#1 Holy Wit – Sidecar Reflections
God Is Faithful to Flawed People – Judges 6:11–16; 6:36–40; 7:9–15
Poor Gideon.
People tend to remember him as the man with the trumpets and torches, which is fair enough. If a person goes into battle with fewer men than common sense would recommend, carrying clay pitchers and lanterns in the dark, and somehow winds up routing an enemy camp spread out like locusts across the valley, that is the part that gets remembered. Victories always do. Nobody makes a stained-glass window of the fellow sweating in uncertainty behind the barn.
But Gideon did not begin as a grand figure of confidence. That should be said plainly.
He begins hidden. Not charging downhill. Not summoning the tribes with a voice like thunder. Not polishing his sword and telling somebody to alert the men. He is threshing wheat in a winepress, which is the sort of detail Scripture includes so that nobody can mistake the mood. A winepress is not where a man should be threshing grain. It is where a frightened man goes when he has learned that open spaces cost too much.
The Midianites had pressed Israel hard. They came in and took the produce and stripped the land and made ordinary life feel hunted. And Gideon, like many decent men under long strain, had adjusted himself downward. He was still working, still doing what needed to be done, but he was doing it in hiding.
That is where the Lord found him.
And that is what makes Gideon so useful to the rest of us.
Because many believers imagine God is especially interested in impressive material. They think He prefers the naturally stouthearted, the ones with a square jaw of the soul, the kind of people who hear a hard command and answer, “Certainly,” before anyone has even finished the sentence. But Gideon is not built that way. He is hesitant. He is doubtful. He has questions. He knows the stories of old deliverance, but he looks around at present misery and wonders where all that mighty power has gone. Then he looks at himself and sees only the smallest clan and the least likely man in it.
Which, to be fair, is not nothing.
There is a kind of honesty in fear that at least knows its own size. Gideon is not boasting above his station. He is not one of those men who are all confidence because they have never yet met reality in a dark alley. He knows his weakness. He feels the pressure. He understands danger. If anything, he understands it too well.
And yet the Lord comes to him and says, “The LORD is with you, you mighty man of valor.”
That must have landed with a certain bewilderment.
One can almost imagine Gideon glancing around to see whether someone else is meant.
Because fearful people know exactly how unlike heroes they feel. They know the sensation of second-guessing. They know the private arithmetic of dread. They know what it is to imagine twelve bad outcomes before breakfast and to call it prudence. If courage is a fire, they often feel themselves to be damp wood.
But the Lord was not speaking nonsense to Gideon. He was speaking covenant truth. He was not praising Gideon’s natural nerve. He was declaring what becomes of a fearful man when God determines to be with him.
That is the key to the whole story.
Gideon’s strength is never really Gideon’s strength. It is borrowed strength. Gifted strength. Strength drawn from the faithfulness of God, not from the sturdiness of Gideon’s temperament.
And even then, Gideon does not move from fear to fearlessness in one clean leap. He asks for signs. He lays out the fleece. Then, having received the sign, he asks again in reverse, the way anxious people often do when reassurance has arrived but the heart is still lagging behind. It is all very human. He knows what God has said, and yet he wants confirmation that the ground beneath him is truly as firm as it sounds.
It is fashionable in some corners to speak of Gideon’s fleece as if it were a bold method of discernment. But really it is the trembling hand of a weak man asking the Lord, as respectfully as he can manage, whether mercy might stoop low enough to reassure him again.
And the astonishing thing is that God does.
Not because fear is noble.
Not because hesitation is holy.
But because God is patient with weak saints.
That is one of the quieter glories of the passage. The Lord does not say, “I have already told you once. Why are you still this way?” He does not throw Gideon aside in exasperation and go looking for somebody made of sterner timber. He bears with him. He answers him. He gives enough light for the next step.
Then later, when the battle is near and the nerves are no doubt humming again, the Lord says, in effect, if you are still afraid, go down to the camp and listen.
Still afraid.
There is comfort in those words.
Because it means the Lord knows that yesterday’s reassurance does not always remove today’s trembling. He knows some of His people need strengthening more than once. He knows courage often comes in installments.
So Gideon goes down, hears the enemy recount a dream about his own defeat, and at last something steadies in him. He worships. Then he rises and acts.
But even there, the story does not turn into a celebration of native bravery. Gideon does not finally discover that he had been a lion all along. He is not a self-help pamphlet in sandals. He is a fearful man strengthened by a faithful God.
