Scripture Daily

Context No. 3288 of 4322 · Judges

Context · Reflection

Judges 19:16-22: in context

16Behold, an old man came from his work out of the field at evening. Now the man was from the hill country of Ephraim, and he lived in Gibeah; but the men of the place were Benjamites. 17He lifted up his eyes, and saw the wayfaring man in the street of the city; and the old man said, “Where are you going? Where did you come from?” 18He said to him, “We are passing from Bethlehem Judah to the farther side of the hill country of Ephraim. I am from there, and I went to Bethlehem Judah. I am going to the LORD’s house; and there is no one who has taken me into his house. 19Yet there is both straw and feed for our donkeys; and there is bread and wine also for me, and for your servant, and for the young man who is with your servants. There is no lack of anything.” 20The old man said, “Peace be to you! Just let me supply all your needs, but don’t sleep in the street.” 21So he brought him into his house, and gave the donkeys fodder. Then they washed their feet, and ate and drank. 22As they were making their hearts merry, behold, the men of the city, certain wicked fellows, surrounded the house, beating at the door; and they spoke to the master of the house, the old man, saying, “Bring out the man who came into your house, that we can have sex with him!”

This is the beginning of one of the dark and grievous episodes in Scripture, and it must be read soberly. A traveler and his companions find no one in Gibeah willing to take them in, until an old man, himself a stranger in that town, offers hospitality: peace to you; let me supply your needs; only do not spend the night in the square. But that night, wicked men of the city surround the house and pound on the door with a monstrous demand, echoing the sin of Sodom.

The horror of what follows is Scripture's own indictment of how far Israel had fallen, when everyone did what was right in his own eyes and there was no king to restrain them. The passage does not celebrate or excuse any of this; it exposes it, so that we grieve and recoil. And it sets two things in sharp contrast: the old man's sacred duty of hospitality, taking in the vulnerable stranger, against the townsmen's predation upon the very guest under his roof. It shows what becomes of a people that abandons God: the duty to protect the vulnerable collapses into the impulse to prey on them.

Does the horror of a society where the vulnerable are preyed upon move me to guard, rather than exploit, those who are weak and at my mercy?

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