Wickedness and Unhealed Trauma
Trauma is everywhere. One in four women and one in six men will be sexually abused. At least one in seven children have experienced abuse or neglect in the past year.i More than one in four abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children.ii
Psychological research continues to demonstrate the tentacle-like nature of the impact of trauma. Effects include dissociation, panic attacks, hyperarousal, loss of sleep, low self-esteem, grief, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and substance abuse.iii
We tend to associate trauma with those who were assaulted or were involved in military combat, but trauma can be inflicted from much less stark incidents. It’s more likely than you might think that you have experienced trauma of some sort.
Our human nature is to do everything we can to avoid trauma. Many Christians go a step further and, desiring not to wrongly attach their identity to victimhood), deny how they have experienced trauma. While secular methods for navigating trauma are incomplete (EMDR, for instance), ignoring our trauma leads to disastrous results.
Tucked away in the book of Judges, we meet Jephthah. Immediately our heart breaks for this young man.
Now Jephthah the Gileadite was a mighty warrior, but he was the son of a prostitute. Gilead was the father of Jephthah. And Gilead's wife also bore him sons. And when his wife's sons grew up, they drove Jephthah out and said to him, “You shall not have an inheritance in our father's house, for you are the son of another woman.” Then Jephthah fled from his brothers and lived in the land of Tob, and worthless fellows collected around Jephthah and went out with him. (Jdgs. 11:1-3)
There is so much hurt and trauma packed into these three verses. Do you hear the layers of pain? Jephthah is the son of Gilead and a prostitute. Every time Gilead sees Jephthah, he is reminded of his shame. Gilead distances himself from Jephthah. Meanwhile, Jephthah’s brothers, carrying their father’s shame, decide that the way to deal with this stain on their family is to cast their brother out of their home and the town.
Imagine you are in Jephthah’s sandals. Your brothers call a family meeting and coldly announce your fate. Your father leaves the room without saying a word. You look to your siblings. They look away. Hurt, shame, grief, loss, and rejection hit you like waves.
Attempting to cope with the pain (and perhaps also the threat of violence), Jephthah flees to nearby Tob where, unsurprisingly, he is drawn to “worthless fellows.” Why wouldn’t he be? Is it not a reflection of his own sense of self? When we feel worthless, we are drawn to destructive people. None, of course, are worthless in God’s sight, but our sense of worthlessness can create a destructive cycle.
Jephthah might have spent the rest of his days in Tob if the Ammonites would not have attacked Israel. Their lives in danger, “the elders of Gilead went to bring Jephthah from the land of Tob” (Jdgs. 11:5). Likely, among those elders were Jephthah’s brothers. They come to him with no apology. He who was an obstacle to their happiness is now useful to them.
Is Jephthah healed? Is he able to differentiate? To request an apology? No. He’ll take the scraps from their table so long as he is seen as valuable. Wary, though, he demands that they make him head of Israel. And so they do.
Jephthah leads several small successful military campaigns, but the real threat, the Ammonites, still loom. Jephthah declares to the Ammonite envoy that their disagreements over territory are ultimately God’s to determine, “The Lord is Judge!” (Jdgs 11:27), Jephthah says. In a book where the nation of Israel is dead set on doing what was “right in his own eyes” (Jdgs. 17:6), this declaration is a ray of light. In God’s kindness, the Spirit of the Lord came on Jephthah (Jdgs. 11:29) and he is led to the battle front against the Ammonites.
As Jephthah looks across to the threat of a much more fearsome foe than the others he has already conquered, he can’t help but reverting to doing what was right in his own eyes. Where God has met him in grace, he feels like there must be law. Isn’t that what his father taught him? He was only worth what he could offer. When stress came into the picture, Jephthah couldn’t receive God’s mercies because of his unhealed trauma.
And what could he offer that would mean anything to the Almighty? The neighboring Ammonites had taught him that the highest form of sacrifice were human. Maybe that would be a good enough bargaining chip? Jephthah offers up a wicked proposal, “If you will give the Ammonites into my hand then whatever comes out from the doors of my house to meet me when I return in peace from the Ammonites shall be the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering” (Jdgs. 11:30b-31).
We can try to soften the blow (it appears that Jephthah expected a servant to be the first to meet him), but don’t be mistaken, Jephthah’s vow isn’t merely rash, it is wicked. He treats Yahweh like Abilelech. He twists God’s gracious covenanting into a pagan religion where one pays for divine favors. He is bargaining with God for his acceptance just like he bargained with his earthly father.
When you reject God’s healing, you become what you despise.
God, in his mercy, still gives the Ammonites into Jephthah’s hands. And then Jephthah returns home to Mizpah (interesting he doesn’t live in Tob or Gilead—maybe he’s trying to make a fresh start?). The traumatized is about to become the traumatizer.
And behold, his daughter came out to meet him with tambourines and with dances. She was his only child; besides her he had neither son nor daughter. And as soon as he saw her, he tore his clothes and said, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low, and you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the Lord, and I cannot take back my vow.” And she said to him, “My father, you have opened your mouth to the Lord; do to me according to what has gone out of your mouth, now that the Lord has avenged you on your enemies, on the Ammonites.” So she said to her father, “Let this thing be done for me: leave me alone two months, that I may go up and down on the mountains and weep for my virginity, I and my companions.” So he said, “Go.” Then he sent her away for two months, and she departed, she and her companions, and wept for her virginity on the mountains. And at the end of two months, she returned to her father, who did with her according to his vow that he had made. She had never known a man, and it became a custom in Israel that the daughters of Israel went year by year to lament the daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite four days in the year. (Jdgs. 11:34b-40).
Those seven verses are heartbreaking. Jephthah’s daughter sees her dad cresting the hill in the distance. She grabs her tambourine and dances her way to greet her daddy. Jephthah is heartbroken, but instead of owning his wicked oath, he blames his daughter. He could have repented of his sinful vow and been released from it (Lev 5:4-6), but he has such a narrow view of God, he thinks his vow is bigger than the character of God.
Jephthah’s daughter humbly submits to her father’s wicked choice. And then we see her break her father’s cycle. Instead of stuffing her pain and burying her trauma, she mourns her loss. Unlike the unhealthy community her father sought to numb his pain, she surrounds herself with loving and empathetic friends who weep with her. In fact, they continue to grieve her annually.
We don’t get to decide whether we will experience trauma or not. Trauma comes unbidden to our doorstep. We can decide to take our trauma to God. Jephthah bargains on his own terms while his daughter trusts but doesn’t minimize. We worship the God of the gospel, not the god of our trauma.
Share and grieve with God. Like scars, your trauma will never disappear, but it can be redeemed.
Jesus enters our trauma. Like Jephthah’s daughter, he accepts an unjust death. Jesus has walked through your pain and shame for you. He loves you just as you are. Jesus walks the path of rejection and shame.
The Enemy would love to isolate you through your trauma, he would love to convince you that you can’t share your trauma because of the shame. But God has powerful purposes for you. Those who have experienced healing will be some of the most powerful and empathetic people in caring for others.
There is no sin too great. There is no trauma too deep. Take your trauma to Christ, the traumatized, that you might experience his healing hand.
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