once again, God chooses a most unlikely individual to carry out this plan--

an eight-year-old boy named Samson, who has the strength of a lion.

It is 150 years since the death of Joshua. The Philistines, a sophisticated culture, control the coastal regions of the Promised Land, and despite their oppressive attitude, many Israelites find their ways attractive. Some have even stopped worshipping the God of Abraham and instead choose to bow down to Philistine gods.

One day, an angel of the Lord appears to a woman as she draws water from the village well. She is barren, and though she prays daily for a child, her faith has not been rewarded. The angel is in disguise, his face partially concealed by a hood. "Do not be afraid," he tells her. "Though you are barren, God will give you a son."

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She is speechless as the angel suddenly disappears from her sight.

Then he stands behind her, his lips uncomfortably close to her ear, and informs her that there are conditions to this childbirth, a strict code of conduct that she must follow throughout her pregnancy and beyond: "See to it that you drink no alcohol and eat nothing unclean. And when your son is born, no razor may be used on his head. This will be the sign that the boy is given to God."

Unable to find words, she nods in agreement.

The boy is soon born and given the name Samson. By the age of eight, he knows the story of the angel by heart. His mother believes that he is destined to free the Israelites from the Philistines.

Ten years pass. Samson is a young man now, with a thick head of hair that flows in great powerful locks, just as the angel requested. He is renowned for his feats of strength, and for the yoke of muscles descending from his powerful shoulders down his back. Some say there is no more powerful man in all of Israel. But Samson has done nothing to free the Israelites from Philistine rule. He has strayed from the God of Abraham and taken Habor, a Philistine woman from a place called Timnah, for his wife.

On the way to the wedding, Samson and his parents approach the vineyards on the outskirts of Timnah. Within the maze of grapes and vines, Samson finds himself separated from his mother and father. Frantically searching for them, he takes a wrong turn into an isolated lion's den. Suddenly a young lion cub leaps at Samson. In that moment, the spirit of the Lord grants Samson the strength to protect himself by tearing the lion apart with his bare hands. After collecting himself from this unexpected attack, Samson sets off to find his parents. As he turns to walk away, he hears the fervent buzzing sound of bees pol inating inside the lion's carcass. This gives him an idea.

He will keep the lion's attack a secret.

Upon arriving in Timnah with his parents, Samson can already sense the tension caused by his wedding. The ceremony takes place in the village courtyard. On one side sits his Israelite mother and father; on the 102

other, Habor's Philistine parents. She is a delicate bride, as beautiful and lithe as Samson is strong. It is Samson's wish that his mother love Habor, rather than disparage her son's choice. As the wedding band plays in the corner, Samson gives Habor a peck on the cheek and whispers into her ear,

"I will go talk to her."

Samson crosses the room. He is discreet, speaking in soft tones to his mother. "I know that if you had your wish I would have married one of our people."

"Not my wish. That directive came from God, so I certainly hope that God understands your choice," his mother sniffs.

"But it was God who sent her to me. I know it in my heart. Does love not come from God?"

Abimilech, a Philistine warrior, enters the courtyard. He is renowned for his disdain for the Israelites and fondness for taunting their God. His assistant, a deputy prefect named Phicol, accompanies him.

Samson's mother sees Abimilech and points him out to her son. "Will your love protect us from that one?"

Their discussion is interrupted by a chant, "Samson! Samson! Samson!" as the wedding-goers demand that Samson perform a feat of strength. Three Israelites struggle with a heavy clay jar of water. They place it in front of Samson as the other members of the wedding party rush to his side and urge him to hoist it.

The jar weighs well over two hundred pounds. Yet it is as light as a feather for a man with Samson's muscles. He lifts the jar above his head, and tips it back so that water pours into his mouth and spills all over his face. The courtyard erupts in applause. The men all wish they had Samson's power, while more than one woman finds herself admiring the size of his muscles.

Still holding the jar above his head, he carries it across the room to Abimilech. There he places it on the ground and challenges the Philistine to lift it. This is no longer the gentle Samson who gave his wife a loving kiss



just moments earlier, nor the doting son who wants to please his mother.

Samson is now surly and bullying, a defiant Israelite afraid of no 103

man, determined to show the Philistines that he is the greatest man in their entire kingdom.

Abimilech is humiliated. He cannot lift the jar. Attempting it will make him look like a complete fool. He surrenders.

Not being content with his humiliating strength, Samson decides to further embarrass the Philistines with his intellect. He asks an impossible question.

"Let me tell you a riddle," proclaims Samson to the humiliated Abimlilech. "If you give me the answer within the seven days of the feast, I will give you thirty linen garments and thirty sets of clothes. If you can't tell me the answer, you must give me thirty linen garments and thirty sets of clothes."

"Let's hear it," Abimilech retorts.

Samson's booming voice recites the riddle he had come up with in the lion's den: "Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet."

Silence falls over the wedding feast. Nobody can solve the riddle. Furious, Abimilech turns and walks away, his every footfall mirrored by the loud beat of the wedding drum. But Abimilech doesn't go far. He and Phicol study Samson from a discreet distance, hidden in the shadows just beyond the courtyard. "Who gave consent for this wedding match, Phicol? I certainly didn't. Any Philistine man would have been a better match than that abomination."

They observe the look on the face of Habor's father, and the way he idolizes Samson. "Her father is weak," Phicol mutters. "But how do we get to Samson? He's too powerful."

