Singing in the Dark

by Ginny Owens

  Chapter 3

  A Song of Victory

  Storm Songs

  I am pretty sure I was born with music in my bones. My mom says I used to leap in utero any time the choir sang at church or when she and Dad played their Karen Carpenter and ABBA records. And once I was out of the womb, all bets were off. My parents have enjoyed recounting the details of when I, a bold and brash two-year-old, stood resolute on the front pew before the church choir, insisting they were singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” incorrectly. I then proceeded to demonstrate how it should be sung (horrors!).

  Besides singing with my parents’ seventies records and torturing poor parishioners, I spent much time in song with my aunt Carol, my mom’s younger sister. She was in college when I came along, and I adored being with her. I made frequent visits to her college dorm, and we’d drive around town together, singing along to “Cheeseburger in Paradise” and “Lay Down Sally.”

  My mom requested that Aunt Carol find some more age-appropriate songs for a preschool music sponge. So she did, adding more educational numbers to our repertoire, including a kids’ song her roommate had on vinyl called “Storms.” The song was terrifying, with loud, scary thunder booms and torrential-downpour sounds, and lyrics describing every type of storm a kid could imagine. For as many times as she’d agree to it, I’d have Aunt Carol play it, and I would hide under the covers. When the claps of thunder burst forth from the record player, I’d bury my head under her pillow and squeal with terror and delight.

  I didn’t know it then, but Aunt Carol had written her own share of songs about life’s storms. Music was for her a place of peace. She loved singing hymns in church and started creating her own masterpieces in middle school, when she got a ukulele and her big sister (my mom) got a Silvertone guitar. As a teen, Aunt Carol and her musical compadres would play at church, school, and a local home for girls, often singing songs of hope she had journaled during her own dark days.

  My path was similar to Aunt Carol’s in some ways. As a child, I began to write my own way through life’s personal downpours. I would process whatever was going on by going to the piano. Crafting songs of hope in the midst of suffering—mine or others’—grew into a lifelong habit for me.

  But I remember one particular season when the songs and the hope behind them dried up. The storm was fierce, and I could not sing my way out of it.

  In the early months of 2008, my mom was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer. We were all blindsided by the news. She would go through multiple rounds of potent chemotherapy with intense side effects. Then surgery. Then more chemo. And finally, radiation.

  It was a dark, scary, rotten season. And I, the author of so many hopeful songs, felt my hope and peace ebbing away.

  Enter Aunt Carol. Despite her own sadness at the situation, over the next few months she began to teach us victory songs to carry us through the storm. She calls them “cheer songs” these days, though they aren’t light and fluffy like the word cheer connotes. They are subtly powerful choruses of praise, calling us toward hope in the midst of suffering and doubt.

  What does it mean to sing of victory during life’s storms? We all find ourselves in darkness from time to time. In fact, I think there’s always a low-level storm brewing in our souls. Worry, unrest, and fear threaten our sanity and diminish our joy.

  Whether it’s a global pandemic, unrest, or rising panic about what the future may hold, the world seems to have a knack for finding ways to throw new fears at us. In the midst of all that noise, it’s easy to wonder if God cares and, if so, where He’s hiding. It’s easy to stop singing because of a storm or the threat of bad weather ahead. How often are we like Peter walking on the water to Jesus, distracted by the wind and the waves and forgetting that he was living in a miracle (Matt. 14:28–33)? But what if we believed that God’s victory is always at hand? How would it change us?

  Deborah is a powerful woman we meet during a dark season in Israel’s history. Her courage and her song of victory remind me of my aunt Carol and her cheer songs. Deborah’s song in Judges 5 is one of the oldest pieces of Hebrew poetry we have. In it, Deborah and Barak, her partner in battle, sang about how victory came for them and their nation and how it can come for us too.

