The Savior We Really Need

Good morning, Church. You look great. you really do. If you have your Bibles and I trust that you do, go ahead and make your way to Judges 13.

JUDGES 13… We’ve been walking through this wild ride of a book, and now we come to one of the most fascinating stories in all of Scripture. One of the most famous, too—Samson.

Now let’s play a little game. When I say the word Samson, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Strong? Long hair? Delilah?

Maybe you picture some bodybuilder straight out of Gold’s Gym, veins popping out everywhere. Arnold in his prime.

Years ago, psychologists came up with word association tests. They’d throw out a word like “heart.” If you said “love,” it revealed one thing. If you said “broken,” it revealed something else. If every word you threw back was violent—well, you probably needed a counselor.

Same thing here. If I say “Al,” you might think Capone, or Bundy, or maybe Al Mohler. But if you say “-cohol”… well, we might need to have a different conversation.

So here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to say a word and the first word that comes into your mind, just say the first word that comes into your mind, out loud.

Ready?

Night.

Some said “day,” some said “lonely,” and some of y’all just said “Netflix.”

Church.

Some of you said “family,” others said “boring,” which… thank you very much.

Biceps.

Don’t even lie—you flexed a little.

Now—Samson. What do you see?

Here’s what’s funny: we almost always picture Samson as the ultimate man’s man—jacked, shredded, a Hebrew Hulk. But the Bible never says that.

In fact, the whole point of Samson’s story isn’t that he was impressive; it’s that God’s Spirit was.

Samson wasn’t meant to be a poster child for GNC supplements. He was meant to be a picture of what happens when God puts His power on weak people. Truth be told, he probably looked more like an average guy than a world-class lifter.

And here’s what you need to know: Samson is the last judge in the book. He isn’t the Judge in the Bible but He is the last Judge in the Book of Judges. Samuel is the last judge of Israel.

But We get three full chapters on him—more than anyone else. Why? Because his story sums up the entire book of Judges. And it points us past Judges to something far far greater.

By this point, Israel’s cycle is clear. And it’s not just a cycle—it’s a rut. Over and over again it looks like this:

They walk with God.

Then their hearts wander into idolatry.

God lets those false gods enslave them.

They cry out in misery.

God raises up a deliverer.

Things get better for a while… until they forget again.

Sound familiar? That’s the rhythm of Judges. And Samson’s life is about to show us that if all we’ve got is another flawed deliverer, the cycle never ends. What we really need is a Savior who can break the cycle for good.

So, lets just jump right into this and see what the Lord has in store for us in our time together. Starting in Verse 1.

Judges 13:1 says, “And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the LORD, so the LORD gave them into the hand of the Philistines for forty years.”

Forty. That number in the Bible almost always means judgment and completion. Forty days of rain with Noah. Forty years of wandering in the wilderness. And now—forty years under the hand of the Philistines. This is ultimate judgment on sin.

And understand this because its important—the Philistines weren’t just some backwoods, ragtag people. They were advanced. Like, scary advanced.

They were the first to master iron, which meant iron swords and iron chariots while Israel’s still playing around with sticks and rocks.

They introduced actual military formations to battle while Israel’s still just charging in like sheep without a plan.

Their art, pottery, and architecture? Multi-story buildings and bridges. Israel? Shepherd tents.

But here’s the thing—they weren’t just sophisticated. They were wicked to the core.

Their whole society was built on piracy and conquest. Think Vikings before Vikings were cool.

Their parties were legendary. They invented something called the misteh—literally a week-long drinking feast. And you thought frat row at the University of Florida was wild.

They flooded Israel’s land with pigs—which was a direct slap in the face of God’s law.

And they were unspeakably cruel. When they captured a town, they would mutilate men while still alive, torture them, and then impale them for everyone to see.

Buccaneering. Beer. Bacon. Barbarism. That was the Philistines.

They were everything the enemies of God could be—sophisticated, powerful, ruthless, and superior in every measurable way. Culturally, economically, militarily—they had it all. And Israel? Israel was weak, wandering, and enslaved.

That’s the setup. And that’s the moment God’s about to show that His Spirit doesn’t need numbers, or weapons, or worldly strength. He just needs a surrendered people because our God is greater.

Judges 13:2–3 says, “There was a certain man of Zorah, of the tribe of the Danites, whose name was Manoah. And his wife was barren and had no children. And the angel of the LORD appeared to the woman and said to her, ‘Behold, you are barren and have not borne children, but you shall conceive and bear a son.’”

