Judges 15:9–13

Judges 15:9 — Philistine Encampment in Lehi: The Philistines, provoked by Samson's devastation of their crops and his killing of Timnite kinsmen (15:1–8), do not pursue Samson alone; they spread out through the territory of Judah and encamp at Lehi (meaning "jawbone" in Hebrew — a place-name that anticipates the extraordinary slaughter Samson will perform there in vv. 14–17). The broader tribe bears collective pressure because of one man's righteous — if violent — defiance. This dynamic establishes the tragic logic of the passage: communal fear of the oppressor overrides loyalty to the one raised up by God.

Judges 15:10 — Judah's Negotiation with the Enemy: The men of Judah parley with the Philistines as though the occupiers hold natural authority over them. Their question — "Why have you come up against us?" — is the language of subjects, not of a people that God had promised the land. They have so thoroughly internalized their servitude that they inquire after the terms of their oppression rather than calling upon the LORD for deliverance. The Philistine answer is telling: they seek Samson specifically, which reveals that the Judge is the true target and the population merely leverage.

Judges 15:11 — Three Thousand Against One: The detail of three thousand men descending upon Samson in the cleft of the rock at Etam is deliberately disproportionate. No military threat demands such numbers against a single man hiding in a cave. The number signals collective moral capitulation — a mob rationalizing collaboration. Their accusation, "Don't you know that the Philistines are rulers over us?" is a stinging rebuke of Samson's God-given mission. They have accepted enemy sovereignty as normative. Their second question — "What then is this that you have done to us?" — echoes the language of complaint against a troublemaker rather than gratitude toward a liberator. Samson, notably, does not argue theology with them; he asks only that they swear not to kill him themselves.

Judges 15:12 — The Covenant to Betray: "We have come down to bind you, that we may deliver you into the hand of the Philistines." This sentence is the moral heart of the passage. The people of God become the instruments of the oppressor. They do not strike Samson in hatred, but they collude in his capture out of cowardice and accommodation. The verb "deliver" (Hebrew nātan) is the same word used throughout the Deuteronomistic history for God "delivering" enemies into Israel's hands — here it is tragically inverted. Judah hands the judge over.

Judges 15:13 — The Binding: Samson, constrained only by his oath-bound condition ("you shall not kill me"), submits. He is bound with two new ropes — the freshness of the ropes underscoring the strength of the binding and perhaps the deliberateness of the act. That the ropes are new may echo ritual purity (new, unused cords were employed in covenantal and ceremonial contexts in the ancient Near East). He is "brought up from the rock" — led out of the shelter of the cleft, exposed, and surrendered.

Typological Sense: From Origen onward, the Church read Samson as a figura Christi — a type of Christ whose career prefigures aspects of the Savior's life, Passion, and victory. This scene maps with striking precision onto the Passion narrative: the judge-deliverer is seized not by strangers but by his own kinsmen; he is bound; he is handed over to the Gentile oppressor; he goes willingly, placing conditions on but not resisting his captivity. The rock of Etam becomes, in this reading, a foreshadowing of Gethsemane — the refuge from which the deliverer is led away by those he came to liberate.

The Catholic interpretive tradition, drawing especially on the fourfold sense of Scripture (CCC §§115–119), treats this passage as one of the Old Testament's most transparent prefigurations of the Passion. St. Ambrose, in his De Spiritu Sancto, identifies Samson among the types of Christ crucified, pointing to the binding and handing-over as clear figures of the Lord's betrayal. St. Augustine, in Contra Faustum (Book XII), treats Samson's entire cycle as a figura of Christ's saving work: the deliverer who appears in weakness, is rejected by his own, yet overcomes through apparent defeat. This reading is not allegorical fantasy but rooted in the literal text's own inner logic: Samson, like Christ, is raised up by the Spirit of God (Judg 13:25; Lk 4:1), belongs to his people, and is surrendered by them to Gentile authority.

The Catechism's teaching on typology is directly applicable here: "The Church, as early as apostolic times, and then constantly in her Tradition, has illuminated the unity of the divine plan in the two Testaments through typology, which discerns in God's works of the Old Covenant prefigurations of what God accomplished in the fullness of time in the person of his incarnate Son" (CCC §128). The scene also illuminates the theology of voluntary surrender central to the Passion: Samson is not overpowered — three thousand men could not have taken him by force (cf. v. 14–15) — he submits. This resonates with Christ's declaration that no one takes his life from him; he lays it down of his own accord (Jn 10:18).

Furthermore, the capitulation of Judah speaks to a perennial theological problem: the failure of God's people to recognize and support those raised up for their liberation, a reality St. John captures in the Prologue: "He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him" (Jn 1:11).

This passage confronts contemporary Catholics with a searching question: do we resemble the three thousand men of Judah? Their failure was not outright apostasy but something more subtle — accommodation to a dominant culture's values to the point where those raised up by God to challenge that culture are experienced as a problem rather than a gift. Many Catholics today face analogous pressure: to silence, distance themselves from, or even report to secular authorities those prophetic voices — in the Church or in public life — whose witness creates friction with the surrounding world.

Samson's willingness to be bound rather than harm his kinsmen models a profound aspect of redemptive suffering. The Catechism teaches that "suffering, accepted in union with Christ, can have redemptive value" (CCC §1521). When Catholics face betrayal from within their own communities — family members, fellow parishioners, institutions — this passage offers not just consolation but a call to active imitation of Christ's non-retaliatory surrender. The spiritual discipline here is concrete: resist the temptation to retaliate against those whose fear leads them to betray; trust that God works precisely through apparent defeat.