Abimilech smiles again. "Leave it to me. We are not going to get to him," he says, then looks hard at Habor. "We are going to get to her ."

After three days of feasting, the Philistines are still unable to solve the riddle.

As Samson rests in privacy, Phicol confronts Habor for the answer.



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"I do not know. Samson has not told me," replies Habor.

"Coax your husband into explaining the riddle, or we wil burn you and your father's household to death," threatens Phicol.

Horrified, Habor throws herself onto Samson, sobbing, "You hate me! You don't really love me. You've given my people a riddle, but you haven't told me the answer."

"I haven't even explained it to my father or mother," says Samson. But on the seventh day of the feast, with Habor fearing for her life, Samson gives in to her pleading and confides in her the answer to the riddle.

Valuing her life and her loyalty to her people, Habor in turn explains the riddle to Abimilech and Phicol.

That night at the final banquet of the wedding feast, Abimilech stands to address Samson, "What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?"

Samson immediately recognizes that the impossible riddle was solved.

Enraged and betrayed, Samson flees the wedding party, plotting revenge on Abimilech and his people for humiliating him at his own wedding.

Later on, at the time of the wheat harvest, Samson seizes his opportunity to retaliate. He sets fire to the Philistine fields and watches as the shocks, standing grain, vineyards, and olive groves burn.

Fearful of Samson's strength, Abimilech refers back to his original plot: "If I cannot destroy Samson directly, I can use his helpless wife."

A fist bangs on the door to the home of Habor's parents. It is night. Samson is not home, so his wife opens it.

Abimilech and Phicol step inside. Their eyes scan the room. "Where's Samson?" Phicol demands.

"I don't know. He's not here," she replies.

That's all Abimilech needs to hear. "Do it," he commands Phicol.





The soldiers quickly bind Habor's father and mother, then tie them to one of the home's support poles. Phicol wraps his arms around a struggling 105

and screaming Habor as the soldiers carry straw from the manger and scatter it about the floor.

"You're a disgrace to our people," Abimilech tells Habor, stroking her under the chin.

Abimilech and Phicol leave, locking the door from the outside. A torch is thrown onto the thatch roof, setting it ablaze. Inside, Habor pleads for mercy and pounds on the door. A crowd gathers, watching as the house is consumed in flames and smoke. As Habor's screams slowly fade to nothing, not a single bystander defies the soldiers and attempts to save her life.

Samson's one-man war against the Philistines begins the moment he learns of the atrocity. Nothing can stand in the way of his revenge. The first to die is a Philistine guard standing watch near an alley. Samson merely approaches him, takes his head into his hands and snaps the man's neck. "That's for my wife," Samson tells him.

Unable to control his rage, Samson continues his murderous cycle of revenge. He bursts into the barracks housing Philistine soldiers without warning, brandishing a wooden club. He is instantly attacked by a half-dozen armed men, but swats them away. Soldiers are thrown over the balcony into the courtyard below, and then Samson moves into the jail, opening the cells to release their Israelite prisoners. Just as on that great day when Joshua and the Israelite army laid waste to Jericho, Samson kills every Philistine in sight before storming into the night. Yet he is far from finished getting revenge.

Abimilech surveys the aftermath of Samson's rampage. "One man did all this?" he asks, looking at the piles of dead bodies. Flies buzz over the corpses.

"It was Samson," replies Phicol. "The man who burned--"

"I know who he is," Abimilech interrupts.



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The Philistine guards standing nearby know better than to speak. They watch Abimilech as he simmers in a quiet rage, scheming to regain control of the situation. A crowd of Israelites has gathered to witness the commotion.

"Where is he?" Abimilech yells to the crowd of Israelites standing outside the barracks. "Where is Samson?" Their mere presence enrages Abimilech, and in his anger he marches over to an Israelite elder and wraps his fist around the old man's throat. The elder, Elan, is known for his wisdom and authority.

" You will bring Samson to me," Abimilech tells him. "And you will do it quickly, because for every day that I don't see him, two of your people will die." He slowly eases his grip on the old man's throat. "Am I understood?"

Elan gasps for air, nodding all the while as he takes a hasty step backward.

"Starting now," Abimilech adds. He snaps his fingers.

Phicol grabs two hapless Israelites. They don't fight back or even struggle, for to do so might anger the Philistines. Phicol shoves the Israelites into the hands of his bodyguards, and then slits their throats.

Had Abimilech known that Samson's mother was among those in the crowd, perhaps those two men's lives would have been spared. For she alone knows where to find her son.

A shadow falls across the entrance to a cave situated high atop a steep cliff far outside town. A frightening and precarious path leads to this cave.

Samson's aging mother now bravely makes the climb, accompanied by Elan and a small crowd of Israelites. They make their way upward, breathing hard from the effort, and take care not to look back down to the valley floor. Small rocks clatter down the slope from above, causing them to press their bodies into the face to avoid being hit.

At last, they reach the cave. The villagers enter, one by one, led by Elan.

Samson's mother enters last, unsure whether her presence will anger her son.

"Samson," Elan calls out softly. His voice echoes into the darkness.

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Silence. From somewhere deep inside the cave comes the drip of water.

Samson's mother steps to Elan's side. "Samson? Are you there, son?"

They step forward. In the corner, hidden from easy view, is the form of a sleeping man. Elan contemplates what tragedy might befall him if he surprises a sleeping Samson; so it is Samson's mother who bends down to awaken her slumbering giant.

