The Hardest Story in the Bible (for me)

All right. It’s time.

It’s time for a long post about the conquest of Canaan that I REALLY don’t want to write. I think it’s safe to say that with every true student/teacher of the Bible, there are problems in the story that make us uneasy. We may reason them away with trite explanations, we may choose to ignore them, or we might deny their existence altogether, but they are there. There have been some famous religious leaders throughout the centuries that have made comments about what books of the canon they wish were removed. Some have complained about Jude. Others, Revelation. Martin Luther thought James should be done away with. Well, if I could choose one of the 66 books to throw out, I’d get rid of Joshua in a heartbeat.

But I can’t. So here we go.

I hope that it goes without saying that I have a problem with the mass killing of entire people groups. I find the story of the conquest to be inconsistent with the character of God and what He’s been asking His people to do. And that creates a problem for me. So, I need to say that before I begin this post, I’m just going to be throwing out lots and lots of observations. Some I like; some I do not. I won’t be drawing conclusions in this post, merely peeling the conversation open. This is because I think the problem needs to be recognized. This isn’t trite; it isn’t easily resolved or ignored.

But I won’t be offering answers today — my apologies, I’m not that good. Some others have offered great thoughts for the conversation. Greg Boyd spoke on the conquest here and I thought he made some great observations. My buddy Aaron Couch posted this not too long ago, linking to some interesting studies.

And there are other thoughts, ranging from the liberal textual critics to the biblical literalists.

Some have suggested that the conquest never really happened. That the book of Joshua is a dramatic narrative-based allegory about how the people of God came into the land they possess throughout the story. To support their theory, they point out that there has yet to be found a piece of archaeological evidence of the conquest (at least, evidence that has been evaluated and validated by the scholastic, archaeological community). This is very odd, as a historian would expect to have found proof of these many battles that are explained in the book of Joshua. They also point out that the language of conquest in the ancient eastern world is always incredibly hyperbolic, exaggerated, and rarely true. Is the book of Joshua borrowing this genre of “historical record” to tell us a larger story?

It’s also interesting to note what God does and doesn’t say. Oftentimes, when our English Bibles translate “destroy,” the word in the Hebrew is often “consecrate.” Now, destruction is often a way of consecration, but one could argue that God was leaving room for grace, that He wasn’t commanding mass genocide. This explanation works in many cases, but not in all of them.

It’s also worth noting that God is constantly meeting people on their own terms. It is true that this ancient biblical world spoke the language of war. It was one of the few ways that countries made statements about their gods. Our God consistently meets people where they are at, uses the language of their day, and speaks His better truth into their lives. Was the conquest a part of that?

These are possibilities that intrigue me. This year, I began a deep study of the book that bothered me so much. At this moment, I’m only halfway through, and I haven’t found any answers to my toughest questions, but I have made some observations:

There are an awful lot of stories where God is pretty quiet. Joshua does an awful lot of planning, strategizing, and pep-talking, but God really doesn’t say much. I find this to be interesting. We always assume that Joshua is acting with the authority of God, yet I’m noticing how often the Text does not connect those dots. I think these instances are up for grabs — what’s truly going on here?

Joshua seems to be acting very much like the pagan commanders of the world around him. He impales the bodies of the conquered on poles for all to see. This has long been a move of war, victory, and conquest for pagan nations. This action is never commanded nor condoned by God.

At the very same time, Joshua is quite different than the pagan kings around him. He doesn’t mock or chide inappropriately. He disposes of the bodies by nightfall (unheard of in their world). While it seems hard to comprehend, Joshua is one of the “softest” conquerers the land of Canaan has ever seen. Consider the story of the Gibeonites and their deception (chapter 9). They trick the Israelites into forming a military treaty with their people. This kind of ancient agreement is called a Suzerain-vassal covenant. It is where the lesser party (Gibeonites) serve the greater party (Israel) and in return they receive the military protection of the Suzerain. The problem is that this isn’t a covenant between two equal parties; the lesser party holds no rights in the agreement. Therefore, a vassal never enters an agreement through deception. The Suzerain always proposes the treaty because of what they will gain from the relationship (taxes, resources, servants, etc.). Once any other king learned of deception on the part of the vassal, they would be destroyed. Yet, Joshua and the elders do not. Are we seeing “a different kind of conquest”?

