And the children of Israel cried to Jehovah, and Jehovah raised them up a saviour, Ehud the son of Gera, the Benjaminite, a man left-handed. And by him the children of Israel sent a gift to Eglon king of Moab.
Israel had done evil again. God strengthened Eglon of Moab against them, and they served him eighteen years. Then they cried out. The deliverer God gave them was a Benjamite whose right hand was out of use — and Israel sent him to Moab's court with tribute money.
The cry is the last step in a pattern that keeps repeating.
First we should notice the failure of the people, who begin to serve false gods; then comes their servitude. In their distress they cry to the LORD. This is always the way deliverance comes (Judges 3:9, 15; 4:3).
This cry is not a first offence. God had rescued these people before, and they went back.
How touching it is to find this often repeated story! Anyone but God would have refused to listen to such a cry, at least from such a people. For had they not sinned over and over, and been punished, and cried? Had they not gone back, cried, and been delivered? Then had they not fallen into sin again, cried again, and been delivered again — always crying, always delivered, always falling back again, into a lower depth than ever? Only God could feel patience and show tender mercy to such a people.
The phrase behind "left-handed" is stronger than it sounds. It describes a right hand that is out of use.
Ehud was "a left-handed man," or as the margin puts it, "shut of his right hand." Another translation gives "bound as to his right hand" as a literal rendering of the Hebrew idiom. The "right hand" has become almost an equivalent of "power" or "strength" in ordinary speech. Here was a man "bound" as to his strength. He was quite unlikely to deliver the whole nation from the oppressor by one powerful blow. Yet that was what he did.
Such a man still has a choice to make.
He had only one usable arm. So he had a choice: sit down and mourn the other, as many would do, or make the best use he could of the one that remained. He chose the second and delivered God's nation.
A Benjamite is a son of the right hand — and Ehud's right hand was the useless one.
He is the son of God's right hand; his own right hand is useless. That is the hand of natural power, and he is simply a poor, left-handed man, helpless in himself. Ehud is such a man, and there are many other Benjamites we read of who were left-handed men. I think this suggests that we are to glory in our weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon us. Paul was a literal Benjamite by birth. But more, he was a spiritual Benjamite, who said he gloried in his weaknesses, for when he was weak, then he was strong.
Israel's own act in this verse is not a brave one.
Now Israel, in their fallen state, use the very one whom God was about to employ for their deliverance. They send him to carry a present to Eglon. In this way they confirm their subjection to the world whose favour they seek. How many gifts today become willing instruments for keeping God's children under the control of the world.
Commentators differ over what "Ehud" means. One reads it as "confessor," and takes that as a description of the man himself.
Ehud was a confessor, a man with an inward conviction. We have not the slightest doubt about what happened when the Lord raised this man up. He did not just say, "I am going to give you immense power to deal with this enemy." Instead God worked in Ehud's heart and conscience. He produced in him a conviction that he was going to lead the people of God, and that it was a just and righteous cause. So he was not only leading the people because of the position God gave him, but because he believed in it.
Another writer reads the father's name alongside the son's:
Ehud's father was Gera, which means "meditation." This is needed first of all... Ehud means "I will give praise." Meditation on the Word leads us to hold by faith the realities of redemption in our Lord Jesus Christ. This is followed by praise, the confession of His name. Then Moab's bondage is ended.
- Cry — Failure leads to servitude. Servitude leads to distress. Distress leads to the cry. That is always how deliverance comes.
- Mercy — Anyone but God would have refused a cry from people He had rescued before, who fell back again and again.
- Weakness — "Left-handed" means shut, or bound, as to his right hand: God chose a man whose natural strength was out of use.
- Power — The right hand is useless, so the power belongs to Christ. We are to glory in our weaknesses, so that His power may rest on us.
- Rest — Meditation on the Word leads to praise, the confession of His name; then Moab's bondage is ended.
And Ehud made him a sword having two edges, it was of a cubit length; and he girded it under his raiment upon his right hip.
Israel had turned back to evil, so God let Eglon of Moab rule them — then sent a left-handed man named Ehud to set them free. This verse is the quiet moment before the rescue: Ehud makes his own weapon, cuts it to size, and hides it under his clothes.
No one hands Ehud a weapon. Before he acts, he makes one himself.
But Ehud is faithful — he makes himself a two-edged sword: his first act — his only resource. In a day of ruin the Christian also has his two-edged sword. The Word of God is his chief and only offensive weapon. (Heb. 4:12; Rev. 1:16; Rev. 19:15; Eph. 6:17) True, this sword was only a cubit in length; Ehud's weapon was short, but well suited to its work. It was a tested sword, able to pierce into the inward parts of God's enemy and give him his death-blow.
A blade sharpened on both sides strikes both ways. Ridout applies that shape to God's word and the people it meets.
He comes with his sword in his hand, a sword a cubit long. It cuts both ways; it will cut every way. God's word will always cut every way. You cannot use the sword on one side to a certain class of people and let another class escape. The sword cuts in both directions. The word of God is no respecter of persons.
Ridout takes the blade's length as a measure of the man who carries it.
We are told that a cubit is the measure from the elbow to the hand. I take it that a cubit is a measure of human capacity, so to speak. Here is a man who prepares a sword, and we know that the sword of the Spirit is the word of God. But it must be the word of God applied to what people profess. Not all of Scripture is a sword — only the scripture that cuts with its two edges, the one that fits the case.
Ehud hides the dagger instead of showing it. He straps it on the wrong side on purpose, because he fights with his left hand.
