Berlin, First Sunday in Lent,
February 26, 1933
In this sermon, the first that he preached after Hitler’s takeover of power, Bonhoeffer was concerned to put things in place, to proclaim at this moment when even German cathedrals were hung with swastika flags that for Christians there is only one Lord. He took as his text the Old Testament story of Gideon, a young man chosen by God to save the Israelites from their enemies and to turn them away from the worship of false gods. As Bonhoeffer scholar Larry Rasmussen has said, Bonhoeffer “contrasted the reluctant Gideon with Siegfried, the unconquered Germanic hero figure of the Nibelung saga, who was already being idealized in Nazi propaganda.” Bonhoeffer quotes from both Old and New Testaments in describing God’s power in contrast to human might, and finally from Martin Luther’s hymn “A Mighty Fortress,” to assure his hearers that even now the power, and the victory, are God’s alone.
Judges 6:15–16; 7:2; 8:23: [Gideon] responded [to the Lord], “But sir, how can I deliver Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.” The Lord said to him, “But I will be with you, and you shall strike down the Midianites, every one of them.” . . . The Lord said to Gideon, “The troops with you are too many for me to give the Midianites into their hand. Israel would only take the credit away from me, saying, “I have delivered myself.” . . . Gideon said to them, “I will not rule over you, and my son will not rule over you; the Lord will rule over you.”
This is a passionate story about God’s derision for all those who are fearful and have little faith, all those who are much too careful, the worriers, all those who want to be somebody in the eyes of God but are not. It is a story of God’s mocking human might [Gal. 6:7], a story of doubt and of faith in this God who makes fun of human beings, who wins them over with this mockery and with love. So it is no rousing heroic legend—there is nothing of Siegfried in Gideon. Instead it is a rough, tough, not very uplifting story, in which we are all being roundly ridiculed along with him.
And who wants to be ridiculed, who can think of anything more humiliating than being made a laughingstock by the Lord of the world? The Bible often speaks of God in heaven making fun of our human hustle and bustle, of God’s laughter at the vain creatures he has made. Here it is the powerful, Sovereign One whose strength is unequalled, the living Lord, who carries on this way about his creatures. For him, who has all power in his hands, who speaks a word and it is done [Ps. 33:9], who breathes forth his spirit and the world lives, or takes it away and the world perishes [Ps. 104:29, 30], who dashes entire nations to pieces, like potters’ vessels [Ps. 2:9]—for this God, human beings are not heroes, not heroic, but rather creatures who are meant to do his will and obey him, whom he forces with mockery and with love to be his servants.
So that’s why we have Gideon and not Siegfried, because this doubter, mocked by God, has learned his faith in the school of hard knocks.
In the church we have only one altar—the altar of the Most High, the One and Only, the Almighty, the Lord, to whom alone be honor and praise, the Creator before whom all creation bows down, before whom even the most powerful are but dust. We don’t have any side altars at which to worship human beings. The worship of God and not of humankind is what takes place at the altar of our church. Anyone who wants to do otherwise should stay away and cannot come with us into God’s house. Anyone who wants to build an altar to himself or to any other human is mocking God, and God will not allow such mockery. To be in the church means to have the courage to be alone with God as Lord, to worship God and not any human person. And it does take courage. The thing that most hinders us from letting God be Lord, that is, from believing in God, is our cowardice. That is why we have Gideon, because he comes with us to the one altar of the Most High, the Almighty, and falls on his knees to this God alone.
In the church we also have only one pulpit, from which faith in God is preached and not any other faith, not even with the best intentions. This again is why we have Gideon—because he himself, his life story is a living sermon about this faith. We have Gideon because we don’t want always to be speaking of our faith in abstract, other-worldly, unreal or general terms, to which people may be glad to listen but which they don’t really take note of; because it is good once in a while actually to see faith in action, not just hear what it should be like, but see how it just happens in the midst of someone’s life, in the story of a human being. Only here does faith become, for everyone, not just a children’s game, but rather something highly dangerous, even terrifying. Here a person is being treated without considerations or conditions or allowances; he has to bow to what is being asked, or he will be broken. This is why the image of a person of faith is so often that of someone who is not beautiful in human terms, not a harmonious picture, but rather that of someone who has been torn to shreds. The picture of someone who has learned to have faith has the peculiar quality of always pointing away from the person’s own self, toward the One in whose power, in whose captivity and bondage he or she is. So we have Gideon, because his story is a story of God glorified, of the human being humbled.
