The Quiet Art of Community

In the days when Israel was weighed down by oppression, their spirits were tired, their strength depleted. For twenty long years, they had suffered under the hand of King Jabin of Canaan, whose military commander, Sisera, led a terrifying army with nine hundred iron chariots. The people cried out to God, not just for deliverance from the physical burden, but from the emotional and mental weight of fear, helplessness, and despair. They were not only a people without peace, they were a people unravelled.

And then, there was Deborah.

She was a prophetess and a judge. She sat under the palm tree between Ramah and Bethel, and there the people of Israel came to her for wisdom. Deborah was not the kind of leader one would expect in the middle of war; she did not command soldiers, nor did she wield a sword, but she carried something even more powerful: clarity, conviction, and the ability to see beyond the present pain into God’s promise.

When the time came for Israel to rise against their oppressors, God spoke through Deborah and instructed her to summon Barak. Barak was a military leader, strong, experienced, and capable. But even he faltered. Faced with the overwhelming might of Sisera’s army, Barak hesitated. He told Deborah, “If you will go with me, I will go.” And Deborah, with no hesitation in her voice, replied, “I will surely go with you.”

That moment was community in its truest form, and not just military strategy. Deborah did not shame Barak for his fear; she stood with him in it. His vulnerability was not dismissed but met with strength. It is a reminder that sometimes, what we need most is not someone to tell us what to do, but someone who will walk with us into the hard places. In times of mental strain, fear, or fatigue, community becomes a refuge, a place where courage is shared and burdens are lightened.

The army advanced. Israel fought bravely under Barak’s leadership and the prophetic assurance of Deborah. And just as the Lord had promised, Sisera’s army was thrown into confusion. But Sisera, the commander, fled the battlefield on foot and sought refuge in what he thought was a safe and neutral space, the tent of Jael.

Jael was not a soldier. She was not a prophetess or judge. She was, by all appearances, an ordinary woman on the sidelines of a national crisis. Yet when Sisera entered her tent, she welcomed him in, offered him milk, and covered him with a blanket. Then, when he fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from battle and unaware of the fate awaiting him, Jael picked up a tent peg and drove it through his temple. The mighty oppressor of Israel was dead, not by the hand of a warrior, but by the hand of a woman who understood the moment and acted with courage.

It is easy to read Jael’s story and focus only on the dramatic ending. But beneath it lies something quieter and deeper. Jael’s tent was a place of shelter, but it was also a turning point. She was not where the battle was supposed to be won, but it was. Her role, though unexpected, became essential. Community, at its best, allows each person to bring their strength to the table, even if it does not look like everyone else’s. And in the area of mental health, that matters. Healing often comes from unexpected places, from quiet spaces, tender gestures, and the strength of those who seem to be on the sidelines.

After the victory, Deborah and Barak sang a song. It was a song of triumph that named names, that honoured tribes who came forward, and called out those who stayed behind. It was a song of memory and of gratitude, a song that acknowledged that victory was not the result of one person’s bravery, but of many hands, many voices, many choices. That is what community is, a tapestry of participation, where everyone has a part, and every part matters.

The story of Deborah, Barak, and Jael is a story of collective healing. In a time when the people of Israel were burdened beyond measure, deliverance did not come through a single act, but through a series of joined hands and courageous hearts. Deborah’s wisdom, Barak’s vulnerability, and Jael’s strength, all woven together into a story of restoration.

In our own lives, especially when navigating the complexities of mental health, we need that same kind of community. We need people who can see us clearly, who will not abandon us in our fear, and who will offer strength even from the margins. Community is more than sharing spaces, it is sharing courage, burdens and even healing.

As we reflect on this Mental Health Awareness Week, may we remember that no one walks through struggle alone. Like Israel, we may be weary from battles that feel too long. But with the strength of community, honest, brave, and compassionate, we can rise again.