Gideon, Laughter, and Soviet Airmail

Have you read the story of Gideon lately? I did recently and, curiously, found myself laughing out loud. No offense to God or Gideon, but it’s a hilarious story! More on that in a bit.

Gideon’s story reminded me of something I did decades ago.

In 1984, I visited the Soviet Union. Which sounds way more daring than it actually was. I wasn’t sneaking across the Iron Curtain in a trench coat with a forged passport; I was just helping my sister-in-law lead a tour for her high school students. Still, back then just saying, “I’m going to the Soviet Union” got you raised eyebrows and a quick lecture about communists, spies, and nuclear war.

A few weeks before the trip I came across an old underwing airplane fuel tank. (I don’t remember how or where; finding stuff like this was common when you grow up around junkyards.)

It looked exactly like a missile—eight or ten feet long, shaped like a torpedo. You were reminded of the movie Dr. Strangelove and could hear Slim Pickens shouting “Yee haw!” as he rode it like a bucking bronco into World War III.

I painted it Soviet red and had the Russian equivalent of “USSR” stenciled on the side. 

I told my brother I was leaving Tuesday. I actually left Thursday. Which gave me Wednesday for mischief.

I dug a hole in my brother’s gravel driveway, planted the “missile” nose-first like it had dropped from the sky, and packed it with dry ice and water until it smoked like a busted radiator. Then I taped on a note:

“AIRMAIL FROM SOVIET UNION: Hi Geoff! Just letting you know I arrived in Moscow. Not sure how Soviet mail works, but I hope this reaches you before I return. All the best, Roy.”

Ridiculous? Absolutely. It was a stunt designed to make my brother laugh. (Apologies to the neighbors who called the cops.)

Now here’s where Gideon comes in.

Gideon is visited by an angel and starts an argument. This elevates it to Gideon questioning God. I mean seriously, this guy had cojones! 

Gideon is told by God to take on the Midianites. By any normal standard, he doesn’t have a chance. He’s outnumbered and outgunned. If there was ever a time for missiles, it was then.

But God doesn’t give Gideon missiles. Or swords. Or even a respectable-sized army. Instead, God whittles the army down to 300 men and arms them with—wait for it—clay jars, torches, and trumpets.

What the hell? Gideon must’ve been thinking, “Um, God, where exactly is my SEAL Team Six?”

But it worked. The Midianites were expecting battle formations and iron weapons. Instead they got pottery smashing, firelight flashing, and trumpets blaring in the night. It must’ve felt less like war and more like a circus act. The Midianites panicked and turned on each other.

And that’s the point: God delights in using the absurd. He uses the laughable. He uses the unexpected to remind us victory doesn’t depend on firepower.

That driveway missile wasn’t much different. What looked like a weapon was really just a delivery system for laughter. Humor, not firepower. Relationship, not intimidation.

That’s the lesson buried in both stories: sometimes humor—the kind that leads to joy—is the real weapon. Laughter is the thing that disarms fear. Sometimes God’s strategy looks ridiculous to the point of comedy, and that’s why it works.

We spend too much time thinking we need missiles to win our battles. God says a jar, a trumpet, or even a driveway prank will do just fine.

Because when the dust clears, when the jars are smashed and the smoke rises, it’s obvious who actually pulled off the victory. Not us. Not our missiles. But the God who makes laughter holy.