8. “The Negotiator” (Judges 10-12)

Our passage this morning focuses our attention on an important question. What kind of relationship do we have with God? Is it a personal relationship? Or is it a transactional one?   

Do you know what I mean by this distinction? If you’re buying groceries at Marianos and checking out with an actual human being, that person might say, “Hi, how are you,” and you might respond. But generally you know that there’s not a real interest there. You’re there because you want her to allow you to bring food out of the store, and she’s there to make sure you pay her before doing so. She might be polite, saying “have a nice day” at the end, but neither of you are likely to think much about the other person in 5 minutes. The entire relationship was about the trade—you offered something, they offered something, that’s it.

Now, if it were my mother-in-law in this situation, it would quickly become something else. “Hi, how are you,” would be an invitation to start sharing about how she just had a nice conversation with her grandkids the other day. And, as others behind her start changing lines to a quicker checkout, she would start asking the checkout person if she had grandchildren and how many, and soon they would know each other by first name and be exchanging Christmas cards every December. That’s the difference: personal relationships are not about the trade, but about each other. They are not limited and controlled like transactional relationships are; they’re open and alive. And they’re not about achieving some objective. At their best, personal relationships are about love. 

One of the sad things in life is when relationships that should be personal are treated as transactional. Maybe you’ve had the experience of thinking you had a friendship only to discover that the person was being nice to you only as long as they needed something from you. They invite you to dinner and as dessert is being served, “I want to tell you about Amway…” We know that some kids grow up in this world believing that the only way to make their parents happy with them and treat them nicely is by achieving, excelling, succeed. It can feel to them like it’s a trade: dad will love me if I get straight A’s—it’s a transaction. Maybe that describes your upbringing.

In our Christian faith, a similar kind of confusion can happen. One of the most remarkable and yet clearest teachings in all of Scripture is that the God of the universe wants a PERSONAL relationship with us. He’s not interested in a transaction; he doesn’t need anything from us. He wants a relationship of love where he makes himself known to us, he takes care of us and helps us to grow, like the very best kind of father who cares for his children, and where we learn to trust and love and worship him. And yet also in Scripture, time after time human beings on their end seek to make this relationship transactional, where we do things for God so that he can do things for us. We want to keep it limited, safe, under our control.

So in Jesus’ famous story of the prodigal son, think of th the older brother. When his father welcomes home his younger brother who had done pretty much everything wrong, the older brother is furious, because it doesn’t seem fair. He’s been obedient to his father, so he should get the good things from his dad; his brother has been bad, so he should get bad things. It’s a transaction. He doesn’t have space for the idea that this is supposed to be a personal relationship, where the Father in love gives himself and the repentant son now trusts himself to the Father. Because the older brother only sees the transaction, there is no room for joy for him in this relationship.

When Jesus told this story, he was posing a question for his hearers: is that the kind of relationship you have with God our Father? Do you relate to him transactionally, where the reason you try to generally be good is so that God can be good to you when you need him to be, like keeping us from getting cancer or divorce, or whatever. Or do you know and rest in the fact that God LOVES you like a Father for his child, and do you love him?

In the book of Judges we see this very conflict between God’s desire for a loving personal relationship and his people’s trying to make it transactional. When things get hard for them and they have nowhere else to turn, they will cry out to Yahweh for help. And throughout our story so far, Lord God responds to save them: with Othniel, then with Ehud, with Deborah and Barak, and with Gideon. He does this, not because he needs anything from Israel, but only because he loves his people and is personally committed to them. But then, when Israel no longer thinks they need God’s help, they leave him again and look to other gods. They do not experience their relationship with God as personal, as a relationship of love. It’s just a transaction.

And it’s no surprise in 10:6 when we read, “People of Israel again did what was evil.” They turn to the gods of other nations, it says they “forsook the Lord.” And so once again, having turned away from God’s loving protection, they are conquered, this time by the Ammonites, who it says “crushed and oppressed the people of Israel for 18 years.” And so once again, Israel cries out.