But the instant she touches the blankets, Samson's mother pulls back her hand in horror. This is not Samson. Not at all. It is merely a pile of clothes and blankets formed into the shape of a man.

"Mother," Samson says from behind her, as he emerges from the shadows.

He towers over the Israelites, who now back away from him in fear. The depth of Samson's grief shows on his lined and weary face. There is a wild look to his eyes, and in the confines of the small cave Samson looks even more imposing than ever before. His long, thick hair rolls down onto his shoulders like a lion's mane, giving Samson the appearance of a predator.

He looks capable of killing every man, woman, and child in the land to avenge his wife's grisly murder.

"We're here to reason with you," assures a fearful Elan.

"Reason?"

"You must stop the killing, Samson. Please--for the sake of us all. For every Philistine you kill, two more appear, seeking revenge--on us."

"As they did to me, so I have done to them."

Elan is growing exasperated. "Don't you realize that the Philistines are our rulers now?"

"Everyone," Samson replies, walking a fine line between being respectful of Elan and letting him know that he has a job to complete, "must do what he thinks is right."

"No, Samson. Do what's right for your people and for God. Not for yourself."

Samson's mother steps forward and takes his hand. She has not forgotten the promise the angel made so long ago. She trusts that God has a plan that veers from the logical to the impossible in order for His will to be done. "You must give yourself up, my son," she whispers tenderly.



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"Is that what God wants?" replies a crushed Samson.

"Sometimes... you must trust in God. He leads us in ways we cannot see. He will guide the choices you make. We must trust in God."

Samson looks to the sky. It feels like an eternity. Then he bows his head and extends his powerful hands. With great relief, Elan nods, and two men step forward to bind his thick wrists with rope. Samson looks to his mother for support, but she cannot meet his eyes. Samson, the strongest man in the land, allows himself to be meekly led away.

Forsaken by his people, labeled a murderer by the occupiers of his nation, and surrendered by his mother, Samson is now chained to a stone wall in the market square. Vendors' stalls line the far wall, and the bleating of lambs and goats destined for slaughter fills the air. Those powerful arms are secured straight out to each side, and the metal chains bite into his wrists.

Samson's thick hair is matted, and his body aches from where his Philistine guards have beaten him with fists and rods, knowing that he cannot fight back. Israelites and Philistines press in on all sides, staring at him and making jokes about his powerlessness. Some spit on him. Others jeer. But they know better than to get too close, for even weighted down with chains, Samson's great strength is evident to all. More than one man wonders if Samson will somehow break those chains and continue his cycle of

revenge.

Only Abimilech dares to come face-to-face with Samson. The two men stand inches apart, glaring into each other's eyes. "You have your prize," Samson says through gritted teeth. He suppresses the urge to spit at his captor. That would do him no good. Better to wait, find a way to escape, and deal with Abimilech and his minions in a more permanent manner.

"All I see is a common murderer," replies Abimilech. He is calm, smug, thinking of the day he will slice Samson's body in two and throw his corpse to the scavenger dogs. Then, and only then, will he be sure that Samson will never kill Philistines again.

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"It was you who murdered my wife."



"She was a Philistine, not one of yours. We needed to teach a lesson--a lesson that your people will never forget."

"And now that you have me--will you finally leave my people alone?"

Abimilech laughs. It is an insipid chortle, the sound of a man who believes himself omnipotent. "Not until we drive you all back into the wilderness where you belong."

Samson realizes that he has made a mistake. His people are not safe after all. Abimilech nods at Phicol. "Kill him."

A gasp rises from the nearby Israelites. They have been betrayed. In their haste to save their own skin, the Israelites have sentenced to death the one man who can save them.

The Philistine soldiers draw their swords. Abimilech steps back to watch the carnage.

Samson hears a voice. "Lord?" he replies, startled to realize that God has waited until his moment of greatest need to speak to him. Samson gazes at the ground, where the jawbone of a donkey rests in the desert dust, dirty and neglected. A new power ripples through Samson, and he knows that the bone has been placed there for a purpose. The soldiers are mere steps away. Samson is not looking at them, much to the dismay of Abimilech, who has long waited to see a look of terror in the strong man's eyes. Instead, Samson stares at the jawbone and speaks to God. "Lord," he asks more loudly, "is that You?"

"It is."

Samson hears God's voice and is amazed at the power beyond all power coursing through his muscles. Samson snaps his chains as if they were made of twigs. He takes hold of the steel links and swings them around his head to force the soldiers back. Believing that their sharpened swords will save them, the Philistines rush at him, only to have Samson drive them to the ground with the snap of a chain.

Samson then snatches the jawbone from the ground. Chains still

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dangle from his wrists, thanks to the steel shackles, but now he has a weapon--a length of sun-dried bone no different from any other donkey's jawbone, but Samson wields it like the greatest weapon known to mankind.

Part scythe, part sword, part battle-axe, part saber, and part war club. He bludgeons any Philistine foolish enough to attack. One soldier is smashed in the head. Another is hurled backward into a market stall. The stall collapses, and the Philistines scatter. Only Abimilech and Phicol remain, and Samson could slay them with the jawbone in an instant. But Samson has far greater work to do, and after piercing them with a hard glare that says he still has not forgiven them the death of his wife, he stalks off in the opposite direction.

