Judges 13-16.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here in this cold and damp cell.
I can no longer see any form of light, so it's impossible for me to tell the passing of the days.
Anytime I try to count the hours, weariness and exhaustion quickly overwhelm me, and I lose track of the numbers in my head.
All I know is that every few hours, I slump to the ground and fall into an uncomfortable sleep, and then I wake up when they kick the door open.
I like to think it's the start of a new day anytime I hear heavy sacks being lifted into the room.
I only eat once a day when they toss the bowl of food from up the stairs; sometimes cold, sometimes rotten.
Waking and eating are the only two activities that define my life now.
Apart from them, I just stay alone in the silence, pushing and pushing, grinding their grain like a beast.
Every day, they put me to work like an animal.
For hours and hours, I turn this heavy millstone around in circles, slaving away for my enemies and the enemies of my people.
My arms that once lifted the heavy gates of cities with ease now burn terribly with fatigue, with each exerted effort being more painful than the last.
I’m tightly shackled at both my ankles and my wrists, and every part of me aches; sore, bleeding, and raw.
Some days my back locks up and I can barely keep my balance; some other days I'm forced to walk like I’ve never stood straight before in my life.
It's hard for me to imagine that just a short time ago, I was the strongest man in the world, and now I'm lying down in this cell, bruised, battered, and utterly beaten.
Nobody that sees me today will believe that I am the Samson.
The same man whose name was once spoken with fear and reverence and who ruled with strength.
My fellow Israelites used to chant my name when I walked down the streets.
Children shrieked in excitement when they saw me, begging me to lift them into the air with only my fingers. The leaders and commoners alike loved and adored me.
And of course, the Philistines, the primary purpose for which I was given this strength, also did not escape my judgement.
I once found the jawbone of a donkey on the ground and killed a thousand of them with it. Their bones are still out there somewhere, scattered in the dust.
That was my story for the past twenty years.
I judged Israel and gave them dominion over our enemies, the Philistines. They hated us and oppressed us for years until the Lord God chose me when I was born to help His people.
From birth, I was set apart, consecrated as a Nazirite.
My parents raised me under that vow, and it meant that no razor touched my head, I drank no strong drink, and I touched nothing that was unclean.
As a result of obeying this vow, God gave me the kind of physical strength that no man before me had ever had.
From a very young age, I was already used to getting a lot of attention and fame.
Everybody admired me greatly, and nobody ever refused to grant whatever request I made, including my parents.
They always indulged me, whether it was out of fear or out of love.
I suppose all this eventually got to my head, and that is the reason why I currently sit here in this cell, a victim of my own downfall.
I got too used to getting every single thing I wanted, and that included women. I never cared who they were or where they were from.
It didn’t matter to me as long as I desired her.
If I wanted her, then I took her. My feelings for them never lasted for long, but I did not care.
Until Delilah.
Delilah.
Merely remembering her name brings a deep pain into my heart that greatly outweighs the cuts and gashes on my body.
Delilah was not like any of the other women before her. She wasn’t loud as they were, and she never threw herself at me.
She recognised my supernatural strength, but she didn't treat me like I was a god or idol.
She saw me for me – Samson – a regular man, and she treated me as such. It felt good to have that for the first time in my life.
Delilah would sit with me in silence for hours, brushing my long hair with her fingers till she fell asleep on my chest. When I was with her, I felt… settled. Peaceful.
She was a Philistine, and everybody who knew about us disapproved greatly, but I did not care about their opinions. It wasn't like anybody could do anything to stop me.
I genuinely loved her, and I thought she loved me too.
I really did.
So when she started asking me questions about the source of my strength, I didn’t think much of it.
At first, I would ignore them, and then later I started to play them off with jokes.
However, her questions continued to come more often, with each time being more insistent than the last.
"Why won’t you trust me, Samson?" She'd cry into my ears. "If you really loved me, then you’d tell me! We should keep no secrets from one another."
Many times I even lied to her, but when I did, she would test me and realise that I had lied. Then she'd start begging and crying again.
She was gradually wearing me down.
Eventually, Delilah started to pull away and become distant, and I'll be honest, this made me very scared. I didn’t want to imagine my life without her in it.
And so because I wanted her to be happy, I told her the truth.
The whole truth.
I thought that if I just gave her what she wanted, then she wouldn't leave me.
That night, lying in her sweet, soft hands, intoxicated by the thick scent of her fragrance and the hot blood running to the veins beneath my legs, I told Delilah my secret.