But this time God responds differently. He reminds them in verse 11 -13 of how he has cared for them and loved them and yet how they have forsaken him, and he says, “Therefore, I will save you no more. Go and cry out to the gods you’ve chosen.”

God refuses to relate to his people in the way they want him to; he will not accept a transactional relationship with them. We are left with a question. What will Yahweh do with a people who repeatedly relate to him only transactionally? Is he done with Israel?

And that question lies at the heart of the story of Jephthah.

The Call of Jephthah

“Now Jephthah the Gileadite was a mighty warrior.” To understand how this is, we’re given some backstory.

The important patriarch of the clan of Gilead had a son with a prostitute, and he named him Jephthah. And this boy grew up in that man’s home with no mother present, with a father who was embarrassed about him and with siblings and uncles who only see him as a mistake, as someone who didn’t belong. Imagine what that would have been like, never experiencing someone who loved you just because they loved you. I imagine that deep down that would have become one of his greatest longings: to be seen, respected, personally loved, personally connected to another. And yet at some point, in order to survive, he decides that if he wants anything in this life, he will have to fight for it himself. In the end, really, it’s all transactional.  

Eventually when Jephthah’s “legitimate” brothers grew up, they threw him out of the household, out of the family, saying, “You shall not have an inheritance in our father’s house, for you are the son of another woman.” Jephthah runs far away to the distant land of Tob. But he’s not helpless. Growing up as he did forced him to develop skills for survival. He has a certain kind of charisma, a power with words, an ability to get others to follow him. And so in the middle of nowhere he finds other castoffs, social misfits who have similarly been rejected, and he brings them together; he becomes the leader of a gang of soldiers of fortune. Think of them as like an ancient mafioso with Jephthah at the head. This is how he came to be known as a “mighty warrior.”

Around this time, the Gileadites, that is, Jephthah’s very own family, have enough of the Ammonites’ tyranny. They have cried out to God, they even tried putting away idols and serving God for a time, but none of that seems to be working. So eventually they look elsewhere to find some sort of solution, some sort of way to be saved: you’ll notice this desperation back in 10:18: “The people, the leaders of Gilead said to one another, “Who is the man who will begin to fight against the Ammonites?” And as the family members of this clan start brainstorming, they realize to their dismay that the answer is the very man they kicked out of their home.

So some of Jephthah’s brothers travel a long ways to where Jepthah and his mercenaries have their hideout. If it were in the modern day, I imagine the two Gileadite brothers coming to Jepthah’s safehouse wearing expensive suits. At the entrance they encounter a couple of tattooed, muscular men carrying semi-automatic rifles. One of them grabs their walkie talkie and asks, “Hey boss, what should we do with these two fellas?” The guards are told to bring them in, and so the Gileadite men are ushered into an office where Jephthah is sitting behind a massive desk, feet propped up. As he sizes them up—the very brothers who kicked him out, he says, “So, to what do I owe this distinct pleasure?” They say to him, “Jephthah, I have good news. We want you to lead us in battle against the Ammonites.”

Jephthah raises an eyebrow and allows the silence just to hang there for a few minutes. If Jephthah has learned one thing, it’s that he has to seize whatever he wants. If he wants respect, he’s going to have to take it. He’s going to have to drive a bargain and get it put in writing. After a painfully long silence, he asks, “Didn’t you hate me and drive me out of my father’s family? Why then have you come to me now when you’re in trouble?” And his brothers respond, well, yeah. They realize that they need to offer Jephthah something: “If you fight the Ammonites, you will become leader of all of our clan.” And that is what Jephthah wanted. What he couldn’t get through love he now can get by transaction. And so he says, “Deal.” And then to make it ironclad it says he speaks these things before the Lord.

Notice that detail, because it’s important. Jephthah knows about the Lord. But he doesn’t speak TO the Lord or listen to God’s instructions; there is no personal connection. The LORD here is merely being used as a witness, as the expected enforcer of a treaty. It’s a transaction.