In the midst of the stories of conquest, the greater stories — the ones that rise to the top — are stories of people being saved and redeemed. The story of Rahab reminds many of the story of Passover. I have often thought of the destruction of Sodom, where God agreed to spare a city for ten righteous people, as I read the story of Rahab. However, there were not ten, and only Lot and his family are saved. Is it possible that Rahab and her family were the only ones righteous in Jericho? The story of the Gibeonites is again a story of escaping destruction. It seems as if the author wants to highlight the stories of salvation, not destruction.

And, I always have to remind myself of what was taking place in the land of Canaan. In all of the forms of pagan Amorite worship, in whichever country we examine, we find horrific, inhumane abuses taking place — not only at the present time, but over the course of centuries — in the land of Canaan. Amorite worship, without exception, involved child sacrifice and shrine prostitution.

We always want to be upset about a God that wouldn’t hear the cry of the Canaanites while they were being destroyed.

But don’t you think that God heard every cry from every child offered to the fires of their gods?

Don’t you think God heard the cries of the wives as their husbands went off to the shrine prostitutes for the second time this week, the tenth time this month?

How long does God let this happen before He acts? How much patience from God is enough? Or too much? How many babies are too many? 10? 100? 1000?

We’ve found ancient Canaanite “baby graveyards” with tens of thousands of infant corpses.

Listen to what God told Abraham back in Genesis 15:

In the fourth generation your descendants will come back here, for the sin of the Amorites has not yet reached its full measure.

Their sin hadn’t reached its full measure?

You mean to tell me that God had been patient and waited for over 500 years of this garbage?

You see, it’s interesting how we never think that God’s doing His job right. When we read the story from one perspective, we’re mad that God doesn’t do something sooner. When we read it from the other, we’re upset that He does something about it and wants it to be over, completely — now.

One of the things I’m trying to learn from the conquest is that I’m glad I’m not God. Because I wouldn’t do His job well. I wouldn’t know when to show grace and patience and when to call in the armies of heaven (and earth) to stop the madness.

But I’m glad that I’ve had the books of Moses to read up to this point.
I’m glad that I’ve been impressed with God’s character over and over again.
I’m pretty confident that God is love.

So I’m going to let Him do His job and I’m going to wrestle with the killings done in His name.
And I’m going to trust that He works through us and partners with us.
And sometimes, in our really dark days of conquest, He works in spite of us.

I’m still trying to learn how to trust the story.
And I wonder if Joshua was, too.

Standing Stones

Before we leave Deuteronomy, we want to make sure that we don’t skim over this idea of remembering where we come from.  This is an important concept.  There’s an image that God employs — a tactile practice — that helps us remember our stories.

They are called standing stones.

The stones you see above are found at Tel Gezer in southern Israel.  The concept behind a standing stone is that you erect a monument where a big event happened.

An event you will need to remember.

One of those Red Sea moments.

The idea of a standing stone is that the stone itself demands a witness.  It is different than a ‘stele,’ which will actually have writing on it, describing the event in detail.  A standing stone is simply an out-of-place installment and causes the youth or the foreigner to say, “What is that?  What happened here?”  You are then forced to stop and tell the story.  Not only does this cause you to remember the story of God in your life, but it also forces you to share that story, spreading it to the next generation.

Because it’s important to pass the stories of God onto our children.  The book of Judges will make this stunning statement over and over again: “They did not remember the LORD their God and what He did for them…”

Because we have to tell our kids about what God has done.  Do you?  Did your parents?  Could you tell the stories of your family, about how God showed up for your grandfather?

This idea comes up again and again in the Scriptures.  Remember Jacob?  When he had that amazing dream from God, he took the stone he was sleeping on and stood it up, anointing it with oil.  A standing stone.  Then later, in Genesis 35, Jacob takes his whole family to Bethel, where the story took place.  Why?  To tell them the story.  When the Israelites cross the Jordan, what do they do?  They take rocks and pile them up to remember the story.