"No razor has ever touched my head," I admitted. "I have been set apart from birth. If my hair is cut, I lose my strength, and I become like any other man."
She held me tight after that, and I could tell that I had made her very happy.
Delilah ran her hands through my hair, hugged me, kissed me, and didn’t say a single word. She just smiled and dragged me into her bed.
That night, I fell asleep in her arms like I had done so many times before.
Looking back, I realise that I did not tell Delilah my secret because I trusted her; I did it because I was proud.
Somewhere deep inside me, I had stopped thinking that my actions had any consequences. And since I had gotten away with so much already, I thought, Why not this one too?
That same night, I woke up to the sound of swords and shields, and I instantly knew that I was not the same man anymore.
I tried to jump up and defend myself, but I couldn’t. I tried to feel that familiar feeling of surging strength in my muscles, but there was nothing.
No surge. No fire. No will.
Just a heaviness in my chest and a piercing pain on my scalp.
I knew right then that the Lord had left me; I didn't even need to see the thick strands of my hair that were scattered across the floor.
So there I stood, naked, stunned, and weak, as they came at me from every side.
Out of habit, I tried to fight the men. I threw punches and pushed bodies, but it was all useless. My limbs were hollow and loose, and they overpowered me fast.
One of them struck me behind the knee, and another hit me across the face with a shield.
I dropped flat to the ground, dizzy, bleeding, and disoriented.
Then I looked up and saw her. Delilah. She was standing at the edge of the room, not crying or screaming; she just… watched, with an almost victorious look on her face.
I saw one of the soldiers walk over to her and drop a heavy bag of coins into her hand, the rattling sound filling the room.
She looked at the bag, looked at me, and then she smiled as she walked out of the room.
That smile broke something in me, and the full reality of the situation struck me. She had betrayed me to my enemies.
Delilah had betrayed me.
This woman. This beautiful, strange foreigner whom I loved with all my heart and with whom I shared my body, my soul, and the deepest secret of my existence had betrayed me.
I will never forget Delilah's cruel smile because it's the last image I ever saw. I didn’t have too long to think before the knives came out.
Two soldiers forcefully held me down to the ground, and a third quickly leaned in and gouged out my eyes with a knife, slow and steady.
That is the most pain I've ever felt, and it's nothing that can be described with words.
I had screamed out in agony, my groans drowning out their heavy laughter and jeers.
I think I almost fell out of consciousness, but they did not let me pass out, immediately waking me up with the tip of their hot spears. They wanted me to feel every moment of it.
The next morning, they chained my hands and dragged me through the streets of Gaza. The very same streets that I once walked through triumphantly.
Men spat. Women jeered. Children threw stones.
I didn’t fight. I couldn’t fight.
All I could do was stagger through the rocky roads, barefoot, as they dragged me forward, lost in the darkness of the loss of my eyes. The crowds screamed and shouted louder, cheering for joy at the capture of their enemy.
Every Philistine knew who I was, and they realised that my reign over them was now over. I would never again be a threat to them.
Then they brought me here to this prison, clamped metal cuffs on my ankles and wrists, and shoved me onto this grinding wheel.
I've been here since then, with no idea of how long has passed; it could be weeks or months.
A part of me even feels like it's been decades.
Every day, I wake up. Every day, I push the stone. Every day, my hands bleed, my knees ache, and my body gets weaker than it’s ever been.
I desperately wish they would just kill me and move on with their lives, but I know they won't.
The Philistines are cruel people, and they will keep me alive for sport as long as they can.
This is the rest of my life now.
In this darkness, despite all the physical pain and emotional torture I've endured, what weighs me down the most is utter shame.
Shame because I know that I have failed. I have failed my God, and I have failed my people, the Israelites.
My entire life purpose was to protect them from the Philistines.
I was the one that God raised as their judge, and now I have been defeated, inevitably sentencing my people back into oppression at the hands of those godless pagans.
If I still had eyes, tears would be flowing down them right now. There's no longer any hope for me; I know it, but still I pray.
I pray for mercy for my people.
I pray to the Lord that He sends them another rescuer to save them from their enemies so they don't have to suffer for my actions.
I pray He sends a rescuer that will not make the same mistakes that I did.
I silently pray to the Lord my God in this cell, and I know that He's listening.
I do.
Right now, I don’t feel the same power that I once did, but I feel something else. His presence. I know He's here, and that is enough.
I am now a prisoner. A slave. I will keep waiting for the day they decide that they’re finished with me and kill me.
