Deborah - Prophetess and Judge

     Somewhere, sometime ago, she had lost her sandal. She chuckled at herself, giddy with exhaustion, yet not quite sure why it was so amusing.

     “Are you all right, prophetess?” a soldier looked at her, concern clear upon his blood splattered face. He was but one young man among the thousands drawn from the tribes of Naphtali and Zebulun. One of many who had wet their blades with the blood of the Canaanites.

     “Yes, of course,” she said, but did not decline the proffered wine-skin he unslung from his shoulder. She took a long drink of the rich warm drink, and passed it back, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. Refreshed, she strode quickly on, her skirts swishing in the grasses. Her bare foot would soon be scratched and sore, but she refused to stop. She and the others were following as Barak chased the commander, Sisera, on foot. Behind them was a bloody field, riddled with overturned iron chariots. More lay scattered in a straggling trail. They had tried to escape, but now their wheels spun fruitlessly as if still trying to flee from their ruin. The pounding of thousands of hooves, the screams of horses, the clash of swords, and the wails of men were still reverberating in her head. She drew deeply of the clean air, yet it was if her nose was still filled with the tang of blood and stench of gore. She had learned the chaos and horrors of battle for herself. 

     For twenty years God had given them over to the Canaanites hand as punishment for their sin, but no more. This was God's Land! He had given them victory.

     Any pride she could have felt at being the prophetess who had given Barak his instructions for battle, she swept purposefully aside. She, a woman, had led the men when Barak refused to trust in God's words. When Barak had feared to lead the army without her at his side, the Lord had revealed to her that Sisera would sell himself into the hands of a woman. Her chin lifted slightly and she smiled ruefully. Perhaps she felt a little pride.

     She quickened her pace even more when she saw tents spread out before them.

     She saw Barak at last, his blood streaked shoulders heaving as he stopped his relentless pace and tried to catch his breath. They had made it to Harosheth-hagoyim, Sisera's home. The area was eerily quiet. All the men who had lived here, every man of age to draw sword, was dead, laying on the battle field near Mount Tabor. A woman was walking towards Barak from a tent, and Deborah rushed forward, her skin tingling with a strange feeling. She was in time to hear the woman speak,

     “I am Jael, the wife of Heber the Kenite,” her quiet tone was almost distracted. Barak stiffened at her name. Jael's people had made a peace pledge with their enemies. Could she be trusted? The Kenite woman held a hammer in one hand, and Deborah saw she was trembling  slightly. “Come with me. I will show you the man you are seeking.”

     Barak looked doubtful. His eyes cast around, still searching for the commander. It wouldn't be victory until Sisera was dead, and perhaps this woman was trying to divert his attention so the commander could escape. He glanced to the prophetess, and she raised her brows, waiting. He pressed his lips together and puffed a breath out his nose. He had followed a woman into battle, would he not trust this one too?

     “Show me,” Barak nodded curtly.

     Jael led them to her tent, and ducked through the open doorway. Barak stiffly entered the cool shade, and Deborah followed on his heels, feeling the woven mats beneath her bare foot.

    Jael's voice shook slightly as she said. “My husband left home in a hurry. He saw your armies amassing for battle on the mountain, and informed Sisera himself.” Barak drew a sharp breath, every muscle tensing as he glared at this woman. Jael did not pull back in fear, but gestured further into the tent. Deborah stepped forward, and saw at once that a man was curled on his side on the floor, covered by a blanket, the remains of a bowl of milk near his head. She recognized him as the leader of the Canaanite army. Barak raised his sword, but Deborah reached out and put her hand on his shoulder.

     “There is no need,” she said, and she laughed again. She looked to the hammer in Jael's hand, and saw the way the woman's chin lifted slightly. Sisera had indeed been sold to a woman. Barak looked closer and saw what had made Deborah laugh. A tent peg had been hammered through the commander's temple.

Read it this story for yourself: Judges chapters 4 and 5

A few thoughts:

Deborah is a rare woman judge, a person who led the people of Israel before they had kings. Jael is the wife of a man who is friends with Israel's enemies, yet she took a stand for the Lord. In the culture and time of this story, a woman was not usually a leader, nor was she normally considered powerful. Yet, God used these women to accomplish His purposes. This seems to me to be another example of how the Lord uses the something perceived as weak to show His might.

     On a historical note, the iron chariot was the “tank” of the day. It could mow through a battle and wheel around for another pass, using its speed to cut down enemies while evading their blows. Ten thousand men from the tribes of Naphtali and Zebulun faced a force that would make your knees knock together, yet they came out utterly victorious. Barak had to know it was God's hand that had achieved this amazing victory over militarily superior foes. He even had to admit that it was not he that truly led the army, but that a woman would get the glory.

Your turn!

Can you think of other Bible stories where God used someone “weak” to achieve His purposes? Do you ever feel like you're not strong enough, not wise enough, or not good enough to do God's work? Are you trying to serve under your own might, or God's?