Let me give you five observations from these two verses that teach us five crucial things about salvation.

1. What’s missing?

Notice what’s not there between verses 1 and 2— there ought to have been wailing in the streets.

The people of God should have been crying out: “Lord, we have sinned against You! Forgive us! Deliver us!” That’s what we’ve seen in earlier cycles of Judges—Israel falls into sin, and eventually the pain gets so bad they cry out in repentance.

But here? Nothing. Not a peep. No fasting. No praying. No confession. Just silence.

And that silence is deafening.

Because by now, Israel has gotten so used to their sin, so numb to their slavery, that they don’t even bother to call on God anymore. They’re content living under the thumb of the Philistines. They’ve stopped hoping for deliverance. They’ve stopped believing they even need it.

And here’s the scandal of grace: God doesn’t wait for them to come to Him. He comes to them first.

If salvation is going to happen, it won’t be because Israel got their act together. It won’t be because they prayed long enough, cried loud enough, or repented hard enough. No—if deliverance comes, it’s because God Himself steps in.

That’s grace. God always moves first.

And isn’t that our story too? Romans 5:8 says, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Not after we repented. Not once we got our lives straight. While we were still in rebellion, while we were silent in our sin, God sent His Son.

This is why you and I can’t boast in our salvation. It wasn’t our tears that moved God’s heart. It wasn’t our promises or our repentance that got His attention. He loved us when we weren’t even looking for Him. He pursued us when we weren’t pursuing Him.

Grace means this: you weren’t the one holding on to God—He was the one holding on to you.

2. The first pre-birth promise

This is the first time in Judges that a deliverer is announced before birth. Every other judge was someone already alive that God raised up.

But here, God says, “No, this Savior isn’t coming from among you. I’m not just going to make one of your people stronger. I’m going to start from scratch.” It’s God’s way of saying, “You need more than a makeover. You need a brand-new miracle.”

3. A barren woman

And who does God make this promise to? A barren woman. “His wife was barren and had no children.” (v. 2)

In those days, barrenness wasn’t just painful; it was devastating. Your whole future was tied up in children.

In an agrarian society, more kids meant more hands in the field and more provision.

Without kids, there was no social security, no retirement plan—your old age was uncertain.

For Israel as a nation, strength came from population growth.

So women who had many children were celebrated like heroes. But a woman without children? She was seen as hopeless. Walter Brueggemann put it like this: “Barrenness in ancient texts symbolized hopelessness, for without children, there was no foreseeable future for yourself, for your family, or for your people.”

And some of you know what that feels like—not necessarily barrenness, but hopelessness. No future. No security. No way forward. That’s where God loves to work.

4. Her namelessness

Here’s another detail: we know Manoah’s name, but not hers. She’s only called “the woman.” That’s intentional. The author is painting her as obscure, overlooked, forgotten. And as we’ll see, she wasn’t even necessarily a God-seeking woman.

5. The lesson of salvation

And here’s the point: salvation comes to a people not crying out, not deserving, not impressive, not strong, not even hopeful.

God doesn’t love the lovely; He makes lovely those He loves. God doesn’t save the strong; He makes strong those He saves. God doesn’t choose the righteous; He makes righteous those He chooses.

Which means no matter who you are—no matter how broken, how overlooked, how weak, or how hopeless you feel—there is hope for you.

But it won’t be found in you “turning over a new leaf.” It won’t be found in you producing life in your own barrenness. It will be found in receiving God’s gift of grace—His choosing, His calling, His miracle in you.

One of the most humbling, sweetest truths in all of Scripture is this: God set His affection on me “just because.”

Deuteronomy 7 is the first time God really spells this out for Israel: “It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the LORD set his love on you and chose you, for you were the fewest of all peoples, but it is because the LORD loves you” (Deuteronomy 7:7–8).

Did you catch that? God says, “I didn’t love you because you were the strongest. I didn’t choose you because you were the smartest, or the most moral, or the most sophisticated. I loved you… because I loved you.”

That’s the way a father loves his kids. I don’t look at my son and say, “I love you because you got straight A’s” or “because you’re the strongest kid on the team.” No—I love him because he’s mine. He is my little image bearer. Just like we are made in God’s image.

And here’s the thing: if God chose me when I was running in the opposite direction from Him, while I was still God’s enemy- then He’s not going to discard me now when I stumble along the way.

After all these years of following Jesus, here’s what I’ve learned—I’m not holding on to Him nearly as tightly as He is holding on to me.