That is much better news.
Because most of us are not looking for a hidden inner giant. We have looked around enough by now to know better. What we need is not a flattering speech about our untapped reserves. What we need is the word Gideon received at the beginning: “Surely I will be with you.”
That is what changes things.
Not always all at once.
Not always with a great rush of emotion.
Not always in a manner that leaves the knees entirely steady.
But enough.
Enough to obey.
Enough to take the next step.
Enough to move out of the winepress and into the task appointed.
Poor Gideon.
He was not fearless.
He was not naturally grand.
He was not made brave by a slogan.
He was met by God.
And that, for fearful people, is everything.
Because the lesson of Gideon is not that fear is harmless. Fear narrows a man. It pushes him into winepresses. It makes him thresh grain in places meant for grapes. It teaches the soul to live bent over and half-hidden.
But the greater lesson is that fear does not have the last word when the Lord comes near.
Gideon reminds us that God does not wait for fearful people to become naturally brave before He uses them. He comes near, strengthens their trembling hearts, and proves faithful in the very place of their fear.
Which means some of the truest acts of faith on earth are done by people who are still afraid.
People who ask one more question.
People who need one more mercy.
People who would rather not be standing where obedience has placed them.
People whose hands shake even while they lift the lantern.
And yet they go forward.
Not because they have ceased to be weak.
Because God has not ceased to be faithful.
#HolyWitSidecar #GordonMcGinnis #GodIsFaithfulToFlawedPeople #Judges61115
God Is Faithful to Flawed People – Judges 6:11–16; 6:36–40; 7:9–15
Poor Gideon.
People tend to remember him as the man with the trumpets and torches, which is fair enough. If a person goes into battle with fewer men than common sense would recommend, carrying clay pitchers and lanterns in the dark, and somehow winds up routing an enemy camp spread out like locusts across the valley, that is the part that gets remembered. Victories always do. Nobody makes a stained-glass window of the fellow sweating in uncertainty behind the barn.
But Gideon did not begin as a grand figure of confidence. That should be said plainly.
He begins hidden. Not charging downhill. Not summoning the tribes with a voice like thunder. Not polishing his sword and telling somebody to alert the men. He is threshing wheat in a winepress, which is the sort of detail Scripture includes so that nobody can mistake the mood. A winepress is not where a man should be threshing grain. It is where a frightened man goes when he has learned that open spaces cost too much.
The Midianites had pressed Israel hard. They came in and took the produce and stripped the land and made ordinary life feel hunted. And Gideon, like many decent men under long strain, had adjusted himself downward. He was still working, still doing what needed to be done, but he was doing it in hiding.
That is where the Lord found him.
And that is what makes Gideon so useful to the rest of us.
Because many believers imagine God is especially interested in impressive material. They think He prefers the naturally stouthearted, the ones with a square jaw of the soul, the kind of people who hear a hard command and answer, “Certainly,” before anyone has even finished the sentence. But Gideon is not built that way. He is hesitant. He is doubtful. He has questions. He knows the stories of old deliverance, but he looks around at present misery and wonders where all that mighty power has gone. Then he looks at himself and sees only the smallest clan and the least likely man in it.
Which, to be fair, is not nothing.
There is a kind of honesty in fear that at least knows its own size. Gideon is not boasting above his station. He is not one of those men who are all confidence because they have never yet met reality in a dark alley. He knows his weakness. He feels the pressure. He understands danger. If anything, he understands it too well.
And yet the Lord comes to him and says, “The LORD is with you, you mighty man of valor.”
That must have landed with a certain bewilderment.
One can almost imagine Gideon glancing around to see whether someone else is meant.
Because fearful people know exactly how unlike heroes they feel. They know the sensation of second-guessing. They know the private arithmetic of dread. They know what it is to imagine twelve bad outcomes before breakfast and to call it prudence. If courage is a fire, they often feel themselves to be damp wood.
But the Lord was not speaking nonsense to Gideon. He was speaking covenant truth. He was not praising Gideon’s natural nerve. He was declaring what becomes of a fearful man when God determines to be with him.
That is the key to the whole story.
Gideon’s strength is never really Gideon’s strength. It is borrowed strength. Gifted strength. Strength drawn from the faithfulness of God, not from the sturdiness of Gideon’s temperament.