Here is Gideon, one person no different from a thousand others, but out of that thousand, he is the one whom God comes to meet, who is called into God’s service, is called to act. Why is he the one, or why is it you, or I? Is it because God wants to make fun of me, in coming to talk with me? Is it God’s grace, which makes a mockery of all our understanding? But what are we asking here? Isn’t God entitled to call whomever God chooses, you or me, the highly placed or the lowly, strong or powerless, poor or rich, without our being entitled to start arguing about it straight away? Is there anything we can do here other than hear and obey?
Gideon is supposed to liberate Israel from its bondage at the hands of the Midianites, an enemy nation with superior power. He, who is just like any of a thousand others, is called upon to do a phenomenal deed. He looks at himself and his own strength and then at the unconquerable might of the opposing side. He has nothing on his side—the enemy has it all. “He responded, ‘But Lord, how can I deliver Israel?’ ” How am I supposed to accomplish this thing that you are calling me to do? Lord, it’s too big a job, don’t be cruel. Take it back, or let me see some help, give me armies, weapons, riches! God, you don’t realize how wretched we are; look at this starving, weakened people, see how homelessness and lack of bread makes them doubt you, look how they bow down to other gods and not to you. “How can I deliver Israel?” This Gideon is someone we know, isn’t he? He has suddenly become very much alive for us. Gideon, we recognize your voice only too well; you sound just the same today as you did then.
The call comes to our Protestant church, just one like many others in the world: you are to redeem Israel; you are to set the people free from the chains of fear and cowardice and evil that bind them. This call startles the church and troubles it profoundly, this church without influence, powerless, undistinguished in every way—why is it the one to be burdened with this call? It looks at the hopelessness of its proclamation; it looks at the apathy and the misery of those who are supposed to be listening and recognizes that it is not equal to the task. It looks upon its own inner emptiness and barrenness, and it says fearfully and reproachfully, with what am I supposed to redeem this people? How am I supposed to do this phenomenal thing? And then suddenly the call comes to us: put an end to the bondage in which you are living, put an end to the mortal fear that gnaws at you, to the power of human desire that is burning you up, to your tormented and self-satisfied keeping to yourself. Put an end to your fear of other people and your vanity; set yourself free. Who would be willing to say that he or she has never heard this call and has never answered, as Gideon did: Lord, with what am I supposed to do such great things?
But then Gideon is silenced; today as just as in those days, he’s told to shut up. You’re asking, “With what?” Haven’t you realized what it means that this is God calling to you? Isn’t the call of God enough for you; if you listen properly, doesn’t it drown out all your “with what” questions? “I will be with you”—that means you are not asked to do this with any other help. It is I who have called you; I will be with you; I shall be doing it too. Do you hear that, Gideon of yesterday and today? God has called you, and that is enough. Do you hear that, individual doubting Christian, asking and doubting Christian? God has plans for you, and that does mean you. Be ready and see to it. Never forget, even when your own powerlessness is grinding you down to the ground, that God has phenomenal, immeasurable, great plans for you. I will be with you.
What does Gideon do? He goes out and has the trumpets blown, calls up an army from all the tribes, gathers around him whatever fighting forces he can find. Compared to the superior forces of the enemy it is still only a small army, and Gideon hesitates to go into battle. Then, just as he is pitching his tents opposite those of the enemy, there comes God again, blocking his path. Gideon, what have you done? Gideon, where is your faith? Look at this army of yours; it’s too big; Gideon, it was fear and doubt that made you call up this army. The troops with you are too many for me. I’m not going to give you the victory this way. Then you would only take the credit for yourselves and say, we have delivered ourselves, we have gained the victory. But I will have none of it. Fall down before your God and let God be your Lord; know that only God can save you. This is God’s promise, and the word of God is more powerful than all the armies in the world.
Here the crucial question has been put: Gideon, do you seriously believe in God your Lord, even here face-to-face with this terrifyingly dangerous enemy—then, Gideon, send your massive army home; you don’t need it. God is with you; the victory belongs to God and not to your army. What a phenomenal thing to ask, what a confusing encounter with the living God! There stands Gideon with his little army, hesitating to go out against the enemy’s superior forces, and then God comes and laughs rudely in his face, makes fun of him: Gideon, the troops with you are too many for me. Instead of bringing on huge amounts of weapons and armies, he calls for disarmament, meaning faith, faith; let your armies go home! How cruelly God makes fun of all human might; it’s the bitterest of all tests of faith and makes God an incomprehensible lord and despot over the world. Isn’t it crazy? Wouldn’t Gideon have been torn apart inwardly, to have to give up the only forces that, from a human viewpoint, he could count on, here in the face of the enemy? What kind of wild God is this, zealous for his own honor, always standing in human beings’ way and frustrating their plans, before they know it? Why does God frustrate us? Because God is opposed to the proud [Prov. 3:34; 1 Pet. 5:5], because humans keep getting it wrong, however they do it? Why do we always get it wrong? Because we are always trying for our own credit, and don’t want to believe in God.