“It is not your hold of Christ that saves you—it is Christ; it is not your joy in Christ that saves you—it is Christ; it is not even faith in Christ, though that is the instrument—it is Christ’s blood and merits.”- Charles Spurgeon

My grip is weak. My faith wobbles. But His grip? His grip never slips.

That’s why I have hope for tomorrow. That’s why I know I’m going to make it.

Because my future doesn’t depend on the strength of my hold on Him—it depends on the strength of His hold on me.

Judges 13:4–5 says, “Therefore be careful and drink no wine or strong drink, and eat nothing unclean, for behold, you shall conceive and bear a son. No razor shall come upon his head, for the child shall be a Nazirite to God from the womb, and he shall begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines.”

Now, pause real quick. Notice what the angel tells this woman—“avoid unclean things.” Y’all, that’s how we know she wasn’t a righteous woman to begin with. She shouldn’t have had to be told to avoid what was unclean. That was already written into God’s law. He doesn’t have to say it unless she was doing it.

You don’t have to tell someone to stop doing something they aren’t doing.

People that born and raised in Florida don’t need to be told not to feed the sea gulls at the beach. You tell that to the tourists or the yankee transplants. And we love yall and we are glad yall are here but don’t feed the sea gulls.

Jordan you need to quit running so much. Yeah, no problem.

Which makes the point even clearer: salvation here is 100% God’s initiative.

Then the angel lays out the Nazirite vow. And this was no casual thing—this was intense.

No haircutting. You couldn’t trim your hair for the whole time of the vow.

No wine, no strong drink… nothing from the vine. No red. no white. Even Welch’s grape juice was out. Which—let’s be honest—back then meant your drink options were basically water or milk.

No touching dead bodies. At all.

Normally, people would take a Nazirite vow for a short season—when they were really seeking God for something. But Samson? He’s under it from birth. His entire life. Which means, by the way, his hair just kept on growing. Think Duck Dynasty meets ZZ Top. That’s the image.

Why does this matter? Because Samson being set apart is a symbol—a shadow—of the greater Savior who would one day come completely set apart. Holy. Sinless. Jesus Christ, the true Deliverer.

And then the angel says something strange: “He shall begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines.”

Begin? That’s a weird word, right? Why not “He shall save”? Because Samson isn’t the whole story. He’s just the start.

And by the way, this is the last big story in Judges. Which means the book ends with something bring started… but not finished. And that’s the point. If you’re reading it right, you should be asking: “Where’s the conclusion? Where’s the real Deliverer?” And the answer is—you won’t find Him until the New Testament. He is born of virgin- in a manager- in a town called Bethlehem. His name is Jesus.

Now, verse 6 and following: the woman goes and tells Manoah what happened, and he’s like, “Okay… either an angel showed up, or you’ve been hitting a little too much of that strong drink yourself.” He says, “Let’s ask God to send the angel back so we can know for sure.” And God, in His kindness, does.

Judges 13:15–17 says, “Manoah said to the angel of the LORD, ‘Please let us detain you and prepare a young goat for you.’ And the angel of the LORD said to Manoah, ‘If you detain me, I will not eat of your food. But if you prepare a burnt offering, then offer it to the LORD.’ … And Manoah said, ‘Now when your words come true, what is to be the child’s manner of life, and what is his mission?’ And Manoah said to the angel of the LORD, ‘What is your name, so that, when your words come true, we may honor you?’”

Now watch what’s happening. Manoah wants to throw down a little goat feast. Why? Because in that culture, sharing a meal was more than food—it was covenant, it was peace.

But the angel refuses. Why? Because there is no peace between God and Israel at this point. Their sin has broken fellowship. No goat barbecue can fix that.

Then Manoah starts rapid-firing questions at the angel. “When this kid comes, what’s his life supposed to look like? What’s his mission? Also, what’s your name? You got a FacebookI can follow? Maybe a blog where you’ve written all this down?”

What’s he asking for? Detail. Manoah wants a manual. He wants a five-step parenting plan. He wants a job description, a roadmap, some clarity on what this boy will be and do.

But here’s the thing: God doesn’t give him detail. God gives him a promise. Because salvation doesn’t rest on how much detail you know, but on how much you trust the God who makes the promise.

Judges 13:18 says, “And the angel of the LORD said to him, ‘Why do you ask my name, seeing it is wonderful?’”

That word wonderful isn’t just “wow, neat.” In Hebrew, it means divine. It’s used almost exclusively for God in the Old Testament. So what’s going on here? Manoah wants details: God doesn’t give him details. God gives him Himself.