And even then, Gideon does not move from fear to fearlessness in one clean leap. He asks for signs. He lays out the fleece. Then, having received the sign, he asks again in reverse, the way anxious people often do when reassurance has arrived but the heart is still lagging behind. It is all very human. He knows what God has said, and yet he wants confirmation that the ground beneath him is truly as firm as it sounds.
It is fashionable in some corners to speak of Gideon’s fleece as if it were a bold method of discernment. But really it is the trembling hand of a weak man asking the Lord, as respectfully as he can manage, whether mercy might stoop low enough to reassure him again.
And the astonishing thing is that God does.
Not because fear is noble.
Not because hesitation is holy.
But because God is patient with weak saints.
That is one of the quieter glories of the passage. The Lord does not say, “I have already told you once. Why are you still this way?” He does not throw Gideon aside in exasperation and go looking for somebody made of sterner timber. He bears with him. He answers him. He gives enough light for the next step.
Then later, when the battle is near and the nerves are no doubt humming again, the Lord says, in effect, if you are still afraid, go down to the camp and listen.
Still afraid.
There is comfort in those words.
Because it means the Lord knows that yesterday’s reassurance does not always remove today’s trembling. He knows some of His people need strengthening more than once. He knows courage often comes in installments.
So Gideon goes down, hears the enemy recount a dream about his own defeat, and at last something steadies in him. He worships. Then he rises and acts.
But even there, the story does not turn into a celebration of native bravery. Gideon does not finally discover that he had been a lion all along. He is not a self-help pamphlet in sandals. He is a fearful man strengthened by a faithful God.
That is much better news.
Because most of us are not looking for a hidden inner giant. We have looked around enough by now to know better. What we need is not a flattering speech about our untapped reserves. What we need is the word Gideon received at the beginning: “Surely I will be with you.”
That is what changes things.
Not always all at once.
Not always with a great rush of emotion.
Not always in a manner that leaves the knees entirely steady.
But enough.
Enough to obey.
Enough to take the next step.
Enough to move out of the winepress and into the task appointed.
Poor Gideon.
He was not fearless.
He was not naturally grand.
He was not made brave by a slogan.
He was met by God.
And that, for fearful people, is everything.
Because the lesson of Gideon is not that fear is harmless. Fear narrows a man. It pushes him into winepresses. It makes him thresh grain in places meant for grapes. It teaches the soul to live bent over and half-hidden.
But the greater lesson is that fear does not have the last word when the Lord comes near.
Gideon reminds us that God does not wait for fearful people to become naturally brave before He uses them. He comes near, strengthens their trembling hearts, and proves faithful in the very place of their fear.
Which means some of the truest acts of faith on earth are done by people who are still afraid.
People who ask one more question.
People who need one more mercy.
People who would rather not be standing where obedience has placed them.
People whose hands shake even while they lift the lantern.
And yet they go forward.
Not because they have ceased to be weak.
Because God has not ceased to be faithful.
#HolyWitSidecar #GordonMcGinnis #GodIsFaithfulToFlawedPeople #Judges61115
#1 Holy Wit – Sidecar Reflections
God Is Faithful to Flawed People – Judges 6:11–16; 6:36–40; 7:9–15
Poor Gideon.
People tend to remember him as the man with the trumpets and torches, which is fair enough. If a person goes into battle with fewer men than common sense would recommend, carrying clay pitchers and lanterns in the dark, and somehow winds up routing an enemy camp spread out like locusts across the valley, that is the part that gets remembered. Victories always do. Nobody makes a stained-glass window of the fellow sweating in uncertainty behind the barn.
But Gideon did not begin as a grand figure of confidence. That should be said plainly.
He begins hidden. Not charging downhill. Not summoning the tribes with a voice like thunder. Not polishing his sword and telling somebody to alert the men. He is threshing wheat in a winepress, which is the sort of detail Scripture includes so that nobody can mistake the mood. A winepress is not where a man should be threshing grain. It is where a frightened man goes when he has learned that open spaces cost too much.
The Midianites had pressed Israel hard. They came in and took the produce and stripped the land and made ordinary life feel hunted. And Gideon, like many decent men under long strain, had adjusted himself downward. He was still working, still doing what needed to be done, but he was doing it in hiding.
That is where the Lord found him.
And that is what makes Gideon so useful to the rest of us.