  Become Who You Already Are

  The book of Judges paints a grim picture of the life of the nation of Israel. The people frequently forgot to sing the anthem Moses had taught them. Instead, they were all doing what was right in their own eyes (Judg. 17:6). They were surrounded by Canaanite nations who excelled at unjust and vulgar practices like child sacrifice and temple prostitution. Israel would adopt all their ways at different points in their history, but at this stage in the game, they were very much into worshipping false gods (3:5–7). This practice naturally led them, again and again, to turn their backs on Yahweh.

  Whenever they ceased to listen to His voice, they would make stupid choices. This would always result in one of the surrounding Canaanite nations invading them and making their lives miserable. Then God’s people would wake up and turn again to Him, crying out for rescue. The Lord would respond by raising up a deliverer to restore the nation’s peace. But as soon as Israel once more felt confident and comfortable, they would turn from the Lord again, and the pattern would repeat.

  In Judges 4, we find Deborah, a courageous and confident prophetess and judge, presiding over the people of Israel while they were in one of those seasons of turning away from the Lord (v. 1). As a result of their evil, the Lord allowed King Jabin of Canaan, whose army was led by a harsh commander named Sisera, to oppress them for twenty years (v. 3). But when God’s people cried out to Him to save them, the Lord heard and engaged Deborah to help bring change.

  Despite the heaviness laid on her nation, Deborah’s posture was toward the Lord. We don’t see her performing strange rituals or calling on other gods, nor do we hear fear or doubt as she navigated her people through this season of oppression. Instead, the fact that she belonged to the Lord is evident. She knew that her identity was in God, and she reminded the people of Israel that theirs was too. When they remembered that, they could become what God’s people should be.1 Deborah’s influence led the nation into a season of faithfulness and to victory in a harrowing battle that the Lord won on their behalf.

  Deborah began implementing the Lord’s battle plan by sending for a man, Barak, and boldly giving him his marching orders (v. 6). Deborah didn’t assume the typical place of women in ancient Near Eastern cultures nor the typical attitude of an Israelite toward God. Instead, she shattered stereotypes with her leadership role, her tight connection to the Lord, and her incredible boldness in doing His will.

  With utmost confidence, she delivered to Barak the message of the one true God: “The LORD, the God of Israel, commands you, ‘Go, take position at Mount Tabor, bringing ten thousand from the tribe of Naphtali and the tribe of Zebulun’” (v. 6 NRSV). The Lord then promised through Deborah to give Sisera, the cruel Canaanite commander, and his massive army into Israel’s hands (v. 7).

  But Barak was not courageous like Deborah, and because he was too afraid to go to battle without her, she said she’d go but the Lord would give the victory to a woman because of his reluctance (vv. 8–9). Accompanied by Deborah, Barak followed the Lord’s orders, gathering troops and preparing for battle (v. 10). Then Deborah, moved by the word of the Lord, gave Barak the order to go and fight: “Up! For this is the day on which the LORD has given Sisera into your hand. The LORD is indeed going out before you” (v. 14 NRSV).

  What Deborah and Barak show us here is so important that they led Israel in singing about it. There are only two postures we can assume in life: toward God or away from God. Rooted in Him or rooted in something else. God has created us in His image, to be in communion with Him (Gen. 1:27). But we tend to trust our own abilities and chase after other gods. This failure to trust God naturally separates us from Him (see Gen. 3).

  Because Israel belonged to God, He was “slow to anger and abounding in
faithful love” (Num. 14:18), forgiving their sins when they ran back to Him. He gave them leaders like Deborah, who lived her life turned toward God. Her identity was rooted in Him. As a result, she had the courage and confidence to lead her people wherever God sent them, even if He called them into a dangerous battle.

  For the Israelites, forgetting who they were meant forgetting the Lord. They turned to the worship of physical idols, which is a practice that is unfamiliar to most of us. But we have many idols of our own—many ways we forget or dismiss God.

  These days, many folks prefer a combo of religions. Even Christians sometimes cherry-pick the things we like in Christianity, adding Eastern religious ideas like karma and more secular beliefs like self-empowerment. Perhaps our gods are our talents, our wealth, or our children.