Before using his weapon, Ehud "bound it on his right thigh under his clothes." He carried it about him, ready for use. He did not display it, but he knew it was there. People often display the Bible and quote it a lot, without ever using it. But the Word of God has a purpose. Ehud, left-handed, adapts his sword to his infirmity, girding it on his right thigh. Had he worn it in the usual way it would have been useless. The way a person uses the weapon always matches his own personal state.
Ehud belongs to the tribe of Benjamin, whose name means "son of my right hand" — yet his own right hand is the one he cannot use.
He is the son of God's right hand; his own right hand is useless. That is the hand of natural power, and he is simply a poor, left-handed man, helpless in himself. Ehud is such a man... I think the point is that we are to glory in our weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest on us... Ehud means the same as Judah — 'praise,' or rather 'confession.' It is a confession, and it is very different from making a profession, as Moab did.
The next verse calls Eglon a very fat man. Commentators differ on what the king pictures. Ridout sees Moab as religious profession without reality; Gaebelein points to the world's prosperity:
The two-edged dagger is a picture of the Word of God. The hand that grasps it shows how faith is to use the sword of the Spirit... Fat is the emblem of prosperity — the prosperity of the world that captures so many of God's people. The sword of the Spirit must go right into what is of the world: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life.
- Make it. Ehud's first act is not attack but preparation. The two-edged sword is the believer's chief and only offensive weapon.
- Measure it. A cubit is the length of a man's arm. The word that cuts is the part of Scripture a person has grasped and can fit to the case.
- Carry it. Ehud keeps the sword hidden and ready, never on show. A Bible often quoted but never used is a sword nobody draws.
- Wear it wrong. The sword sits on the right thigh for a left hand. The weapon fits the man's weakness, and weakness is where the power of Christ rests.
- Use it. Both edges cut. God's word is no respecter of persons, and the sword must go into what belongs to the world.
And he brought the gift to Eglon king of Moab; now Eglon was a very fat man.
Ehud carries Israel's tribute into the enemy's court, with a homemade blade hidden under his clothes. Commentators read both that payment and the king's fatness as a picture of what had gone wrong with God's people.
Israel was paying a ruler who had seized the gateway of their land. One writer sees a picture here of Christians giving the flesh what belongs to God:
The Moabites had no true claim upon Israel. Yet Eglon had set up his throne in the city of palm trees. That city was the very gate of the land, the city which God had taken with a mighty hand for His people. From that place of power he ruled Israel and laid tribute on them. So Israel handed over to the king of Moab what God alone had a right to claim. What a true picture this is of the state of thousands of Christians. The flesh has no right to rule us, for "We are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh," Romans 8. We owe no debt to that evil principle inside us, which would make self everything and shut Christ out. We have every right to ignore its demands and to walk in the Spirit. Yet, just as Eglon received from Israel what God alone could claim, Christians often give their time, thought and strength to the flesh. They forget that "if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live," Romans 8:13.
One writer sums up the errand and names what the king's body pictures:
Israel sent Ehud to carry tribute to the king of Moab at Jericho. Under his clothes, on his right thigh, he had fastened a double-edged dagger that he had made himself. Eglon was a very fat man, a suitable representative of the self-indulgence Moab speaks of.
Another writer reads the king's fatness as a sign of his condition before God:
He represents a man completely satisfied with his surroundings — with what is natural, pleasing and to his advantage. Scripture says he was a very fat man. Other parts of Scripture use this to picture a poor condition before God, a condition that usually ends in independence and failure. On the natural level, he was not a man given to physical exercise. He was not full of energy and life. He was a man enjoying everything the world set before him.
The same writer finds that condition again in a New Testament church:
The Laodiceans said, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing" (v. 17). But the Lord passed judgment on them. He said their condition was independent and self-satisfied. They were enjoying all they had. They were a company gathered to the name of the Lord, but the Lord was outside; He was not there. They had forgotten all the wonderful things God had done for them. Eglon's condition pictures this kind of thing. He was a tyrant, ruling over the children of Israel. He had to be dealt with if the nation was to gain liberty. So the Lord in His sovereign mercy raised up Ehud.
Another writer joins the king's name to his weight, and reads both as a picture of religion without life:
We read that Eglon was a very fat man. It suggests he had no vigour, none of the power that makes a man strong, muscular and active. And profession is a dead, inert mass. It settles down, and by its own weight it stifles spirituality out of God's people. His name, Eglon, means "a circuit" — one who goes round in a circle, like the hands of a clock, or the seasons of a year. It takes everything as it comes. The person who only professes faith is like this — easy-going, never putting himself out.
Commentators differ on what Eglon pictures. Some read him as profession without life. Others read him as the flesh at work in a believer.
A third writer ties the fat to the world's prosperity, and names what must deal with it:
Ehud was left-handed, showing the weakness of the instrument. The two-edged dagger is a type of the word of God. The hand that grasps it shows how faith is to use the sword of the Spirit… Fat is the emblem of prosperity — the prosperity of the world that captivates so many of God's people. The sword of the Spirit must be plunged into all that belongs to the world: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes and the pride of life.
- Tribute. Eglon held the gate of the land. He collected what God alone had a right to claim. That is what it looks like when the flesh rules a believer.
- Fatness. The king's fatness marks a condition before God. He was satisfied, comfortable and independent — and that condition ends in failure.
- Circuit. His name means going round in a circle. A life with no spiritual exercise takes everything as it comes. Its dead weight stifles others.
- Laodicea. "I need nothing" is the same condition in a New Testament church. That company kept the Lord's name while He stood outside.
- Sword. The remedy is the word of God driven home by a weak hand. Faith uses the sword of the Spirit against the world's prosperity.