Samson doesn't walk far. The moment he turns a corner into an alley, he falls to his knees. Breathlessly, he presses his hands together and speaks to God. "Lord," he asks, "is this what You want? Please, I beg of You, guide me."

Samson hears footsteps behind him. He leaps to his feet, jawbone in hand, believing it to be yet another soldier. But it is a woman, a most beautiful woman. She is so utterly stunning that Samson forgets his rage and simply stares into her dark eyes. The woman carries a jug of water, which she now places on the ground. Staring seductively into Samson's eyes, she pulls back the scarf that covers her head, then bends to pour a cup of water and holds it up for him to drink.

Samson suddenly realizes his great thirst. Hours chained in the market square have made him parched. He feels the thickness of his tongue, and his lips are dry, chapped. He drinks greedily, never once taking his eyes off this vision before him. She is clearly a Philistine, and Samson remembers his mother's admonition that he find a woman from his own tribe.

Samson gulps the last of the water and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. He notices the woman admiring his massive bare chest, and her gaze has lingered on the definition in his rugged shoulders. "Who are you?" he says finally.

"Delilah," she answers demurely. "My name is Delilah."

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Word soon travels back to Abimilech about Delilah. The Philistine commander has retreated from the Israelite village to a barracks in his hometown. Samson's victory against the Philistine army seems blessed.

Abimilech seeks his own blessing from the pagan deity Dagon, and burns an animal sacrifice in the dark of the night. Smoke fills the small chamber as Phicol enters with news from his spies.

"We have news of Samson," Phicol crisply briefs Abimilech. "He's got a new woman--a Philistine woman."

"Another one of our women? What's her name?"

"Delilah," answers Phicol.

Abimilech smirks, for once again he believes he is about to gain the upper hand against Samson. "I know her. Bring her to me. I need to talk to her."

Delilah is brought before Abimilech. He stands on a balcony above her so that she does not see him when she first enters his quarters. Abimilech gazes down on her, infuriated that an Israelite would dare touch such a spectacular example of the Philistine people. Her beauty is so great that even that the hardened Abimilech stammers for a moment before regaining his composure. He will do anything to please a beautiful woman. He has thoughts of rapture and ecstasy about her, longings of the flesh that he must put aside if he is to win this war.

"Delilah," Abimilech says as powerfully as possible. But his thin voice betrays his weakness. "Thank you for coming," he adds a little more confidently.

Abimilech disappears from Delilah's view, descending from his balcony via a back staircase. His eyes wander over every inch of her body as he reappears behind her. "As beguiling as ever," he says softly.

Delilah whirls around. "What do you want?"

"For now," he purrs, "let's just have a little talk." The purr turns to a growl as his voice grows cold. "I'd like to talk about Samson. An interesting choice, wouldn't you say? Not one of us. Whatever makes you think you belong with him?"

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"Why do you want to know?" Delilah answers defensively.

Abimilech reaches out and touches her softly beneath the chin. "What's that tone in your voice? Don't tell me that you care about him."

Her silence speaks volumes.

"So I'm assuming he's in love with you?" asks Abimilech.

"Ask him yourself," Delilah fires back, not at all afraid of the Philistine commander.

Abimilech steps right up to her, so close that he breathes in her face, then grabs her arms so that she can't step back. "He's butchered hundreds of our people." His spittle coats her smooth, unlined face as he loses control of his anger. "Have have you forgotten that?"

"And how many have you butchered, Abimilech?"

"Do not confuse justice with murder."

"Do you really think you're any better?" asks Delilah. "But Samson's changed. He's a different man since he met me."

Abimilech laughs bitterly. "Do you really believe that? The truth is that he will go on killing until we find a way to stop him--for good."

The words are like a dagger to Delilah. Abimilech can see their impact and lets her go. "Do you know what happened to his first wife?" he asks. "She died, shall we say, young . Do you want to die young, Delilah?"

He reaches for her chin again, but she turns away. He gruffly grabs her face and snaps it back toward his own. "Where does he get his strength, Delilah?

What is his secret?"

"I don't know," she replies meekly. "He won't tell me."

"Find a way."

Now Delilah is terrified, caught between the wrath of the two most powerful men in the land. "You've seen what he's capable of. I don't know if I can do it."

Abimilech gestures to Phicol, who drags a large wooden chest over from the shadows. "Perhaps this will help," Abimilech tells her.



Phicol opens the heavy lid. Delilah, who has never had much money in her life, is stunned to see thousands of shiny new silver pieces gleaming 113

back at her. She stares at the chest, dumbstruck. The money is an absolute fortune, money beyond imagination.

"I like to call this 'danger money,' " Abimilech says, his charm returning.

Delilah reaches for the coins and grasps a fistful. It feels so good in her hands--so solid.

Abimilech knows in an instant that she's made up her mind. "It's all for you,"

he says, watching the silver swim in Delilah's eyes.

Delilah is incredulous. She bends to sweep the silver into the hem of her dress.

But Abimilech snatches her wrist and squeezes it so tight that the coins slip from her grasp and clatter back into the chest. Then he slams the lid shut.

"Soon, Delilah. Soon. But not now. Only when we know his secret. On that day, all of this will be yours. So tell me: can you find that secret?"

Delilah takes a deep breath and nods.