  Whatever they are, to trust in these gods means that chaos will eventually ensue. We implode when the thing we love most fails us. Or, as anxiety rises about what bad things could happen, we tune out the panic by scrolling through social media or binge-watching instead of taking our doubts, fears, and questions to God and His Word. No matter what course we take away from God, the further we move from Him, the more unmanageable life becomes.

  Embracing that we are God’s image bearers is the first step we take toward freedom. We were made in His image so we could have connection with Him. He wanted that connection with us so much that He sent His own Son to pay for all our turning away (John 3:16). To belong to Him means to be His children and heirs (Rom. 8:16–17). It means we are no longer wandering orphans, managing life on our own (John 14:18). Finding our identity in Christ is the key to victory in the battles of our lives.

  We could have no more beautiful, purposeful, or powerful identity than to be God’s children and coheirs with Christ. When we are rooted in Him, we will have an unending sense of purpose and hope even when our circumstances do not change. Our hearts will be in a posture to receive His love and His answers. Our ears will be tuned to the sound of His irresistible song.

  The words of Deborah and Barak’s song pierce my heart: “When the people offer themselves willingly—bless the LORD!… When new gods were chosen, then war was in the gates” (Judg. 5:2, 8 NRSV).

  I wrestled intensely with my mom’s cancer diagnosis, partly because of how much I valued stability. I found that stability was one of my idols—and suddenly it was gone. I wanted life to move happily along as normal, uninterrupted. Most of all, I desperately wanted Mom to be okay. The realization that I could take care of her but couldn’t fix her cancer left me in a haze of sadness.

  Looking back, I realize there were many days when I forgot that my identity was in the Lord. I would not have said I was hostile to Him, but in those times, I did not often seek Him out, which is pretty much the same thing. Instead, I threw myself into helping Mom however I could, and I used whatever fuel I had left on songwriting and keeping my career on the rails. Beyond that, I came up with endless ways to distract myself so I wouldn’t have to feel.

  Mom, for her part, was getting treatments and then going back to work as many days a week as she could. She and I would pray together and sometimes talk through the hard questions. But there were no answers, so the sadness weighed heavily on us. Enter Aunt Carol. Like Deborah, she led the charge in reminding my mom and me of our identity.

  None of us knew what would result from my mom’s cancer diagnosis. But in that dark season of uncertainty, Aunt Carol’s confidence that we belonged to the Lord and that He would be faithful brought courage. She led us in singing of God’s goodness and faithfulness and of our identity as His children. And when we couldn’t sing on our own, she sang it over us.

  Don’t Just Stand There

  I think it’s incredibly significant that Deborah and Barak chose to include in their song a stanza about those who followed God’s call into battle—and those who stood around instead.

  Deborah, acting as “a mother in Israel” (Judg. 5:7), faithfully delivered the Lord’s orders for battle. Barak faithfully mobilized ten thousand volunteer troops, who willingly marched into battle (4:14; 5:9, 12–15).

  Others, however, weren’t so willing or faithful. The song tells of the tribe of Reuben, who underwent “great searchings of heart,” walking among their sheep instead of going to help (vv. 15–16 ESV). Reuben was thinking about getting involved—apparently thinking about it a lot. We’re told twice in the song about their “searchings of heart.” But they didn’t go. Nor did other tribes like Dan or Asher (v. 17).

  Some tribes may not have gone up to fight because of economic alliances with Canaan. Then, as now, it’s financially inconvenient to tick off your trade partners. Others probably didn’t go because they were fairly far away from where the battle would take place. Still, Deborah and Barak sang severe words of correction for these tribes who thought more about their own interests and well-being than about protecting their brothers and sisters.2

  Like Deborah, my aunt Carol knew who she was. And like those ten thousand volunteers, she acted on it. When my mom was first diagnosed, Aunt Carol wrote encouraging lyrics to the tunes of favorite kids’ songs. To the melody of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” she wrote:

  Cancer, cancer, cancer-free—

  That is what I’m going to be.

  Friendships, loved ones, prayer, and hope,

  They’re the things to help me cope.

