The period of the judges was a dark and chaotic era in Israel’s history. After the death of Joshua and before the rise of the monarchy, “there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25). The people repeatedly turned away from the Lord, falling into idolatry and rebellion. In response, God allowed enemy nations to oppress them. Yet in His mercy, He raised up judges—temporary leaders and deliverers—to rescue Israel from their enemies and call them back to covenant faithfulness.

Samson was one of these judges (Judges 13-16). He’s often remembered as the Sunday School strongman—famous for slaying armies with a donkey’s jawbone (Judges 15:15), tying torches to foxes (Judges 15:4-5), and collapsing the Philistine temple in a final act of defiance (Judges 16:29-30). His feats of strength were legendary, but they weren’t just displays of human power; they were moments when the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon him (Judges 14:6, 15:14). Samson was set apart from birth as a Nazirite (Numbers 6:1-21), and even though he broke this vow and at times pridefully trusted in his strength rather than in God, God’s hand remained on him throughout his twenty years as a judge. 

“Behold, you shall conceive and bear a son… for the child shall be a Nazirite to God from the womb, and he shall begin to save Israel…”
– Judges 13:3–5

Samson’s story begins, like several of Scripture’s great redemption arcs, with a barren woman and a miraculous promise. A divine messenger appears and declares that this long-awaited child will be consecrated from the womb—a Nazirite, set apart for God’s purposes. And yet, even here, the angel’s words are telling: “He shall begin to save Israel” (Judges 13:5). His work will be partial.

Early in his story, after a brutal battle with the Philistines, Samson cries out to God, “Shall I now die of thirst?” (Judges 15:18). It’s a complaint—a demand that assumes God’s deliverance as something owed to him. Even in victory, Samson struggles to grasp his dependence on the Lord, even as God mercifully answers and gives him water. This scene foreshadows a pattern in Samson’s life—moments of great God-given strength followed by lapses of self-reliance. His victories are real, but so are his weaknesses, and over time they lead him toward an even greater fall.

Samson’s final days are as dramatic as the rest of his life. Betrayed by Delilah (Judges 16:15–23)—paid a king’s ransom by the Philistines—he is seized, his hair is cut, his eyes are gouged out, and he is led away in chains. The strongman of Israel becomes a public spectacle, paraded in a temple before his enemies at a feast held in honor of their god, Dagon. Yet—even in humiliation—his story is not over. Humbled, Samson does what he so rarely did in his youth: he prays. Not out of entitlement, but dependence. “O Lord God, please remember me and strengthen me only this once…” (Judges 16:28). With arms outstretched, he pulls down the temple pillars—crushing his enemies and himself in the process.

It’s a tragic last stand, but also a glimpse of redemption. His final act wasn’t just destruction—it was deliverance. In that moment, he fulfilled the purpose for which he had been born: “to begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (Judges 13:5). His name appears in the great faith chapter, alongside Gideon, David, and others “who through faith conquered kingdoms… and were made strong out of weakness” (Hebrews 11:32–34). That’s the legacy of Samson—not perfection, but faith in a perfect God.

Like Samson, Jesus was betrayed by someone close to him. He was paraded before His enemies. He stretched out His arms in death (Matthew 26–27). But where Samson brought judgment on Israel’s oppressors, Jesus brought mercy to sinners and conquered sin and death. “Father, forgive them,” He said, “for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).

And here the contrast becomes clearest. Samson demands water as proof of God’s care; Jesus, hanging on the cross, whispers, “I thirst” (John 19:28). He speaks not in complaint, but in complete submission to the Father’s will—“to fulfill the Scripture” (John 19:28b). His thirst is the cry of the Suffering Servant who has poured Himself out completely (Isaiah 53:12). In His weakness, He identifies fully with humanity’s deepest needs, even as He is moments away from meeting them forever.

Samson’s final act ends with his death. But for Jesus, “it was impossible for death to hold him” (Acts 2:24). On the third day, He rose from the grave, proving that His thirst was not defeat, but the pathway to eternal victory. In His resurrection, the Living Water bursts forth in abundance, satisfying the thirst of all who believe (John 7:37–38). The cross was His moment of surrender; the empty tomb is His declaration of triumph. Where Samson’s strength brought temporary relief from Israel’s oppressors, Christ’s death and resurrection bring everlasting deliverance from sin, death, and the grave.

A Story That Speaks Today

We often read Samson’s story and instinctively place ourselves in his sandals—wrestling with pride, strength, and self-reliance. And sometimes we are Samson.  But what if we’re not Samson? Have we considered ourselves as being Delilah?

Delilah wasn’t the one with power—she was the one who sold it out. She traded a relationship for a reward. She handed over the deliverer for a promise of wealth, believing that what she gained would be worth more than what she lost. Her actions are chilling not because they’re unfamiliar, but because they are uncomfortably close to our own. 

How many times have we traded our intimacy with Christ for something far less? For success, security, attention, control? How often have we sold out the presence of God in our lives for fleeting comforts or approval? Delilah didn’t lift a sword—she simply opened a door. But her compromise carried the weight of betrayal.

And yet, here’s the grace: Jesus was betrayed too. Not just by Judas, but by us. He knows what it is to be handed over, not by strangers, but by those close enough to kiss His cheek. And still, he offers forgiveness. Still, He stretches out His arms—not in vengeance, but in mercy. The gospel reminds us that we are not the hero of the story. We are the betrayer, the weak one, the one who settles. But Jesus is the better Samson—stronger, purer, willing to lay down His life not in wrath, but in love.

So if you’ve played the part of Samson or Delilah, hear this: you are not beyond grace. Christ did not come for the strong and self-sufficient—He came for the broken and repentant. He came for you. Let us praise God that we do not have to carry the shame of our betrayals. We have a Savior who was sold out, struck down, and raised up—all so we could be brought in. And his name is Jesus Christ.