And it came to pass when he had ended offering the gift, he sent away the people that had borne the gift.
Ehud has just handed Israel's tribute to Eglon, the king of Moab who ruled over them. The payment is done, so he sends the carriers home — and that quiet dismissal is where the rescue begins.
Commentators note how strange the arrangement was.
Israel, in their fallen state, use the very man God was about to employ for their deliverance. They send him to carry a present to Eglon. In this way they confirm their subjection to the world whose favour they seek. Today, how many gifts become willing tools for keeping God's children under the rule of the world.
Tribute is not a gift. It is what a conqueror takes.
The Moabites had no true claim on Israel. Yet Eglon had set up his throne in the city of palm trees. That city was the very gate of the land, the city God had taken with a mighty hand for His people. From that place of power he ruled Israel and laid tribute on them. So Israel handed over to the king of Moab what God alone had a right to claim from them. How true a picture this is of the state of thousands of Christians. The flesh has no right to rule us, for "we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh" (Romans 8). We owe no debt to that evil principle within us that would make self everything and shut Christ out.
Ehud does not cut the ceremony short. He finishes the delivery, and the finished payment is what makes him look harmless.
Ehud presented the tribute of Israel to Eglon, then left with his attendants. But he sent them away and turned back alone. He went to tell Eglon he had a secret message for him. Eglon had no suspicion of one man on his own, especially after Ehud had brought Israel's tribute to him.
Israel's answer to Moab was a present. Ehud had made himself something else.
But Ehud is faithful — he makes himself a two-edged sword. That is his first act, and his only resource. The Christian in the day of ruin also has his two-edged sword. The Word of God is his chief and only weapon of attack... Ehud's weapon was short, but well suited to its work. It was a tested sword, able to pierce to the inner parts of God's enemy and to give him his death-blow.
Sending the carriers away left no witnesses and no helpers. One nation's rescue turned on what nobody saw.
This was not a public victory, as many others were. It was a secret, single-handed meeting between the deliverer and the enemy. Its public results were soon to appear... Here everything happens in silence, with no visible struggle and no cry. The servants found the enemy dead. They had thought their master was resting. The short sword of a left-handed man destroys the power that had held Israel in chains.
Ehud was a Benjamite, and he struck with his left hand. Writers see weakness and the Lord's power joined in one man.
Another Benjamite was Saul of the New Testament, and these two things are combined in him. He said he was "the very least of all the saints." He was always ready to take a low place. He was able to say, "when I am weak, then I am strong."... Taking the low place of humility, and feeling one's own weakness and inability — this is the real secret. It is how the Spirit of the Lord works for God's glory. So Ehud was a real Benjamite. He knew what it was to be weak and unable. Yet he also experienced something of the power of the Lord.
- Tribute. The present was not generosity but surrender. Israel bought the favour of the power that ruled them, and gave an enemy what God alone could claim.
- Finish. Ehud completes the delivery to the last item. A finished errand is what disarms suspicion and leaves him alone with the king.
- Send away. The dismissal of the bearers is deliberate. A crowd could carry money; it could not carry out the deliverance.
- Alone. What followed was no public battle. It was a silent, single-handed meeting between the deliverer and the enemy, and its results showed soon after.
- Weak. The man left standing was a Benjamite who struck with his left hand. That is the pattern: strength known in weakness, and the power belonging to God.
But he turned from the graven images that were by Gilgal, and said, I have a secret word unto thee, O king. And he said, Be silent! And all that stood by him went out from him.
Moab ruled Israel, and Ehud was the man who carried Israel's tribute to King Eglon. Verse 19 turns the account: Ehud hands over the tribute, sends the carriers home, then goes back alone at Gilgal to ask the king for a private word.
Ehud turns back at Gilgal, a place loaded with memory for Israel.
Having delivered his mission to Eglon, Ehud went to the quarries or stones of Gilgal. That was the right place for the man who felt how Israel groaned under its bondage. It was also the place where such a feeling would grow far stronger. For it was there that the reproach of Egypt had been rolled away (Joshua 5:9). The people of God had been slaves in a strange land. When they reached Gilgal they were not only free; they had come into the land of liberty. Circumcision took place there, and circumcision was the sign of their freedom.
Commentators differ on how to read the word behind "the idols near Gilgal." Some take it as quarries or standing stones. Others read it as carved images, standing at the very spot where Israel's shame had been rolled away.
No army marched with Ehud. He turned back by himself.
Ehud brought the present to Eglon. Then he turned back from the carved images (Judges 3:19, margin) by Gilgal, saying he had a "secret message" for the king. This was not a public victory, as with many other deliverers. It was a secret, single-handed encounter between the deliverer and the enemy, and its public results would soon appear. It was so with Christ when He was tempted by Satan in the desert. Here all takes place silently, with no apparent struggle, no cry.
"Silence," the king orders, and his attendants leave. He felt no threat from one man, and the tribute was why.
Ehud presented the tribute of Israel to Eglon, then left with his attendants. But he sent them away and turned back alone, to tell Eglon he had a secret message for him (v. 19). Eglon had no suspicion of one man alone, and especially after Ehud had brought Israel's tribute to him. He would be interested also to know what the secret message was, so he ordered his servants out.
Ehud does not come to the king as a strong man.
Ehud is a confessor, a confessor of his own weakness and Christ's power. He is the one who is going to deliver the people of God. Notice that he comes from Gilgal. It emphasises the lesson we are looking at — left with no strength in ourselves, death to the old man. He comes to the king of Moab, and has a sword with two edges, a cubit long — a cubit is the measure from the elbow to the hand... and we know that the sword of the Spirit is the word of God. But it must be the word of God as applied to what people profess. Not the whole of Scripture is a sword, but that Scripture which cuts with its two edges, which applies to the case.