It’s important to remember where we come from.  It’s just as important to pass where we’ve come from on to our children — or they’ll probably go back.

What standing stones do you have in your life?

On my desk sits a collection of rocks that I’ve brought back from Israel.  Each one reminds me of a different story I brought back from my time in the Middle East.  There’s a piece of rope that I brought back from Hadijah’s house; she was a Muslim woman who gave everything she had in her cupboard to show me hospitality.  I have a dirty old sprinkler head on my shelf that reminds me of the day that I decided to give up on the American dream and follow God’s dream for humanity instead.  And a belt that I stole from my football uniform in high school, marking the decision I made to pursue the call of God into the ministry.

As my children grow older, they will hear these stories of mine.

Because I need to remember where I’ve come from.

Because my children need to know where I’ve been.

Because we need to know and remember what God has done.

These stones continually call us to trust the story.

Remember Where You Came From

After the wandering in the desert, the Israelites stand at the threshold to the land that was promised them and a future of unseen possibilities.  Yet, before they get to walk into their tomorrow, God desires for them to remember their yesterday.

Enter the book of Deuteronomy.  The call of Deuteronomy is to remember where you’ve come from.  Just look at all the calls to remember in this one book:

“… do not forget the things your eyes have seen … teach them to your children … Remember the day you stood before the LORD your God …” (4:9–10)
“Be careful not to forget the covenant …” (4:23)
“… be careful that you do not forget the LORD …” (4:31; 6:12; 8:11)
“Remember that you were slaves in Egypt …” (5:15; 16:12; 24:18; 24:22)
“Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness …” (8:2)
“But remember the LORD your God … if you ever forget the LORD your God …” (8:18–19)
“Remember this and never forget …” (9:7)
“Remember today that your children were not the ones who saw and experienced the discipline of the LORD your God.” (11:2)
“… so that all the days of your life you may remember the time of your departure from Egypt.” (16:3)
“Remember what the LORD your God did …” (24:9)
“Remember what the Amalekites did to you … do not forget!” (25:17–19)
“Remember the days of old; consider generations long past. Ask your father and he will tell, your elders and they will explain to you …”  (32:7)

That’s 25 references, in case you were keeping track.

It’s important to remember.

But it’s also interesting to note WHAT the Israelites are being called to remember.  So many times, these calls to remember are connected to the alien, the orphan, and the widow.  God keeps telling the Israelites to remember their story.

Because they were foreigners once.
And orphans.
And widows.

They are to remember their own stories and become people who see the oppressed.  Because God saw them when they were oppressed.  And God heard their cry.

They are being invited to remember, so that they will hear the cries of others.  And it’s not too long before this becomes an endless cycle of “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” syndrome.  Do I remember my story and therefore take care of the alien, orphan, and widow?  Or do I take care of the alien, orphan, and widow and it reminds me of my story?

YES.

And in case you were wondering, here’s the list of references to the alien, orphan, and widow:

1:16
5:14
10:18
10:19
14:21
14:29
16:11
16:14
23:7
24:14
24:17
24:19
24:20
24:21
26:11
26:12
26:13
27:19
31:12

This is important.

Because when you forget your story, you begin to feel entitled.  When you forget your humble beginnings, you begin to be proud.  When you forget your Egypts, you begin to be self-righteous.

And so God tells us to remember where we’ve come from — because it keeps us humble.

And God tells us to take care of the oppressed — because it helps us to remember.

And remembering is a big part of trusting the story.

MAIM CHAIM: Living Water

Two more pictures form the desert and we’ll move on.


This picture shows a location in the Negev called En Gedi. Today, En Gedi is a nature reserve and a fascinating place in the desert.  When I visited En Gedi for the first time in 2008, our teacher led us in from the back of the park so we didn’t know where we were. I am not kidding when I say that you couldn’t tell you were approaching water until you were practically right on top of it.