The night is late. Samson pulls Delilah's body to his, then kisses her tenderly on the lips. This is the moment Delilah has feared, for she knows that any caution in her kiss might give her away. So she wraps her arms around Samson and kisses him like this could be the last time. Samson does not suspect anything; he picks her up and carries her to bed. She breathes heavily in his ear, anticipating the passion soon to come. "Why are you so special?" she asks seductively. "What makes you so different?"

Samson lays her on the bed without answering. He lies beside her, and they hold each other. "You seem invincible," she says innocently. "Can anyone defeat you?"

A confused Samson turns to face her. "What do you mean?"

"Just curious. There seems to be a secret to your strength. If we are to be together we shouldn't have secrets."



Samson looks into Delilah's eyes for signs of her intentions, but sees nothing duplicitous. Her hands run through his long dark hair as his 114

hands caress the soft flesh of her back. "God is with me, Delilah," he finally answers. "He makes me strong."

"But how? How does He make you strong?"

Samson is actually relieved to bare his soul. The words pour from his mouth without filter, confessing all to his beloved. "My mother was barren. God brought her a child--me. But there are things I mustn't do."

"Like what?" she asks, softly kissing his neck.

"My hair. I have never cut my hair. I'm forbidden. It's my sign of devotion. If I cut my hair, my God will take away my strength. I'll be as weak as--"

"As Abimilech?" Delilah whispers.

Samson can't help but smile, even though the mention of that name troubles him. The lovers say nothing for a moment.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Samson says.

Delilah can almost feel the silver in her hands--its heft, its polish, its power. "I do, Samson," she replies, kissing him with a bold new passion that he has never experienced before. "I believe you completely."

Samson sleeps. It is the deep sleep of the untroubled, and for the first time in months, he hasn't a care in the world. His heart is filled with the joy that comes with physical and emotional love. His massive mountain of a body, which has been tensed in anger and rage since the death of his wife, finally relaxes. He breathes deeply and quietly, lost in the most enchanting dreams he has ever known.

Samson stirs but doesn't awaken at the first snip as Delilah takes shears to his hair. She is cautious, starting at the longest end, far away from his head.

But his hair is so long that it is if she has cut nothing at all. Another snip. And then another. Soon it is gone--all of it. And still, he sleeps. The final lock falls to the floor just as Philistine soldiers rush into Delilah's bedroom.



"Take him!" Abimilech orders.

In that instant Samson is up, out of bed, on his feet and ready to fight.

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He touches a hand to his head and feels the stubble. A look at the bed--a pile of dark hair. A glance at Delilah--gorgeous, delightful Delilah, the woman of his dreams--as she turns away from him. His heart sinks. The Philistine soldiers easily hold him down. Samson fights back, but he has no strength at all. For the first time in his life, Samson is weak and afraid. "What have you done?" he yells to Delilah.

Abimilech empties the box of silver coins onto the bed, where they mingle with the coils of hair like exotic jewelry.

Samson's eyes dart to Delilah. He is dumfounded by her betrayal and curses his own foolishness.

She doesn't speak.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" leers Abimilech.

Samson struggles, but can't break away.

"So, my friend," continues Abimilech. "Take a good look. A very good look."

Samson doesn't want to look at his betrayer. He can still feel her fingertips on his skin. He loved and trusted Delilah. He can feel her warm breath and remember their words of love. He looks at his enchantress with pain in his heart.

"Now paint that picture in your head," says Abimilech. "For that is the last thing you will ever see." Abimilech bends over, his two hands extended, and Samson expects Abimilech to choke him to death. But instead, Abimilech plunges his thumbs into Samson's eyes.

Within a minute, Samson is blind.

Killing Samson would have shown benevolence. But Abimilech is hardly a merciful man. He orders Samson to be chained again--this time in a prison.

Abimilech allows his focus on Samson to slip for months.

Samson's hair grows and is getting longer. Samson presses his forehead against the cool stone of a prison cell inside the soldiers' barracks. He is alone, his eyes covered in bloody bandages. Darkness is his world. But it is in this darkness that he finally begins to see that his destiny

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will be fulfilled. Behind him, the door creaks as it swings open. "Who's there?" he cries in agony.

No reply, but Samson receives his answer soon enough. Two Philistine soldiers pummel him with fists and clubs, taking great delight in their work.

Samson roars in pain as the blows rain against his body, and his chains make a great clanking noise as he waves his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself. But with his strength and sight gone, there is nothing Samson can do. His bare chest and ribs soon resemble a side of beef, bloody and raw.

Only when Samson sags forward against the chains, unable to support his own body weight, do the soldiers unchain him, continuing their kicks and punches as the key turns in the locked manacles around his wrists and ankles.

When Samson collapses they drag him from the cell, rubbing the skin from his knees and feet, and into the temple of the Philistine god, Dagon. The room is packed with hundreds of people. Incense smoke wafts over their faces, and their eyes are watery and bloodshot. Pigs are being roasted.

Goblets of wine are filled and refilled. Dogs are allowed inside this great pagan assembly, and their barks and bellows ricochet off the tall stone pillars supporting the roof.

"Samson, Samson, Samson," they chant, spitting on the Israelite as his body is dragged through their throng. Even children are allowed to taunt Samson.

When the Philistine soldiers release Samson, he rises to his feet, confused.

Samson hears the ridicule, yet he cannot see who is showering him with oaths and profanities. He senses Delilah's presence in the room and turns in her direction.