A man who has been to Gilgal cannot live with the oppressor.
The man who had been to Gilgal could not tolerate Eglon's presence and rule in the land and lives of the people of God. Nor shall we tolerate the flesh and its workings in our lives, if we have truly learned the lessons that Gilgal teaches. Instead, we shall be most unsparing in our judgment of its slightest movements.
Some readers recoil at the deception and violence that follow.
We might feel as we read this account what a cruel, violent and deceitful thing Ehud did... The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was subjugating the people of God. There was no worship, no response to God, as long as this man was in control. He had to be dealt with, and in a very definite way.
- Gilgal. Ehud's deliverance begins where he turns back. Gilgal was the place that marked Israel's freedom.
- Weakness. The man who comes from Gilgal has no strength of his own. His one weapon is the word that cuts both ways.
- Secret. This was no public campaign. It was a single-handed meeting between the deliverer and the enemy, and its results showed only later.
- Silence. The tribute left Eglon with no suspicion. He sent his own guards out and cleared the room for his own downfall.
- Refusal. A man who has been to Gilgal will not tolerate the oppressor. He deals with what opposes God without sparing it.
And Ehud came to him; now he was sitting in the cool upper-chamber, which was for him alone. And Ehud said, I have a word from God unto thee. And he arose from the seat.
Ehud has handed over Israel's tribute and sent his companions home. Now he stands alone with the king of Moab, the man holding Israel in bondage, in a room the king kept for himself. Two questions follow. What makes this killing a message from God? And what does that private room picture for us?
Ehud's first trip to Eglon was the errand of a beaten nation. His second was not.
From his thoughts at Gilgal Ehud returned to King Eglon. But his mission this time was very different from the first. He now carried no present from an enslaved people, but a message from a delivering God. "I have a message from God for you." And that message was one of judgment. The two-edged dagger, plunged into the very heart of the king, was the judgment of God upon the one who had held Israel in bondage.
Commentators differ on what Eglon pictures. One writer takes the room he kept "for himself alone" as a picture of the flesh.
Here, in one brief sentence, the whole character of the flesh is disclosed. It is utterly selfish. It has nothing to give God. Every thought, hope and ambition finds self as the pivot. All that it has, it has for "self alone." Have you not often found this detestable thing forcing its way to the front when you least expected it? You did a kind act. Love and sympathy were the motive. But as soon as you had done it, that low thought crept in — "What will they think of me now?"
One writer reads the king's bulk as the dead weight of empty religious profession.
Ehud comes up to the king of Moab in his summer room of ease and indulgence. And he meets that man, that great lifeless mass of fat. What a contemptible thing it is after all, this profession, this weight that settles down upon God's people. "I have a message from God for you, O King." "What is it?" The word that I can handle, the sword up to the hilt, the sword with the handle and all. Drive the whole thing into the mass before him, handle and all.
Two New Testament passages give that sword its meaning for us.
So Ehud had a two-edged sword, and it is to the New Testament that we turn to interpret this... Turning to Hebrews 4:12 we find that "the word of God is... sharper than any two-edged sword." Ephesians 6:17 also tells us to take "the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." For Ehud it meant literally using this violent weapon to overcome this enemy of Israel. For us it means applying the word of God to everything we know is opposing God.
Nothing about this victory was public. One writer notes what the weapon itself proved.
There was no fame or glory attached to such a victory. It was a secret message, but a "message from God" to Eglon. Our weapon is divine, and in that lies all its power. With Ehud, as with Gideon, it was the "sword of the Lord." The king was dead, but the weapon was not pulled out of his body. Ehud was gone, but the servants had the instrument of victory in front of their eyes. God proved, to their shame, that this short sword had brought down the proud man.
Many readers find Ehud's act cruel. One writer answers them directly.
As we read this account, we might feel what a cruel, violent and deceitful thing Ehud did... The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was holding down the people of God. There was no worship and no response to God as long as this man was in control. He had to be dealt with, in a very definite way... It may not mean dealing with people violently. It is not killing people. But the principle of being ruthless toward what is against God still applies to us today.
Eglon stands up to hear the message.
Eglon was seated, but rose up when Ehud told him, "I have a message from God for you." With no delay Ehud took his dagger in his left hand and plunged it into Eglon's belly, so hard that the hilt went in too. What an indication this is that the judgment of God is upon those described in Philippians 3:19: "Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things."
- Message. The same man who carried tribute now carries a word from God — and the word itself is the judgment.
- Message alone. No crowd, no battle cry, no glory for Ehud; God won behind a shut door, and the weapon left in the body proved it.
- Message aimed. Commentators read the two-edged sword as the word of God, driven handle and all into the one thing opposing Him.
- Message against self. Eglon's room "for himself alone" pictures a nature that has nothing to give God and makes self the pivot of every hope.
- Message's end. A god that is the belly ends in destruction, so what stands against God meets ruthlessness, not courtesy.
Then Ehud put forth his left hand, and took the sword from his right hip, and thrust it into his belly;
Ehud's story reaches its climax here. A hidden blade, drawn with the wrong hand, goes into the king of Moab. Commentators read the scene on two levels. It is God's judgment on an enemy of His people. It is also a picture of how a believer deals with the flesh inside.
One writer meets the obvious objection by asking who Eglon was.