  Cancer, cancer, cancer-free—

  That is what I’m going to be.

  After a stream of these came in via email, my mom had had enough. It was too soon for enthusiasm. “Can you please stop with the songs?” she begged. “I’m just not in the place for that right now.”

  Aunt Carol couldn’t shirk her call to champion hope, so she came up with a new approach. Thus, cheer songs were born. “Cheer song” was the subject line of every new email that offered a hymn or praise lyric, an encouraging Scripture, a short devotional, or a quick anecdote from Aunt Carol. Cheer songs began showing up in our inboxes without fail every evening. Soon enough, receiving the encouragement of these messages became a favorite part of our day. Mom began sharing them with friends and coworkers, and the list of recipients grew.

  I was inspired by my aunt’s tenacity. Left to myself, I am more like the tribe of Reuben. I search my heart, pondering for hours and sometimes years all the ways I could take action. Thinking carefully is not a bad thing, of course, unless it ends with not responding to what God has called us to do. But more recently I have discovered what Deborah and her comrades knew: being known and loved by God means we can never live passive lives. Even in the waiting, we listen, we cry out, and we pursue Him and the things He puts in front of us—just as He pursues us.

  So often we are paralyzed by fear. We don’t move because we don’t know what God wants us to do. I’ve been delighted to learn that we actually do know what He wants us to do—or at least where to begin. And He’s been telling us for years. For the Israelites, He carefully laid out the ways His people were to live, and Jesus succinctly summarized them later: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.… Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 22:37, 39).

  Deborah knew this. As she loved God with all her heart, she trusted and obeyed Him and sought the good of her people. Her trust was contagious. Barak caught on too. Though skittish and fearful at first, he followed Deborah’s example. They influenced ten thousand troops to follow suit in defending their fellow Israelites and trusting that God would give them the battle.

  So even when we face the unknown, even when we are surrounded by uncertainty, even in the waiting, we have important things to do. We get to entrust our searching hearts to the Lord and to share them with one another. We love as we have been loved. And we continually practice resting our wearied souls in the arms of the only One who can fight our battles and carry us to victory.

  The Bigger Story

  Deborah and Barak’s song celebrates how God’s greatness alone won this battle for Israel. Yes
, Deborah was faithful. Yes, Barak, though wimpy, did what he was called to do. But think about how much of this story had nothing to do with the Israelites.

  First, there is no line in this song about the Israelites having to do the heavy lifting in the battle. Instead, the Canaanites, with their fancy, powerful chariots, were overwhelmed by a storm (Judg. 5:4–5).3 The Israelites sang of the stars fighting from heaven on their behalf (v. 20). We are told that, in the thick of the battle, “the LORD threw Sisera, all his charioteers, and all his army into a panic” (4:15).

  What’s more, the Lord used Jael—a non-Israelite, tent-dwelling woman—to courageously defend His people by singlehandedly taking on Sisera (5:24–27). After his army was defeated, Sisera ran from the battle and happened upon Jael’s tent. She invited him in, gave him milk, and covered him up for a nap. Then, while he slept, she drove a tent peg into his temple (4:17–21).

  What a savage story for our modern ears! It is helpful to remember that God was unleashing justice on a merciless overlord who had abused His people. And He did it through an outsider who “risked everything to execute the enemy of God.”4 Only an all-powerful God could set this plan in motion, making it happen for His glory and the good of His people. As a result, Israel listened to Deborah and Barak’s song of victory, renewed in their hope that the battle belongs to God.

  God’s ways of saving His people are often beautifully mysterious and unexpected. Yet, no matter how faithful the children of Israel saw that He was, they consistently forgot. God had protected and provided for them by freeing them from slavery and leading them safely through the wilderness to the Promised Land. Yet they turned their hearts away.

  But in His grace, He rescued them when they cried out for mercy. He took on the Canaanites with the forces of nature, attacking with a ferocity and strength that Israel could not muster on its own and did not deserve. He sent a storm to overpower their enemy and a woman with a tent peg to take down their cruel overlord.