But Gideon believed and obeyed; he let his troops go home, and with every man who left him, his faith grew in this God who had made fun of him. And when they had all gone except for a tiny remnant, the victory was given into his hands. He believed, he obeyed, he gave God the glory, he renounced the honor for himself, and God kept the promise made.
Is this a tall tale like all the others? Anyone who says so has failed to understand that Gideon is still with us, that the old story of Gideon is being played out in Christendom every day. I will be with you in the face of the enemy. . . . What does Gideon do? What do we do? We rustle up all our own forces; we reach out for every means of help; we calculate, we weigh, we count; we arm ourselves with offensive and defensive weapons. Until then, suddenly and unexpectedly—nobody knows the hour—the living God is there and assails us again: if you have faith, lay down your weapons; I am your weapon. Take off your armor; I am your armor. Put away your pride; I am your pride. Do you hear that, church of Gideon? Let God alone; let the word and the sacraments and the commandment of God be your weapons; don’t look around for other help; don’t be frightened. God is with you. Let my grace be sufficient for you [2 Cor. 12:9]. Don’t try to be strong, mighty, famous, respected, but let God alone be your strength, your fame and honor. Or don’t you believe in God?
It does seem crazy, doesn’t it, that the church should not defend itself by every means possible in the face of the terrible threats coming at it from every side. What madness brought this Gideon into the world? But all this is only the foolishness of the Christian faith itself; that is what this story is about. It’s not about the particular command that was given; it’s not that which is valid for all the ages, but rather the foolishness, the stumbling block of living faith, which confesses, “With might of ours can naught be done, soon were our lost effected . . .”
And you as an individual, you who have heard the call to free yourself from bondage, to loosen its chains and the grip of fear, you are already right back into acting from lack of faith. You think that by straining to exert all your energies, you can do it yourself, by putting all you have into it, because you want to control your own destiny. Then suddenly there is God standing in your path, and there go all your fine plans again. Lay down your weapons, for I am your weapon, and a thousand of your weapons are not equal to one of mine. Let me do what you cannot do. You want the honor of saying, I have delivered myself, but this is not for you; give me the honor and the glory, believe in me. Let my grace be sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.
Gideon’s warriors must have been flabbergasted; they must have shuddered when he gave them the order to go home. The church is always astounded, and shudders, when it hears the voice of the One who commands it to renounce power and honor, to let go of all its calculations and let God alone do God’s work. We shake our heads and are scandalized as we watch many a Gideon going his way among us. But how can that confound us who see in the midst of our church the cross, which is the sign of powerlessness, dishonor, defenselessness, hopelessness, meaninglessness, and yet is also where we find divine power, honor, defense, hope, meaning, glory, life, victory? Do we now see the direct line from Gideon to the cross? Do we see that the name of this line, in a word, is “faith”?
Gideon conquers, the church conquers, we conquer, because faith alone conquers. But the victory belongs not to Gideon, the church, or ourselves, but to God. And God’s victory means our defeat, our humiliation; it means God’s derision and wrath at all human pretensions of might, at humans puffing themselves up and thinking they are somebodies themselves. It means the world and its shouting is silenced, that all our ideas and plans are frustrated; it means the cross. The cross over the world—that means that human beings, even the most noble, go down to dust whether it suits them or not, and with them all the gods and idols and lords of this world. The cross of Jesus Christ—that means God’s bitter mockery of all human grandeur and God’s bitter suffering in all human misery, God’s lordship over all the world.
The people approach the victorious Gideon with the final trial, the final temptation: “Be our lord, rule over us.” But Gideon has not forgotten his own history, nor the history of his people. . . . The Lord will rule over you, and you shall have no other lord. At this word, all the altars of gods and idols fall down, all worship of human beings and human self-idolization. They are all judged, condemned, cancelled out, crucified, and toppled into the dust before the One who alone is Lord. Beside us kneels Gideon, who was brought through fear and doubt to faith, before the altar of the one and only God, and with us Gideon prays, Lord on the cross, be our only Lord. Amen.