When we first meet Gideon in Judges 6, he doesn’t look like a hero waiting for his moment. He looks like a man trying to survive. He is tired. He is uncertain. And, although we don’t see it all in the opening scene, he is living with more grief than we might realise.
For seven years, Israel had lived under Midianite oppression. Every harvest brought the same dread. The Midianites would sweep in, ruin the crops, steal the livestock, and leave families hiding in caves and mountain strongholds. The land had been stripped bare, and the people were left impoverished and afraid [Judges 6:1–6]. And it is right there, in the middle of all of this, that the Angel of the LORD finds Gideon.
Gideon is secretly threshing wheat so that the little food he has will not be taken from him. Wheat was normally threshed out in the open, where the wind could carry away the chaff. A winepress was a hollow, hidden place. It wasn’t really the right place for the job, but it was a safer place to hide from the watching Midianites [Judges 6:11]. Gideon isn’t living boldly at this point. He is simply doing what he can to keep food on the table.
And then comes that greeting: “The LORD is with you, mighty warrior.” I can imagine Gideon looking around to see who the angel could possibly be talking about. Because Gideon certainly doesn’t feel like a mighty warrior. His response is not one of confidence. It sounds more like someone who has been trying for a long time to make sense of what he has seen and what he has been told about God:
“If the LORD is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all His wonders that our ancestors told us about?” [Judges 6:12–13].
Gideon knew the stories. He knew what God had done for Israel before. He knew about the Exodus. He knew that God had delivered His people in the past. He just couldn’t understand why God seemed so absent now. And perhaps that is what makes his question so human. He was asking because his present reality didn’t seem to match what he had been told about God.
And the pain had come very close to home. Idolatry had reached his own household. His father, Joash, possessed an altar to Baal and an Asherah pole [Judges 6:25–32]. The spiritual brokenness of Israel was not something Gideon could simply point at from a distance. He was living with it in his own family. And there was personal grief too. Later, when Gideon confronts the Midianite kings Zebah and Zalmunna, we discover that they had killed his brothers. Gideon remembers them with honour, describing each one as resembling “the son of a king” [Judges 8:18–19].
So perhaps Gideon’s questions make a little more sense when we know some of what was behind them. These weren’t detached theological questions, they came from years of fear, loss, disappointment, and watching things happen that he had believed God would prevent.
So when God called him to deliver Israel, Gideon asked for confirmation. He prepared an offering, and God consumed it with fire [Judges 6:17–24]. Later, Gideon asked for the sign of the fleece. And then, because he was still unsure, he asked for the opposite sign [Judges 6:36–40]. Underneath those requests was a very human question: “How do I know this really is You?”
And I love that God didn’t shame Gideon for asking. He answered him patiently. One step at a time. God was not simply trying to make Gideon feel better. He was teaching him to trust.
Then, just when Gideon had gathered an army and might have started feeling a little more secure, God reduced it. Thirty-two thousand men became ten thousand. And ten thousand became only three hundred [Judges 7:1–8]. From a military point of view, things didn’t become more hopeful. They became rather impossible. God was making it very clear that the coming victory would not rest on numbers, strength, or human confidence.
And even then, God knew Gideon was still afraid. Before the battle, God told him to go down to the Midianite camp if he needed encouragement. There Gideon overheard a soldier describing a dream that pointed towards Israel’s victory. And Gideon worshipped. Then he returned to his men and prepared to act [Judges 7:9–15]. God had given him encouragement he hadn’t even asked for.
Victory, however, did not suddenly make everything easy. The men of Ephraim confronted Gideon because he had not called them earlier, and Gideon had to respond to their anger with humility and wisdom [Judges 8:1–3]. Then, while Gideon and his three hundred men were exhausted but still pursuing the Midianite kings, the people of Succoth and Penuel refused to give them bread because the victory was not yet secure [Judges 8:4–9].
Gideon had obeyed God. He had stepped out of hiding. He had faced an impossible enemy. And he still found himself criticised and unsupported by his own people. Sometimes we imagine that once we finally obey God, everything should become easier. But Gideon’s story doesn’t really look like that. Obedience didn’t remove every difficulty.
Regardless, God was patient with him. In Gideon’s story we repeatedly see God meeting fear with reassurance. He listens to Gideon’s questions. He receives his offering. He gives him signs. He reduces the army. And when Gideon is still afraid, He gives him another word of encouragement through the enemy’s own camp.
Perhaps that is where you are today. Maybe you still believe in God. Maybe you still know the stories. Maybe you have even seen Him do things before. But something happened along the way that made trusting Him harder. A prayer that seemed unanswered. A loss you didn’t understand. Something you believed God would protect you from, but He didn’t. Maybe you have found yourself asking questions you never expected to ask.
If that is you, Gideon’s story gives us a little room to breathe. Honest questions are not always the opposite of faith. Sometimes they are part of learning to trust God again. God did not leave Gideon in the winepress and He also didn’t shame him out of it. He met him there. He answered him there. He strengthened him there. And then, patiently, He called him forward.
Maybe that is what God is doing with us too. Not asking us to pretend that the past didn’t hurt. Not asking us to stop having questions. But meeting us right where we are, strengthening us one step at a time, and leading us out of hiding and into the next act of obedience.