On the road to Emmaus, Jesus explained to his disciples how everything in the Old Testament, from the book of Moses through the prophets, was all about him. Most people have a hard time reading the Old Testament like that. So they trudge through a book like Judges and wonder, “What does any of this mess have to do with Jesus?”
But the hints are there if we know how to read them. Many of the stories in the Old Testament provide the shadow for which Jesus is the reality. They are the outline, he is the substance. What they begin, Jesus finishes.
I was struck by this recently when reading Samson’s birth story. When an angel comes to promise Samson’s miraculous birth, he says that Samson will “begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (Judges 13:5). Begin. That’s a strange way of saying it. Who is going to finish it? Samson, after all, is the last judge in the book. The author is intentionally clueing us in: for the end of this story, you’re going to have to look beyond this book. And for those of us who know the end of the big story, it should be obvious: Jesus completes the salvation that Samson could only start.
You can even see this in the story of Samson’s birth. It parallels Jesus’ birth in some remarkable ways: both were promised miraculously before their birth; both were answers to Israel’s bondage; both stories skip straight from birth to adulthood, skipping their childhoods. You can think of Samson’s birth story like a premonition of the truer and better Judge who was to come.
The parallels between Jesus’ birth and Samson’s are striking, but there’s a glaring difference, too. Samson’s birth would have brought joy and honor to a woman who (because she was barren) was in the midst of shame. But the birth of Jesus was the opposite: it brought disgrace to Mary and Joseph, because it looked like they had a kid out of wedlock. The difference is crucial, because it shows us how the real Savior would save—not through power and honor, but through shame and disgrace.
From the very beginning, Samson’s story points away from Samson. It points to Jesus, the true and better Samson, who would succeed in every place that Samson failed. Like Samson, Jesus’ strength would reside not in how he was built, but in the indwelling power of the Spirit. But unlike Samson, Jesus would never compromise on God’s law. He would keep every facet of it.
Unlike Samson, who was controlled by his impulses, Jesus would be controlled by God’s will. After fasting for 40 days in the wilderness, he could rebuff Satan’s attempts to tempt him with bread by saying, “I don’t live by bread; I live by God’s Word.” Unlike Samson, who felt entitled and proud, Jesus—who actually was entitled to a throne—would take the role of a servant and submit himself to the humiliation of the cross.
We stand in awe of the strength of Samson. But I stand amazed at the presence of Jesus the Nazarene.
You see, admiring Samson for his strength might impress us, but it can never truly lead us to change. Because what we most need isn’t a strong role model; what we need is a weak and broken Savior, someone who would give us his strength and save us from ourselves.
The irony of Samson was that he was strong on the outside, but terribly weak on the inside. In that way, he’s like so many of us. We need someone to empower our spirits, not to simply inspire our imaginations. And when you see and believe what Jesus did for you—that he who was strong became weak for you; that he who was rich became poor for you; that the righteous became sin for you; that Life himself underwent death for you … then, and only then, will you receive the moral strength to live the way Samson couldn’t.
The point of reading Scripture—whether Judges or John or Jonah—is worship. It’s not about learning new facts. It’s not about digging for action steps. It’s about worship. There comes a time when the pen goes down, the eyes go up, and you quit saying, “Oh, God, look how much I’ve done for you,” and you say, “Oh, my God! Look at what you’ve done for me!”
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