We might feel as we read this that Ehud did something cruel, violent and deceitful. Is this the kind of thing God approves of? The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was holding the people of God down. There was no worship, there was no response to God as long as this man was in control. He had to be dealt with, and in a very definite way. "Oh," we might say, "this is not the spirit of Christianity"; but we must be careful before saying this... "If anyone comes to me and does not hate... even his own life, he cannot be my disciple" (Luke 14:26) and "put to death the deeds of the body" (Rom. 8:13) are similar passages. This applies to us personally. It may not mean dealing with people violently. It is not killing people. But the principle of being ruthless toward what is against God still applies to us today.
Commentators differ on what Eglon pictures. For some, his bulk pictures empty religious profession.
We read that Eglon was a very fat man. It suggests the absence of the vigour, of the power — an absence that kept him from being a strong, muscular, active person. Profession is a dead, inert mass. It settles down, and by its very weight it stifles spirituality out of God's people.
Others read Moab as the flesh, and note that we never owed it the rule it takes over us.
The Moabites had no true claim upon Israel. Yet Eglon had set up his throne in the city of the palm trees, and from that place of power he ruled Israel and taxed them. So Israel handed over to the king of Moab what God alone had a right to claim from them. How true a picture this is of the state of thousands of Christians. The flesh has no right to rule us, for "we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh" (Rom. 8). We owe no debt to that evil principle within us which would make self everything to the exclusion of Christ.
One writer takes the two-edged dagger as the Word of God, short but fit for its work.
But Ehud is faithful — he makes himself a two-edged sword: his first act, his only resource. The Christian in a day of ruin also has his two-edged sword. The Word of God is his chief and only offensive weapon (Heb. 4:12; Eph. 6:17). True, this sword was only a cubit long; Ehud's weapon was short, but well suited to its work. It was a tested sword, able to pierce to the inward parts of God's enemy and give him his death-blow.
Where he wore it mattered too: a blade on the right thigh suits a left-handed man.
Before using his weapon, Ehud strapped it under his clothes on his right thigh. He carried it with him, ready for use. He did not display it, but he knew it was there. People often display the Bible and quote it a lot, but do not use it. But the Word of God has a purpose. Ehud, being left-handed, adapted his sword to his weakness by strapping it on his right thigh. Had he worn it in the usual way it would have been useless. The way a weapon is used always matches the state of the one using it. Copying others is no use, as we see with David, who could not handle Saul's sword.
His left hand matters too. One writer sees in Ehud a man with no strength of his own.
As to our standing, we have a perfect one... Christ in us has complete control. But that means there is no power of my own. He is the son of God's right hand; his own right hand is useless. That is the hand of natural power, and he is just a poor, left-handed man, helpless in himself... I think the thought suggested is that we are to glory in our weaknesses so that the power of Christ may rest upon us.
The handle following the blade is taken as a measure of how thorough the thrust was — and of how thorough self-judgment has to be.
The man who had been to Gilgal could not tolerate the presence and rule of Eglon in the land and lives of the people of God; nor shall we tolerate the flesh and its workings in our lives if we have truly learnt the lessons which Gilgal teaches; instead, we shall be completely unsparing in our judgment of its slightest movements.
A two-edged blade cuts both ways, which sets the order for using it.
Someone has said it well: in using this two-edged sword, we begin by using one edge against ourselves. Then we can use the other edge against other persons or principles. This is very good advice. If we can overcome evil in ourselves, we have every right to try to overcome it in others. But if we have not begun to deal with the problems in our own lives, we have no moral authority to deal with them in others or anywhere else.
reason: bullet 4 rests on deleted quote; hard sentences; passive; tighter frame
and the haft also went in after the blade, and the fat closed upon the blade; for he did not draw the sword out of his belly, and it came out between the legs.
Judges 3:22 lingers on a detail most storytellers skip: the sword went in so far that Ehud left it inside the king. Commentators read that buried dagger, the king's fatness, and Ehud's crippled hand as a picture of how God overthrows what oppresses His people.
The verse dwells on how far the dagger went in: even the hilt, the handle, disappeared after the blade. One writer sees the whole sword driven into a religious profession that sits on God's people like a dead weight:
Ehud comes up to the king of Moab in his summer parlour of ease and indulgence. He meets that man, that great lifeless mass of fat. What a contemptible thing this profession is after all! It is a dead weight that settles down on God's people. "I have a message from God for you, O king." "What is it?" The word that I can handle, the sword up to the hilt, the sword with the handle and all. Drive the whole thing into the mass in front of him, handle and all. That sword of human length stands for my grasp, the believer's grasp, of the word of God. It is now applied in the energy of human weakness but of divine strength — and the king of Moab is slain.
The fat closed over the blade, so Ehud walked out without his dagger. One writer counts that as part of the testimony:
There was no fame or glory attached to such a victory. It was a secret message, but a "message from God" to Eglon. Our weapon is divine, and there lies all its power. With Ehud, as with Gideon, it was the "sword of the LORD." The king was dead, but the weapon was not drawn out of his belly. Ehud was gone, but the servants had the instrument of victory in front of their eyes. To their confusion God proved that it was this short sword that had brought down the proud man, whose eyes bulged with fatness.
The king's fatness is not just a detail. One writer reads his death as a verdict on how he lived:
What an indication this is! The judgment of God rests on those whose "end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things" (Phil. 3:19).
Another writer reads the same detail as a lesson for the believer:
The two-edged dagger is a picture of the Word of God, and the hand that grasps it shows how faith uses the sword of the Spirit. Fat is the emblem of prosperity, the prosperity of the world by which so many of God's people are captivated. The sword of the Spirit must be plunged into what belongs to the world — the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life.