The whole scene was fascinating.  One minute, we were walking in a desert almost identical to the picture in our last post, and the next minute we were staring at a waterfall.  To say that such a location is refreshing in the desert would be an understatement.  On that point, the picture almost writes this blog post itself.

This kind of water is called maim chaim in the Hebrew.  Maim chaim is “living water.”  Living water comes from God — either from rain or a spring. For living water to be “living,” it cannot be moved by human hands.  You cannot get living water from a cistern or a bucket.  En Gedi is a great example of living water.  Again, we were invited to understand that our call is to be “living water” for people in their deserts and to reflect on those people who have been En Gedi in our lives.



This second picture shows a wadi flood.  Wadis are deep canyons cut into the desert terrain; again, the picture in the last post also shows a wadi.  I was shocked to learn that the number one cause of death in the desert is flood.  During the rainy season, rain will fall in a distant region. The rain comes in such quantity and the ground is so dry that the water rushes to the lowest point.  These wadis flood at an incredible rate; I was told that if I was in a wadi and heard the sound of a train, I had about 90 seconds to get out of the wadi.

Besides being incredibly destructive, these wadi floods leave behind many biblical images. Look at this passage from Psalm 69:

But I pray to you, Lord,
    in the time of your favor;
in your great love, O God,
    answer me with your sure salvation.
Rescue me from the mire,
    do not let me sink;
deliver me from those who hate me,
    from the deep waters.
Do not let the floodwaters engulf me
    or the depths swallow me up
    or the pit close its mouth over me.

The floods leave behind puddles of mud (or “mire”) that is so sticky that a person or animal can be trapped without any place to go.  In some cases, this mire can be trickier than quicksand.

Jesus used this wadi flood imagery, as well.  He mentioned that anyone who listened to His teaching was like a man who built his house on the rock, but the fool who didn’t was like one who built his house on the sand.  I have been told by people in construction that sand is a great building material.  It is flexible, it packs solid.  So was Jesus wrong?

The people of the desert would understand that the “sand” is found in the bottom of the wadi; nobody builds their house in the bottom of the wadi.  But the man who listens to Jesus is like a man who builds his house on the rock (or the “cliff face”), out of the path of floods.

Needless to say, the desert is full of images that help us grow into the people and partners God is looking to use in His great Kingdom Project.

Honey from the Rock

 **  This post has been heavily influenced by a particular teaching from Ray VanderLaan. You could see a representation of this teaching by watching "They Were Not Wandering" (That the World May Know series, Volume #12)

This next post is driven by the following picture taken from the biblical desert:

I will make a few observations about this picture.

The first of those observations is about sight.  One of the things that surprised me the most about the desert was the limited sight I had.  I had always pictured the desert as this empty wasteland where one could see for miles in every direction.  The picture I had was distressing because of the hopelessness displayed in that mental image.  What I discovered when I arrived in the desert was that the desert is actually a place where I could never see around the next bend.  Instead of hopelessness, I experienced anxiety.  I found this to be a great life lesson.  In my deserts, I have found that one of my greatest frustrations is the many times that I feel the desert blindsides me with something I could never see coming.  One of the lessons of the desert is the that they teach us to follow and trust the voice of the Shepherd.  He knows the path; He knows where we are going.  Just walk the path and follow His voice.

Another observation I would make would be about rocks.  There are a lot of them.  Again, like shade, this image is an image that is found all over the Scriptures and we usually miss its significance.  Rocks are THE image of the desert — they are everywhere.  And one of the most striking images of the rocks of the desert is what Jewish teaching refers to as “stones of stumbling.”

In the desert there are many stones that cause stumbling.  Some of them are quite small (think of a baseball-sized rock you could hold in your hand).  These are the problems in life that serve as simple annoyances.  These annoyances can often pile up and affect our mood, but at the end of the day, these stones don't do major damage. A few nicks and bruises, but nothing to really worry about in terms of survival or significant pain.

But then there are bigger rocks.  Imagine a rock that a man would lift up, grunting, with both hands.  These rocks can cause some harm.  It's easy to twist your ankle on these rocks in the desert.  If you dropped it on a toe, you would need some attention.  There are moments in our deserts that hurt and cause some serious, yet temporary, pain.