She does not chant nor take delight in Samson's misery. But she is there, and he knows it.

Samson falters, on the verge of passing out once more. "I'm weak," he cries.

"Stand me up against something."

The guards lead Samson to the building's central pillars. In the distance, Abimilech watches carefully. Samson may be blind, but he is a

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formidable enemy. "Should have killed him when I had the chance,"

Abimilech mumbles to himself.

Phicol overhears. "It won't be long now," he tells his superior.

Abimilech nods, breathing a sigh of relief. Yes, Samson will be dead before the dawn. He takes a long pull on his wine and strides over to be near Samson in these final moments.

Samson, meanwhile, is behaving strangely. He seems to be caressing the stone on which he rests. He's even talking to the stone. "Lord God," he whispers, "if I am Yours, remember me and strengthen me once more so that I may have my revenge."

Abimilech overhears Samson's prayer and leans his face close to Samson's.

"Haven't you forgotten, Samson? Your hair has gone. You have broken your pact with your God, and now He has abandoned you."

"It wasn't God who took my eyes," Samson fires back. "It was you. But I'm glad you did what you did. The dark has helped me think."

Abimilech has never heard such foolishness. "Your God has deserted you and taken your strength with Him," he scoffs.

A look of complete serenity crosses Samson's face. "No. You're wrong. I can see Him more clearly than ever."

"Really. And what is He saying?"

Samson leans hard into the pillar, suddenly pushing on it with all his might.

He closes his eyes and prays a last prayer to God. "Lord, remember me.

Please God, strengthen me. Just this once. I pray that I am avenged of the Philistines for my two eyes."



Abimilech shakes his head as he watches Samson pray. "It's over, Samson.

I've won. Don't you see that?"

But then Abimilech feels a sting as something hard slaps his hand. He looks down and sees shards of fine stone. Then a cloud of dust seems to lower itself from the ceiling. A disbelieving Abimilech swivels his view back to Samson, whose entire body is flexed as he leans into the pillar like a desert wanderer leaning into a stiff desert wind. The muscles of Samson's back and shoulders ripple; his legs, pushing so hard into the stone, are coiled and taut.

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Fear sweeps through Abimilech. This can't be happening. Those locks were shorn. Samson's power should be gone. And then Abimilech realizes the truth: Samson's hair has grown back, but it was never the entire source of his power. It comes from God. Those great locks were just a daily visual reminder of Samson's pact with God.

The power comes from God. The God of the Israelites. And it always has.

Screams echo through the chamber. Philistine guards throw themselves at Samson, desperate to pull him from the pillar, but he swats them away like gnats. The roof begins to cave as great sections fall to the floor, crushing dozens at a time. Delilah is among them. Her mangled body lies in the rubble. The bones of her face are destroyed. Those curves that once enchanted Samson are now but a memory. All that silver cannot buy back her life.

Samson finishes what he started. The pillar topples, and finally Samson can stop pushing. He stands and smiles, nearly invisible in the dust and ruin. All around him the temple is collapsing, and he knows that his time has come.

"Lord," he says in surrender. "I am Yours. Let me die with the Philistines."

God answers this prayer. The entire temple is destroyed.

But Samson's victory is short-lived. The Philistines continue to wage war on the Israelite people. In the midst of this mayhem, the God of Abraham, for the first time in history, sends a holy man, a prophet. God will reveal the future of the Israelites to this man, Samuel. Not only will he deliver the Israelites from the Philistines, but he will also become their greatest spiritual leader since



Moses.

It has been many years since God has spoken to His people. Again God chooses Hannah--a righteous, barren woman--as his vessel. God

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answers her prayer for a son, whom she names Samuel, which means "He hears God."

When Samuel is fifty years old, he stands at a sacrificial site atop Mount Mizpah, surrounded by priests and elders. His hair is long and his beard is turning gray. The day has been a disaster for the Israelites, as Philistine soldiers have cut down entire Israelite families on the slopes of this rocky mountain. Even as Samuel now stands at its summit, a new battle rages below. The Israelite fortifications are weak, and though their army does their best to repulse the Philistines, the odds of them holding on for one more hour are slim. It is up to Samuel to save the day, because he is a man of faith. He chooses to wage war by calling on God.

"We must make a sacrifice," Samuel tells the gathering of men. "Where warriors fail, God will triumph." Samuel places a handful of dried twigs on top of a large rock, and then adds larger pieces of kindling. "Lord," he cries out, "hear me in our hour of need."

Phinehas, an elder, isn't watching Samuel pray. He's studying the battle.

What he sees isn't good. "Samuel, hurry. They're overrunning our lines!"

Even as the blaze grows larger and the flames seem to lick at the hem of Samuel's robe, the sounds of screaming and death can be heard. How far away are the battle lines? A half mile? Four hundred yards? Why, a swift Philistine could run that distance in minutes and kill Samuel and every other man here gathered. To merely stand and pray is an act of foolishness.

A desperate Phinehas would very much like to flee. He turns, on the verge of doing just that.

Samuel calmly reminds him to hold fast. "God is our only hope," he says.

As Samuel continues to put his faith in God, the Israelite army is being crushed. Their lines have fallen, and Philistine fighters are climbing over the dead bodies. A Philistine victory at Mount Mizpah could mean the end of the



entire Israelite nation, and men, women, and children flee from the approaching Philistines.