The Battle

And so with the contract settled on, Jephthah moves into action to deal with the Ammonites. And as we see beginning in 11:12, once again, he negotiates, because that’s how he rolls. He begins a back-and-forth conversation with the king of Ammon, telling the story of how the LORD Yahweh gave Israel this land and it is now theirs, that Ammon has no right to be trying to take Israel’s land.

Now it’s important to understand who Jephthah’s intended audience really is. Jephthah understands the situation; he’s fully aware that he’s not going to talk the foreign king into saying, “Oh, right, our bad. We’ll pull back our forces and leave you to it.” His goal in all of this is to get somebody else on his side. Notice verse 27: “The Lord, YAHWEH, the judge decide this day between the people of Israel and the people of Ammon.” He wants to convince God that justice requires him to intervene.

On one hand, there is something commendable about this. Jephthah is showing faith in the true God. It is God who must be the one who establishes what is right. It is this faith that many centuries later Hebrews 11 will commend him for. But yet, once again, notice what’s missing. He never talks directly to God, asking God for anything. And he never waits on God to speak to him. No, he’s driving a bargain with God. “God, you know we’re in the right. You really have to support us in this one.” It’s a transaction.

Which returns us to the question we asked earlier. What is God going to do with a people who treat him only transactionally? He has said quite clearly that he will not simply accept that kind of relationship and just be a god who trades favors for temporary obedience.

And yet, remarkably, he also refuses to abandon his people to their own self-destructive choices.  If we go back to 10:16, we’ll notice an odd phrase: “The Lord became impatient over the misery of Israel”—he grieved over their suffering. He still chooses to care for a people who do not care for him. Though he will not just do what they ask, he also will not let them go. And so we see with Jephthah God responding to what is just the smallest trace of faith. Verse 29 tells us that the Spirit of Yahweh comes upon Jephthah, giving him power to lead. By this power he is able to go through cities and gather an army.

Here, if Jephthah has eyes to see, is something remarkable. God is still there, still caring for his own. God in this moment is showing him something Jephthah has experienced from no human being: grace. Love, just because God chooses to love. If Jephthah can somehow accept this and turn to God, everything could change for him.

But trust is not something that Jephthah has ever learned to do. In his mind, it’s still up to him to guarantee his own fate, just like it’s always been. Tragically, rather than accepting that God is faithful, he feels the need to take action to guarantee the outcome. Yes, he’s made his case before God the judge. But just to be sure, he’s going to sweeten the deal with a bribe. Here, for the first time we actually see Jephthah speak to the Lord as he makes a vow in verse 30: “If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, then whatever comes out from the doors of my house to meet me when I return in peace from the Ammonites shall be the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering.” While our translation has it “whatever,” it could just as easily be translated whoever. It’s not clear if Jephthah is envisioning an animal or a servant—or if he even cares. He wants to make an offer to God that God can’t refuse.

And are we surprised by Jephthah doing this? All he’s known all his life is that the only way to get people to be good to him is if he makes himself valuable. It’s up to him. Later on in chapter 12 he will describe his fight against the Ammonites by saying “I took my life in my own hand.” Because that’s how he knows how to live. And so that’s how he understands God. If he wants God to be good to him, he needs to make himself valuable to God. I wonder if any of us can relate. Have you ever felt the feeling that you needed to do something or be something to get on God’s good side. Maybe you needed to pray more, or to give more money, or simply try to be more obedient so that God would be kind to you? How many of us, I wonder, still think of our relationship with God transactionally? How many of us think we need to take our life in our own hands?

This is not what God has asked for. This is not what God wants. He doesn’t need anything from us. He certainly didn’t need or even want the kind of sacrifice Jephthah was offering. What he wants is what the best kind of fathers want in their children: he wants us to know his love. He wants us to experience his kindness, to trust in his provision and protection and yes also his instruction, because he knows what is best for us. He wants us to entrust our lives into his hands.