Ehud struck this blow with the wrong hand. One writer traces the older renderings of the word "left-handed" and finds a disability, not a preference:
God raised up Ehud, of the tribe of Benjamin, to be the deliverer from Eglon king of Moab. He was "a man left-handed" (Judges 3:15), or as the margin has it, "shut of his right hand." Another translation gives "bound as to his right hand" as a literal rendering of the Hebrew idiom. The "right hand" has become almost a synonym for "power" or "strength" in ordinary speech. Here was a man "bound" as to his strength. He seemed most unlikely to free a whole nation from its oppressor with one powerful blow. Yet that is what he did, and as a result of the stroke of Ehud's left hand the land had rest for no less than eighty years.
Readers often recoil from the killing, and one commentator meets that objection head-on:
We might feel as we read this story what a cruel, violent and deceitful thing Ehud did. Is this the kind of thing God commends? … The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was holding down the people of God. There was no worship and no response to God as long as this man was in control. He had to be dealt with, and in a very definite way. "Oh," we might say, "this is not the spirit of Christianity"; but we must be careful before saying this. … It may not be dealing with people violently, and it is not killing people. But the principle of ruthlessness toward what is against God still applies to us today.
- Weakness — Ehud was bound as to his right hand. Yet his one blow gave the land eighty years of rest, so the strength was not his own.
- Weapon — The dagger is a picture of the word of God. It was short and secret, but the power in it was divine.
- Whole — The handle followed the blade in. God's word does not go halfway into what oppresses His people; it goes in to the hilt.
- Witness — Ehud left the sword inside the king. The servants found it there, proof of what had brought the proud man down.
- Warning — The fat king pictures self-indulgence and worldly ease. His end shows the judgment that rests on those whose god is their belly.
And Ehud went out into the portico, and shut the doors of the upper-chamber upon him, and bolted them.
Ehud has just killed Eglon, the king who was holding the people of God down. Verse 23 is the quiet moment straight after: he steps out and locks the doors behind him. Why does Scripture pause on a detail this small?
Nothing about this deliverance was staged for an audience. The locked doors seal a fight no one saw.
It was not, as with many others, a public victory, but a secret, single-handed encounter between the deliverer and the enemy, the public results of which were soon to appear. It was so with Christ when He was tempted by Satan in the desert. Here everything takes place silently, with no apparent struggle, no cry; the enemy was found dead by the servants, who thought their master was resting.
The locked doors did more than hide a body. They bought Ehud time, because the household waited outside instead of acting.
Working quickly, Ehud went out, locking the doors behind him, and leaving. Eglon's servants were surprised to find the doors locked, but thought Eglon must have private matters occupying him. Finally, after waiting a long time, they used a key to open the doors and found their master dead. But Ehud had had plenty of time to escape.
Ehud walked out; the dagger stayed behind. When the servants opened the doors, the blade was still there for them to see.
The king was dead, but the weapon was not drawn out of his body. Ehud was gone, but the servants had before their eyes the instrument of victory; God proved, to their confusion, that it was this short sword which had brought down the proud man whose eyes bulged with fatness.
One writer draws a lesson from the weapon itself. Its size matters as much as its edge.
The Christian living in a day of ruin also has his two-edged sword: the Word of God is his chief and only offensive weapon (Hebrews 4:12; Ephesians 6:17). True, this sword was only a cubit long; Ehud's weapon was short, but well suited to its work. It was a tested sword, able to pierce to the inward parts of God's enemy and give him his death blow.
Readers often recoil at the deception and the killing. One writer meets that objection head-on by asking first what kind of man Eglon was.
We might feel as we read this account what a cruel, violent and deceitful thing Ehud did. Is this the kind of thing God approves of? The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was holding down the people of God. There was no worship, there was no response to God as long as this man was in control, and he had to be dealt with, and in a very definite way. "Oh," we might say, "this is not the spirit of Christianity"; but we must be careful before saying this. This applies to us personally. It may not be dealing with people violently, it is not killing people, but the principle of ruthlessness toward what is against God still applies to us today.
Commentators differ in how they rate Ehud personally. One writer calls him "a strong, brave, capable man," yet says his work "is discredited by the unscrupulous way in which he did it" (The Bible Treasury).
The shut door was not the end. What happened next turned a secret act into an open one.
He blew a trumpet in the mountain of Ephraim to gather the people of God. They "seized the fords of the Jordan against the Moabites and did not allow anyone to pass over." Moab could no longer hold both banks of the Jordan. … Such should be the practical result of conflict today. If the actual effect is not to make us openly break with the world, it is fruitless and does not answer God's purpose. The more complete the separation, the more lasting the peace. We are told that "the land had rest for eighty years."
One writer traces Ehud's refusal to live with Eglon back to a place: Gilgal.
The man who had been to Gilgal could not tolerate Eglon's presence and rule over the land and lives of the people of God. We will not tolerate the flesh and its workings in our lives either, if we have truly learnt the lessons Gilgal teaches. Instead, we will be utterly unsparing in judging its slightest movements.
- Secret first. The decisive blow fell where no one could see it — a private encounter between the deliverer and the enemy.
- Sealed. The locked doors held Moab's household in confusion long enough for Ehud to get clear.
- Sword left. The blade stayed in the body, so that when the doors opened, everyone saw what had brought the proud king down.
- Short but suited. That sword pictures the Word of God — short, tested, able to reach the enemy's inward parts.
- Then public. A trumpet, the fords taken, an open break — and eighty years of rest.
And when he was gone out, the servants of the [king] came and saw, and behold, the doors of the upper-chamber were bolted. And they said, Surely he is covering his feet in the summer chamber.
