Gideon’s Math. And His Aftermath.

Most of you who have heard of Gideon have done so because his name is on virtually every hotel room bible in the USA.

But then others of you know him because of his math: he took an army of only 300 soldiers and defeated many thousands of Midiantes.

That’s Gideon’s math.

But do you know his aftermath?   Here it is:

33 Right after Gideon died, the Israelites once again acted unfaithfully by worshipping the Baals, setting up Baal-berith as their god. 34 The people of Israel didn’t remember the Lord their God, who had delivered them from the power of all their enemies on every side. 35 Nor did they act loyally toward the household of Jerubbaal, that is, Gideon, in return for all the good that he had done on Israel’s behalf.

Gideon’s life was truly a mixed bag. A military success but a religious failure. An army genius and a spiritual poser.

The aftermath above is the result of a progression of theft throughout Judges 8 — he has stolen women, household items, and, worst of all, both credit and glory from God. He is, for all practical purposes, a spiritual kleptomaniac.

As a result of all that thievery, in his aftermath he has his honor, his reputation, his legacy—everything that has been important to him. The people at first wanted to make Gideon their king, but by the end of his story they are spitting on his grave! Gideon’s progressive thefts lead to an aggressive loss. Here’s the bottom line we can take away from the ignominious second half of Gideon’s story: When you take what doesn’t belong to you, you lose what does.

Gideon took credit for victory, plunder from the enemy, and glory from God—none of which belonged to him—and in return he lost respect integrity, and legacy. He was so concerned with keeping up his appearances that he completely lost face! The more he posed, the deeper he lost. When you take what doesn’t belong to you, you lose what does.

How true this is. If we stop and think about it, we realize that we know the truth of this all too well. I’ve known people who have taken romantic partners that did not belong to them in acts of adultery. And in the aftermath of taking that, they lost what did belong to them: spouse, kids, home, church, reputation. Some have taken money or possessions that did not belong to them, and they have ended up losing their freedom as a result. Others have even taken safety from people on the road, and what they’ve lost is the ability to drive legally. If you do this kind of thing often enough at work or in school, you’ll lose friends, you’ll lose respect, you’ll lose opportunity, and you may even lose that job.

You know where this is so applicable? With truth itself. The whole phenomenon of idolatry at the end of Gideon’s story brings it home. One way to understand idolatry is to say that it’s exchanging the truth of God for a lie. It’s worshipping a golden priestly garment instead of the living God. It’s worshiping any false god instead of the true God.

It’s possible to steal truth, to replace it with a falsehood in your mind or in the minds of others, or even to rob people of the very idea of truth so that they don’t have anything concrete to hang onto. In the relatively recent history of the church, people have taken bits and pieces of the truth and quietly stolen it, bit by bit, from Scripture and from the Church.  Deep truths—like the virgin birth of Jesus, the reality of heaven and hell, and the literal return of Jesus in glory—have been robbed of their power because we have tended to substitute lesser things for them, claiming that they’re mere metaphors or ancient ideas that need to be modernized.

Teachers and writers, even pastors and theologians through the years have exchanged these truths for falsehoods and in the process have stolen what did not belong to them. The truth does not belong to us. Embodied in Scripture and the creeds, the truth is on loan to us. We are to hold it like a borrowed Stradivarius violin. “You be careful with this!” God is saying. “This is the faith passed once for all to the saints!” When we steal bits and pieces from this precious tapestry that’s never been ours to begin with, the result is that we lose the church itself. We lose our own way, and become just another social enterprise. When you take what doesn’t belong to you, you lose what does.

This is why I try never to use the phrase “my church” referring to the place where I serve as pastor. I never say that, or at least I try very hard to avoid saying that, because it’s not my church. The church belongs to Jesus Christ. I hope never to take what isn’t mine because I don’t want to lose what does belong to me.  Confession time: it bothers me even when I hear other pastors mention the phrase “my church.” The church I serve, any leadership position in the kingdom, is here on loan and I know how seriously God tasks us with faithful stewardship of these roles. And I know my heart and how deceitful it is, how much like Gideon I value appearances. So I know my own need for diligence.  When you take what doesn’t belong to you, you lose what does.

Because while I’ll take Gideon’s math, I have no use for his aftermath.


The thoughts above are excerpted from Crash Test Dummies, published by Abingdon Press and available here.