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Samuel lifts the sacrificial lamb onto the fire, scattering sparks everywhere, wreathing Samuel and the priests in smoke. "Lord, please accept our sacrifice and help us. Help Your servant in his hour of need."

He says no more. The clang of swords and screams of the dying grow nearer. Children are crying out for their mothers, and wives keen over the deaths of their husbands. Samuel is not indifferent to those sounds, but he remains focused on God's voice. He lifts his face to heaven and straightens his spine. Samuel's face grows taut and focuses as he listens to God.

A clap of thunder. A bolt of lighting. A single raindrop. And then a great wind rolls across Mount Mizpah, sweeping over Samuel and then down toward the advancing Philistine army, stopping them in their tracks. That single raindrop becomes a deluge, soaking the Philistines and turning the earth to a thick mud that makes their advance impossible.

"Hear your God, O Israelites," bellows Samuel over the wind. "He now comes to your aid."

Phinehas and the priests stand amazed. Samuel quietly gives thanks. On the mountain below them, the bodies of brave Israelite men are strewn as haphazardly as the sticks of Samuel's sacrificial fire. Philistine footsteps once again trample these corpses, but this time those footsteps are racing down the mountain, not up. Lightning strikes at their heels. They are retreating as fast and as far as their feet will carry them, thanks to Samuel and God.

The burden of being a prophet means having to prove that connection with God to the people over and over again. Years later, as Samuel grows old, he appoints his sons as Israel's leaders. Samuel gathers with the elders and priests at his home. His two sons, Joel and Abijah, have also been asked to join them. It was the elders who called this meeting, so Samuel is baffled by their presence. "What troubles you?" he asks cautiously.

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Phinehas speaks for the group. "We are grateful, prophet. You have given us great victories."

"God has given us great victories," Samuel corrects him.

"But who will speak to the Lord after you are gone?"

Samuel gestures to his boys. "My sons."

Phinehas is in awe of Samuel, so what he has to say takes a great deal of courage. "But Samuel, your sons are corrupt."

Samuel is not often furious, or even unkind. But now he stands and towers over Phinehas, his face livid with rage. "What? I have brought up my sons to trust in God and obey His laws. Everything I have done for you has been done because I walk in God's ways."

"They take bribes, Samuel. Everyone knows it. They shame your good name."

Samuel stares in horror at his sons. They can't meet his look. The silence is deafening after an eternity.

"So after you are gone," Phinehas continues, "and the Philistines return and we look to your sons to call on God... will God answer?"

A crushed Samuel closes his eyes in anguish.

"Tell me: what do our people want? What will reassure them that God will hear their cries?"

Phinehas speaks just two words--two words that will change the Israelite people forever: "A king."

Samuel is dumbfounded. "A king? This is a most dangerous idea. God is our king."

"Why should we be different from other nations?" demands Phinehas.

"But look what other nations' kings have done to their people. Kings become tyrants. They enslave their own kind," Samuel shouts.

"But never in history has a king been anointed by a prophet of God. That king would be different."



All the elders nod in agreement. Samuel still doesn't see the idea's wisdom.

His sons, the two men who have made this meeting necessary, stare at the floor, quite aware that their opinions do not matter. King or no king, their shame will follow them the rest of their lives.

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"God has promised us this land," Samuel argues. "It is not right for one of us to become king."

"How do we know that, Samuel?" counters Phinehas. "Have you asked him?"

Samuel is alone atop a desert hill. His thoughts are focused on God. Their partnership has molded the Israelite people ever since the death of Samson.

In the many dreams and conversations in which God has revealed His plans, there has never once been mention of an earthly king. So this idea put forth by the elders--an idea that has great merit--is stupefying. Is this an idea of man's or of God's? Samuel needs to know the answer.

"I have given everything," he explains to God. "But if you say I should give them a king, of course I will. But what should I do?"

God tells Samuel that they are not rejecting Samuel when they ask for a king. They are, instead, rejecting God. He tells Samuel to warn the people that an earthly king will be corrupt, and they will be very sorry when they live under the pain he causes them. But despite God's and Samuel's warnings, the people demand a king, so God decides to answer their prayers and give them one.

God plants an image in Samuel's head. It is that of a man who is physically head and shoulders above everyone else. Good with a sword, and at home on the field of battle: Saul.

Samuel bows his head. Then an idea hits him. He looks up at the darkening skies. "He will be the king and I will still be Your prophet, oh Lord. I can guide Your king."

Samuel goes in search of Saul, to name him the first king of Israel. He finds him weeks later, in a small village. Before a crowd of hundreds who chant his name in adulation, Saul is proclaimed the Israelite ruler. Samuel anoints



the new king with oil, and the Holy Spirit comes upon him.

But Israel's new king does not rule alone. He is subject to the word of the prophet. So even as Samuel stands over a kneeling Saul, pouring olive oil onto his forehead to anoint him as king, it is understood that

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they are a team: Saul is the king, and Samuel is his seer, the man to whom God predicts the future. "May I, as God's prophet, help you in any way I can,"

Samuel tells Saul.

The new king rises to his feet. The crowd surrounding the small platform chants his name. The ceremony has been brief, and no crown has been placed upon Saul's head. But he is king, nonetheless, ruler of all the land.

His first and foremost task is to reclaim the Promised Land by waging war on the Philistines and any other nation that seeks to claim it as their own.

