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.
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.
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