In Judges 10, we continue to see the pattern that has shaped so much of this part of Scripture—a rhythm of deliverance, forgetfulness, disobedience, and then God's mercy again. It's both a cautionary tale and a hopeful one, because while it shows us how quickly we can fall into cycles of rebellion, it also reminds us that God hears us when we cry out. Even when we've strayed far, even when we've turned away again and again, His grace reaches out to us when we humble ourselves before Him.
The chapter begins with a brief mention of two judges who led Israel after Abimelech’s violent reign: Tola and Jair. Though we’re not given a lot of detail about their lives, their inclusion matters. Tola arose to save Israel and judged for twenty-three years. Jair followed and judged for twenty-two years. These were decades of stability—years where we might imagine life was more peaceful, where justice was upheld, and the people lived with a measure of safety and order. Jair had thirty sons who rode on thirty donkey colts and ruled over thirty cities, showing that he was a man of some influence and wealth. Though understated, their stories remind us that God raises up steady leaders too—not every deliverer has to come with dramatic battles or fire from heaven. Sometimes leadership looks like quiet faithfulness over time.
But as the chapter moves forward, we find that after Jair’s death, the people of Israel again turn away from the Lord. They don't just forget Him; they actively serve other gods—the Baals, the Ashtaroth, and the gods of multiple surrounding nations: Syria, Sidon, Moab, Ammon, and the Philistines. They abandoned the Lord and did not serve Him. It's a painful line, not just historically but spiritually. We recognize ourselves in this pattern more than we'd like to admit. It’s easy for us to get distracted, to chase after what feels immediately rewarding, to compromise our trust in God when other things promise quicker satisfaction. But those promises are always empty, and when we turn from God, we lose the very source of our peace.
Because of this rebellion, God allows the Israelites to fall under the oppression of the Philistines and the Ammonites. For eighteen years, these enemies crush the Israelites, especially those living east of the Jordan in Gilead. The people are deeply distressed. Their suffering becomes unbearable, and they finally cry out to the Lord—not with polished prayers, but with desperation and confession: “We have sinned against you, because we have forsaken our God and have served the Baals.” This is where the chapter becomes deeply personal. Their cry becomes a mirror for our own moments of repentance. When we hit the bottom, when the weight of our own choices starts to crush us, it’s then we often turn back to the One we abandoned.
God answers, but not as they expect. He reminds them of all the times He has delivered them in the past—from Egypt, the Amorites, the Ammonites, the Philistines, the Sidonians, Amalek, and Maon. He lists them off, as if to say, “I’ve always been here for you.” But then He says, “Yet you have forsaken me and served other gods. Therefore I will save you no more. Go and cry to the gods which you have chosen. Let them save you in the time of your distress.” It's a painful rebuke, one that stings with truth. When we put our trust in other things—success, people, our own strength—and ignore God's voice, we eventually have to confront the emptiness of those choices. God is not mocking them; He’s confronting them with the reality of their decisions.
But this moment also invites something powerful: repentance not just in words, but in action. The Israelites don't walk away. Instead, they humble themselves more deeply. They say again, “We have sinned,” and they go further—they put away the foreign gods and serve the Lord. That change of heart moves beyond emotion. They act on it. And what happens next is beautiful: “His soul was grieved for the misery of Israel.” God sees their suffering and is moved. Even after all their failings, His heart responds to their pain. We need to let that truth sink in. God doesn’t delight in punishing us. He is not distant or cold. When we truly return to Him, He is already waiting, already grieving our pain, already preparing restoration.
As the chapter closes, the Ammonites are gathered for battle, and so are the Israelites in Gilead. But there’s tension—there is still no leader appointed to deliver them. The people of Gilead ask among themselves, “Who is the man who will begin to fight against the children of Ammon?” The one who leads will become head over all the inhabitants of Gilead. This sets the stage for the next chapter and the introduction of Jephthah. But even in this moment, there’s a sense of readiness, of hope beginning to break through the oppression.
Judges 10 speaks to us with quiet strength. It reminds us that God hears us when we come to Him in humility. He has always been faithful, even when we are not. And when we truly turn away from the idols we’ve chased—whether they’re literal or hidden in our hearts—He is still there, ready to lead us out of our distress. Let’s remember that His mercy doesn’t run dry. He grieves when we suffer, and He responds when we surrender. Even in the waiting, even in the moments where we feel lost, He is working to restore what’s been broken. That’s the God we serve.