But Jephthah believes he has done what he needs to do to get on God’s good side. And God is on his side, but not for the reasons Jephthah thinks. Verse 32: “The Lord gave the Ammonites into his hand; Jepthah is able to wage an enormously successful campaign, winning against mulstiple Ammonite cities until Ammonite has no real forces left. “So, the Ammonites were subdued before the people of Israel.” Even as Jephthah has misunderstood it all, God has been kind to him.

In this whole story there’s one person actually does understand what has just happened. One person who recognizes the significance of what God has done. As Jepthah returns to his home in Tob as a victor, we read, “Behold, his daughter came out to meet him with tambourines and dances.” It’s a significant detail: it’s meant to remind us of when Miriam and a group of women celebrated in joyful song the dramatic victory of God after he brought Israel out of Egypt. “He has rescued us. He has shown grace to us. Let’s celebrate!” And that’s what Jephthah’s daughter is doing. She gets it. With dancing and banging of the tambourine and singing she is saying, “Look at what God has done! He saved us. He is wonderful. Let’s celebrate with all of our being!”

In my mind’s eye I imagine how it could have been if earlier Jephthah had come to trust God’s love. Imagine Jephthah in this moment taking up his daughter in his arms and joined in the dancing and singing and saying, “Yes, God did this. Yes, God loves us. Can you believe it?”

But that of course is not what Jephthah does. He has made a deal with God, a God whose grace he could never see or understand. Rather than rejoicing with his daughter, he tears his clothes in utter sorrow, because he believes that he now must sacrifice his daughter to God. And so, two months later, that is what he does.

And so our story ends on a very dark note. All that Jephthah thought he wanted: respect, power as the head of Gilead, he acquires for himself. And yet his life ends in misery, childless. Likewise, as this story draws to an end, even though Jepthah has brought victory over the enemy, it does not repeat what has been said after all the other judges before. It does not tell us that there’s any experience of rest. Because true joy for someone like Jephthah, and true rest for God’s people requires more than a human victory or a temporary absence of enemies. True rest only comes when people are able to experience the security, meaning, and joy that comes in knowing that the God of the Universe is their God, and that he loves them as a Father loves his children.

When people like Jephthah and Israel and us seek a transaction with God, trying to get good things from him in exchange for our doing good, the problem is not that we are asking too much from God, but too little. The God of love, the God of grace wants far more for us than we realize. He wants to give us everything.

Returning to Jesus’ story of the prodigal son, one of the saddest moments in the story is as the Father speaks to the elder brother who is furious that they’re having a party for his wayward brother. The Father says, “Son, you are always with me. And all that is mine is yours.” Don’t you understand? You never needed to earn something from me, to trade with me. You’re my child. I would give everything for you.

What makes that moment especially poignant is that even as Jesus is telling this story to the Pharisees, that very thing was happening right then and there, and the Pharisees, like Jephthah, missed it. Jesus is the fullest and most perfect word of God spoken to the world. By sending Jesus into this world, God saying to us, “All that I have is yours. I give my Son for you. He will go to the cross to lay down his life for you. I will give everything for you so that you can have everything from me. Because that is the kind of relationship I want for you. Not of transaction. But of love.

How many of us here this morning still are confused about this? How many of us deep down still think we need to do something to get God to be kind to us, to smile upon us? Maybe we try hard and think we are doing well and then when bad things happen feel like God has let us down on his end of the bargain. Or maybe we have given up because we feel like we are failures, and so we’re sure that God is looking on us with a frown, and if he does decide to show kindness to us, it will only be with a reluctant sigh and a shaking of his head. And my prayer is that you and I can come to see what Jephthah never could. That you and I instead can be brought to a place of singing and dancing for joy. Because God does not want a trade with you. He wants you. He gave his son for you: “All that I have is yours. Trust in my love.”  

Let’s take a moment in quiet to respond in our hearts. And then I’ll lead us in a time of confession, using the words printed in our bulletin.