Ehud has just killed Eglon and slipped out, locking the doors behind him. The servants arrive and find the doors shut. They assume their master wants privacy. That one wrong guess gives Ehud time to escape.
The verse turns on a wrong guess by the servants.
The servants of Eglon were surprised to find the doors locked, but thought Eglon must have private matters to engage him (v. 24). Finally, after waiting a long time, they used a key to open the doors and found their master dead (v.25). But Ehud had had plenty of time to escape.
Ehud struck out of sight, with no noise and no witnesses. One writer sets this hidden fight beside the way Christ met Satan alone in the desert.
This was not a public victory, as many others were. It was a secret, one-to-one encounter between the deliverer and the enemy, and its public results would soon appear. It was the same with Christ when Satan tempted Him in the desert. Everything here happens in silence, with no visible struggle and no cry. The servants found the enemy dead, thinking their master was resting. The short sword of a left-handed man destroys the power that had held Israel in bondage.
One writer turns the scene into a picture: men waiting at a door, their dead ruler behind it, and the end of every enemy of God.
And the king's officials are outside the cool roof chamber, waiting — waiting — afraid to disturb their king, wondering why he is silent so long. Inside, the heavy body of their lord lies sprawled in the thickening blood. From the silent, horrible lips of its dreadful wound it announces this: sooner or later, in time or in eternity, the enemies of God and His people will lie helpless in the dust.
The blade stayed in the body. So when the servants finally opened the door, they saw not only a dead king but the thing that killed him.
The king was dead, but the weapon was not drawn out of his belly. Ehud was gone, but the servants had the instrument of victory right before their eyes. To their confusion, God proved that this short sword was what had brought down the proud man, whose eyes stood out with fatness.
The room itself is part of the story. The verse calls it the cool chamber — a private room Eglon kept for his own comfort. One writer ties that comfort to his appetite.
"It is not fitting for a fool to live in luxury" (Proverbs 19:10). Ehud clearly believed this. While Eglon, king of Moab, sat in his private cool room, Ehud quickly took that luxury from him by killing this very fat man (Judges 3:18-22). Eglon had used his luxury to give his appetite the fullest indulgence!
Commentators differ on how to judge the deception that makes this scene work. One argues that the record of a deed is not the same as God's approval of the way it was done.
In delivering Israel, Ehud was doing God's work, and God approved it. But in cases like this we should not suppose that God approved everything that was done, and especially the way it was done. Ehud's approach to Eglon involved extreme treachery. Yet God had empowered him for the work, so if he had taken an open course, the result would certainly have been just as successful — and his success would have been unstained.
Another writer answers differently, starting from what kind of man Eglon was:
The first thing we have to remember is, what kind of man was he? He was the determined enemy of God. He was subjugating the people of God. There was no worship and no response to God as long as this man was in control. He had to be dealt with, and in a very definite way... For us it may not mean treating people violently, and it is not killing people. But the principle of being ruthless towards whatever is against God still applies to us today.
One writer sets Eglon's rule over Israel beside the flesh at work in our own lives.
The man who had been to Gilgal could not tolerate Eglon's presence and rule in the land and lives of God's people. We will not tolerate the flesh and its workings in our lives either, if we have really learned the lessons Gilgal teaches. Instead, we will judge its slightest movements without sparing them at all.
- Locked — The shut door suggested a harmless explanation. That guess gave Ehud all the time he needed to escape.
- Silent — Ehud struck alone, with no struggle and no cry. The servants thought their master was resting.
- Left — The blade stayed in the body, so the evidence of who had won was waiting for them when the door finally opened.
- Comfortable — Eglon died in the cool room he kept for his own ease. His comfort had fed the appetite that made him so fat.
- Unsparing — Writers differ over Ehud's methods. They agree on the point for us: spare nothing that stands against God, starting in your own life.
And they waited till they were ashamed; and behold, he opened not the doors of the upper-chamber, and they took the key, and opened [them], and behold, their lord lay dead on the earth.
Behind locked doors a tyrant lies dead. Outside, his own officials stand waiting. They are too respectful to interrupt what they take for a private moment. The verse sits in the gap between what has already happened and what anyone knows — until the key turns.
Ehud's fight had no audience. One writer contrasts it with the public victories elsewhere in the book. He also notes what the servants outside assumed.
This was not a public victory, as many others were. It was a secret, one-to-one fight between the deliverer and the enemy, and its public results would soon appear. It was the same when Satan tempted Christ in the desert. Here everything happens in silence, with no visible struggle and no cry. The servants found the enemy dead, and they had thought their master was resting.
Ehud walked away without his dagger. The same writer sees purpose in what the open doors put on display.
There was no fame or glory in such a victory. Our weapon is divine, and that is where all its power lies. The king was dead, but the weapon stayed in his body. Ehud was gone, but the servants had the instrument of victory right before their eyes. To their shame, God proved that it was this short sword that had brought the proud man down.
The locked door bought Ehud time. One writer follows the servants' delay through to its result:
Working quickly, Ehud went out, locking the doors behind him, and leaving. The servants of Eglon were surprised to find the doors locked, but thought Eglon must have private matters occupying him. Finally, after waiting a long time, they used a key to open the doors and found their master dead. But Ehud had had plenty of time to escape.
One writer reads the dead king's size, and even his name, as a picture of religion that is all profession and no life.