That’s the pattern all through Scripture. We come to God asking, “Why did this happen? What’s coming next? What’s my future look like?” And instead of handing us a spreadsheet of explanations, He gives us a glimpse of who He is.

We want explanation. God gives revelation.

And if your faith is dependent on God answering all your “why” and “what” questions before you trust Him, you’re not going to make it.

Because He rarely gives the full answer. What He gives is Himself—His name, His character, His presence.

I’ll be honest with you, I’m like Manoah. I want the details. I want the playbook. But God keeps pressing this question into my soul: “Is my name enough? Do you trust who I am, even if you don’t know what I’m doing?”

And when I stop and reflect, His name really is wonderful.

I think about His power. A scientist once calculated the energy it would take to create enough food to feed the 5,000. He used Einstein’s formula, E=MC², and concluded that if every person ate just eight ounces, it would require all the electrical output on earth, running at 100% capacity, for four straight years.

Jesus did that standing on a hillside—without breaking a sweat. And that’s just lunch.

Or think about the sun. Every second it consumes 600 million tons of matter, producing enough energy in one second to power America’s needs for 13 billion years.

God spoke it into existence with a word: “Let there be light.” And there was.

Am I really in a place to question a God like that?

Then I think about His compassion. The God who didn’t just forgive me after I ran from Him, but who paid the price Himself at the cross.

Or His holiness. He is the perfection of every good thing in the universe. Every bit of beauty, every trace of justice, every drop of love and joy and pleasure—all of it flows from Him.

So can I trust Him with the questions I don’t have answers to? With the future that looks foggy? With the pain I can’t explain? Yes. Because His name is wonderful.

I say it often because it’s true: we want explanation, but God gives revelation. And if His revelation is Himself, that’s more than enough.

Judges 13:19–20 says, “So Manoah took the young goat with the grain offering, and offered it on the rock to the LORD, to the one who works wonders, and Manoah and his wife were watching. And when the flame went up toward heaven from the altar, the angel of the LORD went up in the flame of the altar. Now Manoah and his wife were watching, and they fell on their faces to the ground.”

That’s not dinner—that’s a sacrifice. And as the flame shoots up, the angel goes up with it. Manoah and his wife face-plant into the dirt. And then we get one of the funniest verses in the chapter.

Judges 13:22 says, “And Manoah said to his wife, ‘We shall surely die, for we have seen God.’” You gotta picture this—his face is still in the dirt, muffled, yelling: “Honey, we’re dead!”

But then watch his wife. Verse 23: “But his wife said to him, ‘If the LORD had meant to kill us, he would not have accepted a burnt offering and a grain offering at our hands, or shown us all these things, or now announced to us such things as these.’”

Now listen, I’ve been a little hard on Samson’s mom up to this point. But right here? She shines. Her response puts her in the hall of faith with some of the greatest women in the Bible.

Better than Sarah, Abraham’s wife, who laughed when God said she’d have a son in her barrenness.

Better than Elizabeth, the priest’s wife, who doubted the angel when he told her she’d bear a child in old age.

The only real comparison is Mary, who when she heard about her impossible birth said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).

That’s the response that pleases God: “I believe what you have promised, and I’ll do whatever you say.”

And here’s the thing—Samson’s mom wasn’t impressive. She’s obscure. She’s nameless. She’s lived a rough life. But right here, she simply says: “Yes, Lord.” And that’s all He’s looking for.

Have you said that? That’s really it. “Yes, Lord.”

The great counterfeit to that is religion.

Religion always negotiates: “God, I’ll give You this if You’ll give me that.” But Jesus doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t say, “Let’s bargain.” He says, “It’s all Mine already—including you.”

So you’ve only got two options: faith and surrender, or rebellion.

He doesn’t come to make bad people a little better. He comes to rebels and demands we lay down our arms.

He doesn’t show up to “help out.” He shows up to take over.

That’s why the bumper sticker, “God is my co-pilot,” is terrible theology.

If God is your co-pilot, you’re in the wrong seat. God shows up and says, “That’s my car. You stole it. Get in the backseat.” And from the backseat you say, “Wherever You’re going, Lord, I’m in.”

Who would’ve thought Carrie Underwood nailed it? “Jesus take the wheel” is exactly the right response to Him.

You can’t be half-in. Jesus, I’ll drive half the way and then you can take us the other half. He is Lord of all or not at all.

