Israel languishes under nine hundred iron chariots, village life at a standstill, until, in the song's words, I, Deborah, arose, a mother in Israel.

A prophet holding court under a palm tree, a reluctant general, a tent peg in an unexpected hand: today God delivers through people the world was not watching. He still staffs His rescues that way.

Deborah's song credits an unlikely roster: a woman judging under a palm, a hesitant commander, villagers who willingly offered themselves, a Kenite housewife, even the stars in their courses. When God arises to deliver, He deputizes whoever is willing, and the willing are rarely the obvious.

Gethsemane shows the greater deliverance being willed into motion: not My will, but Yours, prayed in blood-like sweat while the strong slept. Darkness got its hour precisely so it could lose the age. So offer yourself willingly today, that is the song's refrain, and trust the Judge who hears, sees, and consoles anxious hearts with joy.