Then, there are rocks that no man could lift.  Large boulders that could easily put a person out of commission.  Stumble into (or off of) one of these rocks and you will be in more than temporary pain.  It's the surgery and the lost job.  The family member that moves away and the broken relationship.  These are stones that will hurt for some time and leave some serious scars.

And then, there are the huge cliffs — the bedrock.  These are rocks that you can't climb over, you can't pass through, and you're never going to move.  They're rocks that change the course of your life.  It's the death of a loved one.  The cancer diagnosis.  The things in life that you have no control over.

These are the rocks of the desert.  In the words of Ray VanderLaan, “I wish I could tell you that if you prayed hard enough, God would take the rocks away.  But He doesn't.  Sometimes he gives us a smooth path for a season — praise Him — but walking the path of God is hard.  And there are rocks.”

What God does say is quite interesting.  Time and time again, God will insist that if we will walk the right path, He will feed us with honey.  Look at how it's stated here in Psalm 81:13–16:

“If my people would only listen to me,
    if Israel would only follow my ways,
how quickly I would subdue their enemies
    and turn my hand against their foes!
Those who hate the Lord would cringe before him,
    and their punishment would last forever.
But you would be fed with the finest of wheat;
    with honey from the rock I would satisfy you.”

Honey from the rock.

Every Jew learns early in their education that God and the words of God taste like honey.  If we would walk the right path and trust in the right voice, God promises to feed us with honey from the rock.  It isn't that He promises to take the rocks away.  But He does promise that if you'll follow His voice, there will be just enough of His presence in every rock.

Another way the rabbis teach it is this: Be careful when you ask for honey, for God might put it in a rock.

Trees of the Desert: AR'AR & TAMARISK

We have two more trees of the desert to talk about.  Let's look at the Jeremiah passage we mentioned in the last post that referenced the acacia tree.

This is what the Lord says:

“Cursed is the one who trusts in man,
    who draws strength from mere flesh
    and whose heart turns away from the Lord.
That person will be like a bush in the wastelands;
    they will not see prosperity when it comes.
They will dwell in the parched places of the desert,
    in a salt land where no one lives.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
    whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
    that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
    its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
    and never fails to bear fruit.”

Jeremiah 17:5–8

The second part of that passage again mentions the acacia that we talked about in the last post.  You may notice how similar that image in verse 7 and 8 is to the first Psalm.  But the previous paragraph describes a new tree.

AR'AR
The tree mentioned in verse 5 and 6 is the ar'ar.  It is a stunning picture if you ever run into such a tree.  The tree is this lush and beautiful green bush that has huge, plump fruit on it.  The large green fruit is about the size of a grapefruit and looks like it will be full of sweet things.  And yet, when you take the fruit and break it open, it is completely empty — full of air.  The bedouins of the area claim that the “juice” excreted by the broken fruit is poisonous.

It is a striking image of the desert.  The man who trusts in flesh looks incredibly lush and fertile on the outside — but is full of death and emptiness on the inside.  And deserts have a way of bringing that out of a man.

There is a final tree that shows up in the desert.  It is an image that moves me to this day.

TAMARISK
The tamarisk tree is tall and beautiful.  Like the acacia, the tamarisk is a larger tree, but unlike the former, it does not grow on its own in the desert.  This desert tree requires some minor cultivation in order to survive.  The leaves of the tree absorb what little moisture is in the area and then give off the faintest glimmer of humidity in its shade.  The shade of a tamarisk tree is often 10–15 degrees cooler than the shade of other trees.

But this cultivated tree takes three generations to grow to its full size.  So it stands to reason that a person never plants a tamarisk tree for himself; he will never reap its benefits. A man plants a tamarisk tree for his grandchildren.

In the twenty-first chapter of Genesis, we read the following words:

After the treaty had been made at Beersheba, Abimelek and Phicol the commander of his forces returned to the land of the Philistines. Abraham planted a tamarisk tree in Beersheba, and there he called on the name of the Lord, the Eternal God. And Abraham stayed in the land of the Philistines for a long time.

