Finding the Gospel in the Paradox of Samson’s Riddle
I like to spot oxymorons and paradoxes! One of the best is in the drama of Samson. It’s so good that if you look at a Golden Lyle tin of golden syrup, you’ll see it written at the bottom of the tin:
“Out of the eater came something to eat,
Out of the strong came something sweet.” (Judges 14:14)
This isn’t just a riddle Samson tossed out at a wedding party to stump his guests. Read between the lines, and you will see that it’s a living parable—a contradiction that carries the weight of the gospel before the gospel was fully revealed. An oxymoron in itself!
You probably know the story better than me. Samson had been set apart from birth—a Nazarite, consecrated to God, marked by divine purpose, and yet—let’s be honest—he was a man of spontaneous impulse, drawn more to his desires than to his calling. He wasn’t exactly a good example of godliness or a candidate for eldership. Despite it being a no-no, he decided he wanted a Philistine wife, totally ignoring God’s warnings about entanglements with the enemy.
In his pursuit of this determined marriage, on his way to claim what he thought he deserved, he encountered a lion. Not just any lion—a young, roaring lion, the kind that signals danger, the kind that should have been his demise; big teeth, big claws, and bad breath—but the Spirit of the Lord rushed upon him, and with his bare hands, he tore it apart as easily as if it were a young goat (Judges 14:6).
That’s already a contradiction, isn’t it? A man—not a warrior, not a trained soldier, but an ordinary man (with an extraordinary calling)—overpowering the king of beasts. That’s strength beyond reason, a foreshadowing of something greater.
The story doesn’t end there, though. Later, as he walked past the carcass of the lion, he found something utterly unnatural—a swarm of bees making honey in the rotting remains of what was once his enemy. This had escalated quickly! Samson, true to his nature, reached in, took the honey, and ate. Not just that, but he gave it to his parents, though he never told them where it came from. Try not to read too much into the story, but you have to wonder how he didn’t get stung!
Tummy full of honey at 64 calories per tablespoon, Samson sat at his wedding feast buzzing from the sugar intake and gave his guests this riddle:
“Out of the eater came something to eat,
Out of the strong came something sweet.”
It was a puzzle they couldn’t solve—it didn’t make sense. It was one of those annoying puzzles, like “What gets bigger the more you take from it?”1 It was a contradiction that made no sense—lions don’t produce honey, death doesn’t birth sweetness. Strength doesn’t surrender something nourishing. It’s an oxymoron, an impossibility—until you look at it through the lens of redemption.
The Gospel Hidden in the Riddle
What is this but a whisper of the much greater ‘paradox’ to come? A foreshadowing of a Lion who would also become a Lamb, or a Saviour who would conquer through surrender, a death that would give way to life?
Jesus, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, overcame the greatest enemy—sin and death itself—and from the place of that death, from the seeming victory of the grave, something life-giving came forth. The cross, a symbol of Rome’s strength, was transformed into the source of eternal sweetness.
Out of the eater—death itself—came something to eat, the Bread of Life. Yes, it’s there—you just have to squint a little! Out of the strong—Jesus, the Mighty One, the crucified King—came something sweet, the grace that saves sinners.
Significantly, the gospel is built on this kind of contradiction. Strength through surrender. Life through death. Victory through apparent defeat. The paradox of Samson’s riddle is a shadow that finds its true fulfilment in Christ.
What This Means for Us
We are constantly surrounded by our own versions of the lion and the honey—trials that should have destroyed us but somehow, by the grace of God, become the very source of our testimony. God causes things—’stuff’—to work out in the fierce furnace of life in a way we didn’t expect. Wounds that should have left us bitter and angry but instead, to our astonishment, produce wisdom and grace.
Ultimately, there are also the crosses we thought would be our downfall but turn out to be the very place where resurrection begins.
Think about it: how many times has God taken the thing you feared most, the thing that roared against you, and turned it into a well of sweetness you never expected? That broken relationship, that failure, that betrayal, that loss—it looked like it would consume you with anger, bitterness, or resentment. But somehow… in the wreckage of what should have been your end, you found honey. You found grace and a God who was working in ways you couldn’t understand at the time. But He was at work—already at work.
That’s the necessary nature of redemption. Samson’s wordplay moment is a parable of the kingdom. A picture of a God who works through contradiction, a Saviour who wins through losing, a gospel that makes no sense to the natural mind but changes everything once you taste it. Samson had a nice party trick, but the sad thing is that his character was not changed or transformed, and soon he would lose his hair, his eyes… and his life.
In the present, though, availing himself of an opportunity, Samson took the same honey and gave it to others. He didn’t tell them where it came from, but he shared the sweetness—and that’s what we’re called to do. We don’t have to explain every mystery of how God works.
We don’t have to make sense of every contradiction in our lives, but we do get to share the honey and offer the sweetness of the gospel—the taste of redemption, the nourishment that comes from the place where strength bowed low and surrendered itself to the purposes of God.
Stepping back, the cross was the world’s greatest oxymoron—the place where defeat looked inevitable, but victory was being forged.
Out of death came life. Out of brokenness came healing. Out of the strong came something sweet.
The invitation is there—to taste and see.
A hole