Lordship is like faithfulness in marriage—96% faithful is still unfaithful. It’s all in, or it’s not real.

Think about it like this. If I walked in the door one evening and said to Blair, “Babe, I’ve got some good news for you. I’ve crunched the numbers, and I’m proud to report that I’ve been 96% faithful this year.”

Now, how many of y’all think she’s going to clap her hands and say, “Wow, honey, that’s amazing! I’m so impressed you stayed faithful most of the time, thats a solid A”?

No. If I said that, I wouldn’t be standing here preaching this sermon—I’d be 100% dead.

She’d bury me in the backyard with that look only a wife can give that says, “Boy, you’ve lost your mind.”

Why? Because everybody knows—faithfulness isn’t partial. It’s not graded on a curve. It’s all or nothing.

And that’s exactly how Lordship works with Jesus. You don’t negotiate 96% of your life and hold back the other 4%. He’s not signing up to be your “spiritual side kick.” He’s not your Robin while you play Batman in your life, he isn’t your advisor, or your weekend hobby. He’s King. Period.

Partial obedience is disobedience. Partial surrender is rebellion. You can be 99% surrendered, and it’s still no surrender at all.

The call of the gospel is not “Jesus, here are the parts of my life I’m comfortable handing over.” It’s “Jesus, here’s the whole thing—my marriage, my money, my career, my plans, my future—it’s Yours. All of it.”

And the irony is this: when you give Him everything, that’s when you actually find freedom. That’s when life finally works. Because He’s not just after your Sundays or your surface-level good behavior—He’s after your whole heart.

And by the way, you don’t even have anything to negotiate with. You’re barren. You’re unrighteous. Worthy of condemnation.

Religion is the great counterfeit to faith and surrender. A lot of folks keep busy in church, thinking they’re good with God. “Well, I go to church when I can, I try to give some, I try not to break too many commandments.” But that’s not surrender.

Faith says, “I believe what You’ve said. I believe You’ve done everything necessary to save me. And I give You my whole life.” Religion negotiates. Faith surrenders.

Judges 13:24–25 says, “And the woman bore a son and called his name Samson. And the young man grew, and the LORD blessed him. And the Spirit of the LORD began to stir him…”

Now here’s the thing—right here we already see the seeds of trouble. His mama names him Samson—literally “Son of the Sun.” That’s not a tribute to Yahweh. That’s a shout-out to the pagan sun god. From the beginning, compromise is baked into his story.

And that’s going to mark Samson’s life.

Let me give you four problems that are going to plague him—this is just a preview for the next couple of weeks:

1. Compromise

He breaks all three parts of the Nazirite vow. Remember—no wine, no touching dead bodies, no haircut. He’ll fail in all three.

In chapter 14 he falls for a Philistine girl—wrong on multiple levels because she doesn’t even worship his God.

Then he throws himself a misteh—a week-long keg party.

On the way, a lion attacks him. And “he tore the lion in pieces as one tears a young goat” (Judges 14:6 ESV). Side note: was tearing goats apart common back then? I’ve never torn a goat in half. Evidently, that was a thing.

Later, he sees that lion carcass, notices a beehive in its ribs, scoops out honey, and eats it. Boom—vow broken.

And of course, in the end, he lets his hair get cut, and that’s his downfall.

2. Impulsiveness

Samson is driven by appetite, by passion, by anger.

He’s hungry for honey—he eats.

He wants a woman—he takes her. Doesn’t matter if she’s a Philistine, a prostitute, whoever. “Get her for me, for she is right in my eyes” (Judges 14:3 ESV).

He gets mad—he kills people. Every feat of strength, except the last, comes out of anger or revenge.

Quick story: At his bachelor keg party, he bets 30 Philistine guys they can’t solve his riddle. When they can’t figure it out, they threaten his fiancée. She cries for seven days straight until he finally tells her. She tells them, and they solve it. Their answer: “What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?” (Judges 14:18 ESV).

Samson replies with one of the all-time great lines: “If you had not plowed with my heifer, you would not have found out my riddle.” (Judges 14:18 ESV)

Men, two quick lessons:

Don’t let anybody plow with your wife.

Don’t call your wife a heifer.

Samson, ticked off, goes and kills 30 Philistines, strips their clothes, and says, “Here’s your suits—hope the blood stains come out.” That’s Samson in a nutshell—impulsive, explosive, tragic.

And honestly—before we laugh too hard, isn’t that us? I thought this week, “Who would risk everything just for a taste of honey?” And then I realized: we do it all the time.