Because many believers imagine God is especially interested in impressive material. They think He prefers the naturally stouthearted, the ones with a square jaw of the soul, the kind of people who hear a hard command and answer, “Certainly,” before anyone has even finished the sentence. But Gideon is not built that way. He is hesitant. He is doubtful. He has questions. He knows the stories of old deliverance, but he looks around at present misery and wonders where all that mighty power has gone. Then he looks at himself and sees only the smallest clan and the least likely man in it.
Which, to be fair, is not nothing.
There is a kind of honesty in fear that at least knows its own size. Gideon is not boasting above his station. He is not one of those men who are all confidence because they have never yet met reality in a dark alley. He knows his weakness. He feels the pressure. He understands danger. If anything, he understands it too well.
And yet the Lord comes to him and says, “The LORD is with you, you mighty man of valor.”
That must have landed with a certain bewilderment.
One can almost imagine Gideon glancing around to see whether someone else is meant.
Because fearful people know exactly how unlike heroes they feel. They know the sensation of second-guessing. They know the private arithmetic of dread. They know what it is to imagine twelve bad outcomes before breakfast and to call it prudence. If courage is a fire, they often feel themselves to be damp wood.
But the Lord was not speaking nonsense to Gideon. He was speaking covenant truth. He was not praising Gideon’s natural nerve. He was declaring what becomes of a fearful man when God determines to be with him.
That is the key to the whole story.
Gideon’s strength is never really Gideon’s strength. It is borrowed strength. Gifted strength. Strength drawn from the faithfulness of God, not from the sturdiness of Gideon’s temperament.
And even then, Gideon does not move from fear to fearlessness in one clean leap. He asks for signs. He lays out the fleece. Then, having received the sign, he asks again in reverse, the way anxious people often do when reassurance has arrived but the heart is still lagging behind. It is all very human. He knows what God has said, and yet he wants confirmation that the ground beneath him is truly as firm as it sounds.
It is fashionable in some corners to speak of Gideon’s fleece as if it were a bold method of discernment. But really it is the trembling hand of a weak man asking the Lord, as respectfully as he can manage, whether mercy might stoop low enough to reassure him again.
And the astonishing thing is that God does.
Not because fear is noble.
Not because hesitation is holy.
But because God is patient with weak saints.
That is one of the quieter glories of the passage. The Lord does not say, “I have already told you once. Why are you still this way?” He does not throw Gideon aside in exasperation and go looking for somebody made of sterner timber. He bears with him. He answers him. He gives enough light for the next step.
Then later, when the battle is near and the nerves are no doubt humming again, the Lord says, in effect, if you are still afraid, go down to the camp and listen.
Still afraid.
There is comfort in those words.
Because it means the Lord knows that yesterday’s reassurance does not always remove today’s trembling. He knows some of His people need strengthening more than once. He knows courage often comes in installments.
So Gideon goes down, hears the enemy recount a dream about his own defeat, and at last something steadies in him. He worships. Then he rises and acts.
But even there, the story does not turn into a celebration of native bravery. Gideon does not finally discover that he had been a lion all along. He is not a self-help pamphlet in sandals. He is a fearful man strengthened by a faithful God.
That is much better news.
Because most of us are not looking for a hidden inner giant. We have looked around enough by now to know better. What we need is not a flattering speech about our untapped reserves. What we need is the word Gideon received at the beginning: “Surely I will be with you.”
That is what changes things.
Not always all at once.
Not always with a great rush of emotion.
Not always in a manner that leaves the knees entirely steady.
But enough.
Enough to obey.
Enough to take the next step.
Enough to move out of the winepress and into the task appointed.
Poor Gideon.
He was not fearless.
He was not naturally grand.
He was not made brave by a slogan.
He was met by God.
And that, for fearful people, is everything.
Because the lesson of Gideon is not that fear is harmless. Fear narrows a man. It pushes him into winepresses. It makes him thresh grain in places meant for grapes. It teaches the soul to live bent over and half-hidden.
But the greater lesson is that fear does not have the last word when the Lord comes near.
Gideon reminds us that God does not wait for fearful people to become naturally brave before He uses them. He comes near, strengthens their trembling hearts, and proves faithful in the very place of their fear.
Which means some of the truest acts of faith on earth are done by people who are still afraid.
People who ask one more question.
People who need one more mercy.
People who would rather not be standing where obedience has placed them.
People whose hands shake even while they lift the lantern.
And yet they go forward.
Not because they have ceased to be weak.
Because God has not ceased to be faithful.
#HolyWitSidecar #GordonMcGinnis #GodIsFaithfulToFlawedPeople #Judges61115
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