That story always brings tears to my eyes.  After making a treaty with the Philistines, Abraham goes and plants a tamarisk tree.

It is a statement of faith; Abraham is trusting the story.

He's not planting the tamarisk for himself.  He is planting it for his grandchildren.  He is believing God's promise and staking a claim.


The rabbis ask a question: How many tamarisk trees did you plant today?

How many things did you do today that were for your grandchildren?  These are things that aren't for yourself — things that have eternal ripples. 

This idea pervades much of rabbinic teaching.  Another statement that is often made is that when people obey the mitzvoth (the commands), they are planting the seeds that will become the very trees of the restored Eden.

Your call is bigger than you.  The things you do today have the opportunity to ring throughout the generations.  The choices you make matter.  The story you choose to trust will affect those who stand on your shoulders.  Even in your deserts, you are planting seeds with your life.

How many tamarisk trees did you plant today?

Trees of the Desert: ACACIA

There is another tree in the desert I would like to introduce to you.

ACACIA
This tree is called the acacia.  It is probably the most recognizable and most commonly thought of tree in the desert.  You find different relatives of the acacia tree all around the deserts of the world.  The acacia that's found in Israel has some interesting characteristics.

For starters, the acacia is known for being incredibly resourceful.  The bedouins (people native to the Palestinian desert) claim that you can use the tree for everything from sustenance to fuel and even healing agents.  This tree is incredibly useful.  It's also significantly bigger and casts a much larger shade area.  The tree will often lie dormant for years until the rains come and the area around it is flooded.  At that point, after lying dormant for years, the tree will spring to life and bear its fruit, the buds looking like little white flowers.

One of the biblical references to this tree is found in Psalm 1 and again in Jeremiah 17.  Let's look at Psalm 1 for this post and we'll look at Jeremiah 17 in the next one.

Blessed is the one
    who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
    or sit in the company of mockers,
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
    and who meditates on his law day and night.
That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
    which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
    whatever they do prospers.

Now, first of all, let's look at what makes a person like this tree.  They meditate on the law of the LORD.  The word for meditate in the Psalm is the word hagah.  Let me show you another place where hagah is used:

          “As a lion growls,
               a great lion over its prey—
           and though a whole band of shepherds
               is called together against it,
           it is not frightened by their shouts
               or disturbed by their clamor…”   Isaiah 31:4

The Hebrew word for “growls” (bolded above) is hagah.  It is a case of onomatopoeia — where the word sounds like the very thing it describes.  You say the word hagah with a fierce tone and a little roll of the ‘g’ sound.  It should sound like the deep, murmuring growl of a lion, hunched over its prey, proclaiming to the world around it that it means business.

Believe it or not, the word for meditate is also hagah.  Contrary to the popular idea that we should pull up a chair to the corner of the porch (with a good cup of coffee, maybe) and silently contemplate the scripture, this Psalm speaks of one who devours the Text with a fierce, hungry appetite.  (My goal is certainly not to downplay the importance of the other forms of meditation; these are good and beneficial as well.)

If we devour the Text, we become like an acacia in the desert.

But do you catch the image?  The Psalm said that the man who intensely devours the Text is like an acacia that bears its fruit in season.  But the acacia only comes to life once every decade or so.  You see, our discipline of becoming people of the Text is not a quick-fix formula.  It is a deeply rooted passion that pulls us through our deserts.  We hagah and hagah and hagah and one day — when the season is right and when the rains finally come — we bear our fruit.

And we are incredibly useful when we bear our fruit.   And we provide great shade.  But if you were to have looked at that tree two years ago, it looked as dead as could be.  So we had to stay true to our calling.  We couldn't walk with the wicked or stand with the sinners or sit with the mockers.  We had to hagah on God's voice (that is, God's word) and keep on walking.

These are the lessons of the desert.  One foot in front of the other, trusting the story, following the voice of the shepherd.  Just enough.  Patience.  Persistence. 

One foot in front of the other. Through our deserts.