But until then, I will trust in the Lord’s peace.
The same peace I ignored when I was strong and thought I needed nothing else.
I will rely on that peace even now as I push this millstone.
Even as my hands bruise and my feet tear. Even as the chains dig deeper into my skin. Even as I feel a slight wind slowly blow the growing hairs on my scalp.
It’s very loud today, way too loud.
I hear the sounds of music, celebration, cheers, and voices chanting in the streets. I know the sound of drunken men when I hear it, and today there are thousands of them coming from all around.
From what I remember, this Philistine cell is below the temple of their god, Dagon, so I often hear their shouts and celebrations when they come in for their sacrifices.
However, today's noise is much louder, which means that something has happened or something is about to happen.
Dread fills my heart as I imagine the possibilities.
Did they capture the Ark of the Lord from Israel? Did they raid and capture goods from the Israelites again? Is today the day they kill me?
I'm about to dismiss the last thought completely when the door of my cell yanks open and I hear the sound of men coming down the steps.
I brace myself into a sitting position as they get closer, and I immediately feel rough hands lift me to my feet. They laugh at me and taunt me in their native tongue, and one of them spits in my face twice.
I feel disgust rise in me, but I don't resist or try to fight back. I don't have the will or ability to.
A time ago, I would have killed them both with my bare palms, but I am no longer that man. My arms slump in defeat, and I keep my head bowed to the ground as they drag me up the stairs and out of my cell.
As we move along, the noise gets louder and louder, and it's like we're headed towards the source.
After a few minutes, the guards shove me down, and I fall roughly to the ground. I hear their laughter as they walk away.
For the first time in however long, I feel the sunlight on my face, and a warmth rises from deep in me.
All I can see is darkness, but the rays of the sun scorch my skin, causing me to break into a sweat. Another pang tears through my heart as I realise that I will never, ever see the sun again.
I'm still on the ground when I feel two tender hands grab my own. They're the hands of a small boy. He helps me to my feet, and he continues to lead me by hand towards the noise.
We climb over a few steps, and when I realise where I am, everything finally makes sense.
I am at the entrance of the temple courtyard, which means that they've brought me here to make a show.
Samson, the man who once tore down their gates and killed thousands of them, has now been captured. They want to parade their defeated enemy in front of a crowd.
All around me, people are screaming my name, not in fear like they once did, but as a mockery. I hear people shouting from the roof of the temple too.
As we walk deeper into the courtyard, I hear metal brasses, heavy drums, and the sounds of thousands of voices. I hear laughter and curses, and I smell the aroma of different foods.
They've thrown a feast to celebrate my defeat.
Everything makes me want to laugh out loud bitterly.
The more I move through the crowd, the more my head is pelted with stones and different types of foods. Some people even come closer to give me slaps and to spit on my face.
Every one of them is eager to have a piece of the man they would have never dared to come near before.
I honestly don't blame them, for it was my very own actions that brought me here.
I just ignore the anger that keeps rising in me, and I keep my head low, dragging one heavy foot after the other.
The boy leads me to climb some steps, and after what seems like an eternity of raising my burning limbs, we finally reach the top. He gently releases me, and I plant my hands on the ground to stop myself from falling face-flat onto it.
Below me, all around me – everywhere – the Philistines are still screaming and shouting, and the thick smell of alcohol fills the air.
I'm exhausted, and the noise makes my head pound heavily.
Lying here, weak, impotent, and the subject of mockery by my enemies, I feel so much shame.
I'm half-naked, and I have been insulted, bruised and beaten by the very same people I defeated for years.
The enemies of my people whom I was meant to utterly destroy.
Once again, I remember my failures, and that familiar grief pierces my heart. I curse the Philistines and pray for the ground to swallow me whole.
I'd much rather die than face this level of torturous shame.
Suddenly, the entire temple crowd are chanting the same phrase in the Common Tongue. This causes me to pay attention because the Philistines rarely ever use the Common Tongue.
I don't recognise the chant at first because of the pounding in my head, but I strain my ears to focus on the words. Their voices slur, and their intonation gives the phrases a weird sound, but they continue to chant in unison.
After a few seconds, I hear it, loud and clear.
"Israel's God is no god; Dagon is god! Israel's God is no god; Dagon is god! Israel's God is no god; Dagon is god!"
They are mocking YAWEH!
These godless people are mocking the God of our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. And they are proclaiming their false god over him.
All because of me.
