Commitment on our terms...

I grew up in a home where money was handled carefully. We were taught to be cautious, to secure what we had and make sure we didn’t end up with nothing. Giving was always measured, and saving came first. I wonder if you’ve heard something similar growing up, or if you’ve carried that mindset in your life as well.

When I first started attending church, my wife spoke to me about tithing, not as a rule, but as a commitment. I'm not talking about giving or percentages; it’s about how we commit ourselves to God. Because of my upbringing, that idea didn’t resonate well with me. It felt uncomfortable, even risky. Over time, I began to practice it, though honestly, with some hesitation. Then came my first promotion, and with it a familiar internal struggle: Now I have to give more? Does God really need it? Can He not print money or create wealth?

What shifted my perspective were two simple statements. My wife once said, “If you don’t give, you won’t get.” Later, my mentor added something even more thought-provoking: “If you won’t give one when you make ten, you won’t give ten when you make a hundred—or a hundred when you make a thousand—yet you’ll keep asking God for more.” That stayed with me.

As I read Judges 17–18, I saw a similar pattern where commitment, and obedience to God are being negotiated. The chapters open with a line that gives an idea on how it’s going to flow: “In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” This isn’t a political commentary but it’s a spiritual issue. God had not disappeared. His house still stood at Shiloh. His law was known but authority had shifted from God’s word to personal judgment.

Micah’s story makes this clear. His mother dedicates 1,100 silver shekels to the Lord. It sounds wholehearted. Yet when the silver is actually used, only 200 shekels are given to make an image. The rest quietly vanish from the story. What was vowed fully was fulfilled partially. Worship still happened, but selectively. Devotion was expressed, but carefully measured. God was honored but on terms that felt reasonable and manageable. This wasn’t open rebellion. It is partial obedience.

Things decline further when a Levite enters the picture. He belongs to the tribe set apart for God who was later identified as grandson from Moses’ own family line. Yet he willingly serves in idolatry and moves on when a better offer comes. Calling gives way to convenience. Leadership becomes a commodity.

All of this happens while true worship remains available at Shiloh.

Judges shows us that spiritual decay doesn’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes it comes quietly, dressed as wisdom and practicality. We would often say, does God not know that I would need to pay rent, pay my bills etc. It grows when fear begins to shape our commitment, and when self-rule slowly replaces submission.

The question Judges leaves us with is uncomfortable but necessary: Is our commitment shaped in God's word or by what feels right to us?