We read that Eglon was a very fat man. It suggests a lack of vigour and power — the very things that would have made him a strong, muscular, active person. And profession is a dead, lifeless mass. It settles down, and by its sheer weight it stifles spirituality out of God's people. His name, Eglon, means "a circuit" — one who goes around in a circle, just as the hands of a clock go around, or the seasons of a year. It takes everything as it comes, and the person whose religion is only profession is like this. He is easy-going, and he will not put himself out. It is a very indifferent thing, and how completely it hinders a soul for God, in enjoyment of God or in testimony for Him.
One writer looks at the scene — a dead king inside, his officials waiting outside — and sees a preview of something larger.
The king's officials are outside the roof chamber, waiting — waiting. They are afraid to disturb their ruler, and they wonder at his long silence. Inside, the heavy body of their lord lies sprawled in the thickening blood. From the silent lips of that dreadful wound comes one announcement: sooner or later, in time or in eternity, the enemies of God and His people will lie helpless in the dust.
Commentators apply the picture in different ways. One writer puts the dagger in the reader's own hand.
We have already seen that God has condemned the flesh once and for all, and that He will never go back on this. He has proved it to be without profit. We must come to the same conclusion in our own experience. We have to learn that there is no profit in the flesh for us. Then we shall be ready to accept God's condemnation of it, and to plunge the two-edged dagger into its heart.
- Struck — The blow fell in private. There was no struggle and no cry. The servants outside heard nothing and thought their master was resting.
- Left — Ehud left his sword in the body. When the door opened, the weapon that won the victory was as plain to see as the corpse.
- Waited — They waited out of respect for a man already dead. While they hesitated, the deliverer walked free.
- Exposed — The heavy, lifeless king pictures religion that is only profession. It is easy-going and goes in circles. Its weight smothers the life of God's people.
- Foreshadowed — The locked room is a preview. Sooner or later, in time or in eternity, God's enemies lie helpless in the dust.
And Ehud had escaped while they lingered, and passed beyond the graven images, and escaped to Seirah.
Eglon lies dead behind locked doors. His servants wait outside, too embarrassed to go in. In that gap of time Ehud slips away, past the carved stones by Gilgal and up to a place called Seirah. One quiet sentence sits between a killing and a trumpet call. It raises three questions. Why does the escape work? What are those stones? And what is the escape for?
The servants' delay is what gives Ehud his window. One writer shows how hidden the whole encounter was.
Ehud brought the present to Eglon. Then he turned back from the carved images (Judges 3:19, margin) that were by Gilgal, because, as he said, he had a "secret message" for the king. This was not a public victory, as many others were. It was a secret, single-handed encounter between the deliverer and the enemy, and its public results were soon to appear... Here everything happens silently, with no apparent struggle and no cry. The servants found the enemy dead; they had thought their master was resting.
Ehud escapes, but the weapon does not. One writer sees a purpose in that.
No fame or glory came with such a victory... Our weapon is divine, and that is where all its power lies. With Ehud, as with Gideon, it was the "sword of the Lord." The king was dead, but the weapon was not drawn out of his belly. Ehud was gone, but the servants had the instrument of victory right in front of their eyes. To their own confusion, God proved that it was this short sword which had brought down the proud man, whose eyes bulged with fat.
Another writer asks what the weapon itself, and Ehud's left hand, stand for.
The dagger or sword — the root idea is "implement of destruction" — would stand, according to Ephesians 6, for the "word of God." Ehud, like many other Benjamites of his day, could not use his right hand, and used his left. Does this speak of the weakness in which the man in Christ glories, so that the power of Christ may rest on him?
Translators render the landmark differently: "idols," "carved images," "quarries," "stones." Whatever they were, they stood at Gilgal. One writer says that made it exactly the right place for Ehud to be.
Having delivered his message to Eglon, Ehud went to the quarries or stones of Gilgal. That was the right place for the man who felt the bondage Israel was groaning under. It was also the place where such a feeling would grow far stronger. For it was there that the reproach of Egypt had been rolled away (Joshua 5:9). The people of God had been slaves in a strange land. But when they reached Gilgal, they were not only free — they were brought into the land of liberty...
Ehud's route runs twice past the place where Israel's freedom in the land began.
One writer follows Ehud's route to its end, and gives the meaning of the name Seirah.
From Gilgal, with its inspiring memories, Ehud turns back to Eglon, and escapes beyond it again to Seirah, "the rugged." Then he sounds a trumpet in Mount Ephraim. The children of Israel hurry out of it in response. And the Jordan — which Israel had crossed dry-shod by the power of God — becomes the effective doom of Moab. Not one man of Moab escapes their enemies' swords.
Ehud does not stop at getting away. One writer links what he did next to a ministry the church still needs.
After he dealt with this enemy he blew a trumpet, he gave a clear note. This is what Paul says in 1 Corinthians 14:8: "And if the bugle gives an indistinct sound, who will get ready for battle?" ... There is a crying need for this ministry today. It strikes a clear note about the conditions that prevail.
And the call is only worth anything if it ends in a real break with the enemy:
This should be the practical result of conflict today. If the actual effect is not to make us break openly with the world, then it is fruitless. It does not answer to the purpose of God. The more complete the separation, the more lasting is the peace. "The land," we are told, "had rest for eighty years."
- Escape — Ehud gets away only because Eglon's servants hesitate. The rescue is secret and single-handed, with no struggle and no cry.
- Evidence — the man leaves, the sword stays. The servants stare at the short blade that brought down the proud king.
- Gilgal — his path runs past the place where God rolled away the reproach of Egypt and brought Israel into the land of liberty.
- Seirah — the name means "the rugged"; rough ground becomes the platform from which the trumpet sounds.
- Trumpet — the escape is not the goal. It buys the clear note that gathers God's people. And the note is fruitless unless it ends in a real break with the enemy — here, eighty years of rest.