They mock YAHWEH, all because of me.
Suddenly, I'm burning with anger again. Spite and disgust fill my heart, and I clench both my fists together.
I try to pull myself to my feet, and I immediately feel the hands of the small boy wrap around me. I pull him closer so I can whisper in his ear.
"Pillars… put me… pillars," I mutter, hoping he understands.
He must understand me because he's leading me again, this time backwards and slowly. I feel my feet graze a tiny platform, and then my left and right hands are planted on the cold marble.
I place both hands on the stone columns to feel their texture. They are stiff, sturdy, and wide.
"Run," I whisper to the boy.
As soon as I hear his footsteps retreat away from me, I bow my head and pray under my breath.
"Oh Lord my God, please, remember me. Strengthen me just this once, O God, that I may with one blow take vengeance on the Philistines for my two eyes."
I plant my feet firmly on the ground, draw in a deep breath, and with all the strength I can muster, I start to push with all my might.
It's strenuous at first, the stiff concrete remaining firm in its place, but I keep going. I stifle a groan, and I focus all my might on the two pillars around me.
The crowd is oblivious to my actions.
None of them must notice me because they all continue to laugh and scream, completely lost in their revelry as they mock me with each passing second.
Chanting Dagon’s praises and cursing the living God.
I breathe in sharply, and I push again. This time, my hands tremble, and my muscles begin to lock. That familiar burn creeps into my arms, my chest, and my back.
The crowd is still yelling, but it’s dull now. All I hear is my own body straining as I push harder and harder.
Suddenly, I start to feel that familiar flow, that tingle of energy swimming in my veins. It's slow at first, but it gets stronger and stronger until I'm completely overwhelmed by it.
The power of the Lord is surging through me again, and this time it's greater than I have ever felt it been before now.
Immediately, I feel the stone begin to give way, and the two pillars start to tremble beneath my hands.
I push harder. I feel the sweat drip down my temple. My legs shake. I dig my heels into the stone floor. I can’t see anything, but I know. I can feel now that something’s happening.
The right pillar starts to shift under my palm. At first it's a vibration, and then it's a movement. The same thing happens to the left pillar too.
I hear the cracking begin, small and sharp, like twigs snapping. I feel the floor beneath me start to tremble, and I hear the timbers on the roof start to groan.
Suddenly screams start to cut through the laughter, and the music gives way to panicked noise. I hear footsteps running in all different directions and the clutching sounds of people trampling over each other.
The Philistines have realised what's happening, but it's too late.
There's a very loud crack, and something above me splits. I feel dust and sand fall into my hair, and I hear more people shout from the roof.
The pillars are now crumbling.
A massive beam crashes down somewhere into the crowd. Stone rains from the ceiling, some pelting my face and bruising my body, but I keep going.
I keep pushing until I feel the snap of the structure give way completely. The roof starts to collapse, and I hear it rumbling as it breaks. It's like a loud tearing sound in the sky.
All around me, I hear the crumble of walls and the snapping of wood.
The whole building is coming down.
I feel it and I hear it all: the panic and screams and confused chaos. I can't stop the smile that creeps on my face as I picture the faces of the philistines as they hopelessly run around on the bodies of their fellow countrymen that have been crushed by stone.
They came here to party and cheer, and now they will be crushed to death by the very rocks they used to build the temple of their false god.
There’s nowhere for them to run.
Everybody here is going to die, including me.
I might have failed while I was alive, but with this, my final act, I will defeat the enemies of the Lord and once again bring glory to his name.
If this is the last thing I do, I will make sure I see it through till the end.
"Lord, let me die with the Philistines!" I scream my final prayer.
I feel a heavy rock land on my back, and I fall to the ground, dizzy with pain. The noise swallows everything.
More and more rocks fall all around me.
One falls beside my head, and another crushes my right ankle into the ground, causing me to cry out.
Slowly, I feel the darkness start to get darker, and the silence start to overpower the noise, and the strength slowly leaving my limbs. More stones pound on my body, but I’m getting number by the second.
As the abyss swallows me whole and I spiral into the nothingness, a final thought comforts me.
"The Lord is good; His mercies endure forever."
As always, read your Bible for the original gist.
This is just how I imagine it went down.
I don’t know when it’ll come, but you decide the next one-
READ NEXT-
Bro. Bro! BROOOOOO!!!! This is really really good. Really brings all those words to life.
Nooooooo, I really enjoyed this, I was perplexed, it's so niceeeee