Men who throw away marriages for porn.

College guys who trade the Lordship of Jesus for a few years of sexual freedom.

People who toss aside God’s promises for a moment’s sweetness.

We’re not much different from Samson.

3. Entitlement

His whole attitude is “I deserve this.” That honey? That girl? That strength? It’s mine. That’s how he lived.

4. Pride

Everything in his life is about him.

He uses his strength for his own glory, not God’s.

He talks about “I, I, I.”

And when his hair is cut, it’s because he’s convinced his power comes from himself, not from God.

Let me talk to the men in here. These four things—compromise, impulsiveness, entitlement, pride—will wreck what God wants to do in your life. They’re the landmines in every man’s soul.

But listen—Samson is not the hero. He’s the last judge in this book. Israel’s last shot. Their great hope. And in almost every way, he fails. Which is why his life points us forward.

Because we don’t need another Samson. We need a Savior. And where Samson compromised, Jesus stood firm. Where Samson was impulsive, Jesus submitted to His Father’s will. Where Samson felt entitled, Jesus laid His rights down. Where Samson lived for his glory, Jesus laid His life down for ours.

Samson begins to save Israel. But only Jesus finishes the job.

One Truth.

Jesus Will Complete what Samson Begins.

Back in Judges 13:5, the angel says, “He shall begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines.” That little word begin—that’s the most important word in the whole story. Because Samson begins what only Jesus will finish.

Think about the parallels between Samson and Jesus:

Both births were announced before they ever happened. Samson is the only judge promised this way; Jesus is the ultimate promised Savior. Samson’s story is a preview; Jesus is the fulfillment.

Both births were miraculous. Samson’s mom was barren. Mary was a virgin.

But here’s the difference: Samson’s birth brought honor in a place of shame—his mom’s barrenness was turned to joy. Jesus’ birth, though, brought shame into a place of honor. Mary and Joseph became outcasts. Everyone assumed they had sinned. Why? Because the true Savior wouldn’t just save us by flipping sorrow into joy; He had to enter our shame, take it on Himself, and die for it.

Samson was a Nazirite—a respected religious man. Jesus was a Nazarene—a despised outcast.

And notice this too: with both Samson and Jesus, we get a lot of detail about their births… but almost nothing about their childhoods. The stories are being told in parallel, so we’ll see that Samson points forward to Jesus.

And when we do, here’s what we see: Jesus is the true and better Samson, who succeeds where Samson fails.

Like Samson, Jesus’ strength didn’t come from outward appearance or charisma—it came from the Spirit of God.

But unlike Samson, Jesus never compromised. He kept every command of God’s law, perfectly.

Instead of being driven by His impulses, Jesus was driven by His Father’s will. When Satan tempted Him after 40 days of hunger, Jesus said, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4 ESV). In Gethsemane He prayed, “Not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42 ESV).

Though Jesus was entitled to the throne of heaven, He laid it down, became a servant, and submitted to the humiliation of the cross.

We stand in awe of Samson’s strength. But we stand amazed at the presence of Jesus the Nazarene.

Because here’s the truth: God wants to use you, like Samson, in the lives of others. But you can destroy yourself with compromise, impulsiveness, entitlement, and pride. Strong on the outside, weak on the inside—that’s the tragedy of Samson. That’s the tragedy of us.

But when you see Jesus—the real Samson—the one who became weak to make you strong, who became poor to make you rich, who became sin so you could become righteous—then you get the moral strength Samson never had.

Instead of saying, “I want it,” you’ll say, “I want God and His will.”

Instead of saying, “I deserve it,” you’ll say, “I deserve death—but Jesus gave me life.”

Instead of saying, “My gifts are about me,” you’ll say, “Jesus, it’s all about You—through You, for You.”

Instead of saying, “I can handle it,” you’ll say, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13 ESV).

On the road to Emmaus, Jesus explained that everything in the Old Testament was about Him. I imagine when He got to Samson, He said, “That’s Me. I’m the true deliverer who finishes what Samson only started.”

And that’s why the goal of this sermon isn’t that you leave with a notebook full of facts about Samson. It’s not even to give you action steps about “being like Samson.” You can’t. You shouldn’t.

The goal is worship. That moment when the pen goes down, the eyes go up, and instead of saying, “Oh my God, look at all I have to do for You,” you say, “Oh my God, look at what You’ve done for me.”

So let’s end where we should—with worship. Let’s stand amazed in the presence… of Jesus the Nazarene.