Saul has a rebellious steak. He will have trouble letting Samuel play his role as prophet, and both men know it. As the two men now stare into one another's eyes just moments after the modest coronation, it is clear that their partnership will not always be an easy one.

It does not take long for Saul to lead the Israelites into battle. He is a good leader and wins many battles. On the morning of one planned attack, Saul and a small band of Israelite soldiers crouch low and run up a slope that overlooks an encampment of the Amalekites. Saul is short of breath after the brief uphill sprint, but his mind is sharp as he surveys the enemy. He has been told by Samuel to wait seven days, at which time Samuel will come and make the required sacrifice to God. Those seven days have almost passed. Saul is growing impatient.

He sees just one sentry. Time to attack.

"Are the men ready?" he says in a level voice to a nearby officer.

"Yes," comes the reply.

"And Samuel," Saul asks. "Any sign? We must make a sacrifice before we strike."

The officer takes a breath and shakes his head.

There has been no sign, no message, nothing at all to let Saul know Samuel's whereabouts or plans. This is the first test of their uneasy partnership. Saul feels abandoned. There is no longer time to wait. His men are growing impatient. Saul is losing his confidence. There must be a 124

sacrifice before battle. In his impatience and presumption, he believes Samuel won't come, so he takes Samuel's place as priest and prophet and slits the lamb's throat himself.

It is done. Saul holds the bloody knife and the limp corpse as a nearby soldier holds a bowl under the sheep's neck to catch the blood. Suddenly, a voice can be heard shouting angrily at Saul. "May God forgive you," cries Samuel. "May God forgive you!"

Saul looks up to see Samuel striding up the hill toward him, pushing his way through a thick crowd of impatient soldiers. "Where were you?" cries a furious Saul. "Seven days we've been waiting. My men are deserting."

Samuel says nothing. He grabs the blade from Saul's fist and seizes hold of the sheep. "Focus on being a military leader," he orders. "And leave the job of being a priest to me. God will not honor your sacrifice."

"I don't have time to argue, Samuel. Some of us have a fight to win. Some of us might not return."

"Remember, God instructs you to kill everyone and everything in this battle you are about to wage. Do not spare anyone or take any spoil."

Saul only glares at Samuel, then orders his men to assemble.

The attack goes according to plan. Saul personally leads the way, then watches with pride as his men slip quietly into the enemy camp. After a week of waiting, the entire battle takes just ten minutes. His men have even taken a battle-scarred warrior prisoner, and they lead him to a small wooden cage.

Saul has won his first victory since becoming king. "God is with me," he shouts, thrusting his arms to the heavens. "God is with me."

His men cheer Saul, even as they round up the goats and cattle captured



from the enemy. The Israelites have eaten little in the past few weeks, and the prospect of a hot meal does wonders for morale.

Samuel watches from atop a nearby ridge. He has seen the battle and hears Saul's delighted cries. "Are You really with him, Lord?" Samuel asks.

"Really?"

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The prisoner and the spoils are the problem. King Agag, as he is known, is alive. And so are the best of his herds of cattle and goats. Yet Samuel told Saul that God specifically ordered him to destroy everything in the village.

Now, as the evening campfires roar and the Israelite army relaxes after a meal of freshly slaughtered cattle, Samuel confronts Saul in front of his army.

"You had one task. One simple command from God. And what was that?"

"I have done what God commanded," replies a seething Saul.

"Then what is this bleating of goats in my ears? And who is this pagan king at your feet?"

"He will soon be put to death."

Samuel glares at Saul, then walks to Agag's cage and pulls hard on the rope around the king's neck. Agag crawls out like a dog, then roars in defiance.

But it is Samuel, and not Saul, who quiets that roar. The normally placid Samuel plunges a knife into Agag's neck. Death comes in an instant for the prisoner, whose lifeless body falls to the ground at Samuel's feet. Samuel bends down and pulls out the knife, wiping the blade on the dead man's robe.

"When God says kil , you kil ," says Samuel.

A shocked Saul struggles to assert himself. He has put up with Samuel's selfishness and tantrums one last time. "Samuel, you are our prophet, but I am your king."

"What the Lord gives, He can take away," Samuel shoots back.

Saul is feeling confident. "Are these God's words? Or are they yours?"

"Your descendants could have ruled for a thousand years, but because of



your actions today, God has forsaken you."

Saul grabs Samuel and means to shake him, but the men are watching.

Better to maintain dignity than to lose control. "More divine words?" Saul asks through clenched teeth.

Samuel turns away. The fabric of his robe tears off in Saul's clenched fist.

Rather than be outraged, Samuel quickly seizes the opportunity to 126

make a point. "Just as you have torn my robe, so God has torn your power from you. He wants a man after His own heart."

Saul storms away, muttering under his breath about Samuel's arrogance.

Killing him would be all too easy, though it would anger God. Samuel has sown seeds of doubt in Saul's mind, a feeling this eternally confident warrior has never known. But rather than react with violence, he desires to be alone.

"Bring me wine!" orders Saul as he throws open the door to his tent. A servant pours wine. Saul sits and drinks, staring hard at the scrap of fabric in his hands. "Perhaps I was too hasty," he says, shaking his head. "Perhaps I should ask Samuel's forgiveness."

Saul calls to his servant. "Bring Samuel to me," he orders.

"He's gone, Highness," replies the servant.

Saul storms out, screaming for Samuel, But the prophet is long gone--gone to find a new king.

That king will be David.

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