Original Meaning

The Northern Campaign (11:1–15)

The Battle of Merom (vv. 1–9)

THE BATTLE OF MEROM (vv. 1–9). Like earlier narratives, this one opens with a report of the enemy’s mustering for battle based on what they have “heard” of Israel’s advances (vv. 1–5; cf. 5:1; 9:1; 10:1). Here the “hearer” is King Jabin of Hazor (cf. Judg. 4; Ps. 83:9[10]), a city-state ca. ten miles north of the Sea of Galilee in the southwest corner of the Huleh Valley.5 In the late Bronze Age, Hazor undoubtedly was the largest, most influential city in all of Canaan. Its size was huge—200 acres, an estimated population of 30,000—and ideally situated for economic and political dominance:

The north eastern [sic] branch of the via maris, which comes from Megiddo, leads via Hazor and forks here. The western connection leads north to Lebo Hamath and Kadesch [sic]. The eastern junction leads via the Jordan to Damascus, then … via Tadmor and Mari to Babylon. From Hazor roads lead to the Phoenician coast towards the north (Tyre and Sidon). There is an ancient connection to the south via Kinneret to Beth Shean. Hazor is like a fat spider in a wide-strung web. The strategic importance of this geographic position can hardly be overestimated.6

At the time Hazor controlled the entire northern Jordan Valley as far southeast as the Yarmuk River.7 Its strategic location and hegemony over a wide swath of northern Canaan made Hazor an unavoidable Israelite target.8 Precisely what Jabin has heard is unstated, but coming on the heels of chapter 10, the news probably concerns Israel’s sweeping victories over the Amorites in the south. Like Adoni-Zedek (10:3), Jabin rallies other kings who presumably owe him fealty, dispatching messengers to King Jobab of Madon (cf. 12:19), the (unnamed) kings of Shimrom and Acshaph, and other (also unnamed) northern kings (11:1–2).

Where are these cities? Though disputes remain, Madon probably is Tel Qarnei Hittin, a site on the northern flank of the Horns of Hattin about five miles west of the Sea of Galilee.9 By listing Madon first and by naming its king, the author presents Jobab as Hazor’s most important vassal.10 If Merom and Madon mark the same place, this city-state was prominent enough to make the list of kingdoms subject to Thutmose III (fifteenth cent. B.C.) and destroyed by Rameses II (thirteenth cent. B.C.).11

Acshaph probably lies in the plain of Acco at modern Tell Kisan, territory later allotted to the tribe of Asher (12:20; 19:25).12 Though biblically unimportant outside of Joshua, its mention in various Egyptian texts confirms its political importance in ancient Canaan.13 The prominent city-state of Shimron (sometimes Shimʿon; modern Khirbet Sammuniyeh) is located in the Jezreel Valley about seven miles northeast of Jokneam (five mi. west of Nazareth), the southeast corner of land later assigned to Zebulun (12:20; 19:15).14 Like its allies, it also receives mention in Egyptian sources, an indication of its importance as a Canaanite kingdom at the time.15

More important, the locations of Acshaph and Shimron—both twenty-five to thirty miles southwest of Hazor across the rugged mountains of Galilee—attest the wide region that the kingdom of Hazor dominated. The powerful alliance of Hazor, Madon, Acshaph, and Shimron easily enlisted the region’s lesser rulers (“the northern kings”) to join their endeavor (v. 2). These lesser rulers hail from “the mountains” (probably areas surrounding the Jezreel Valley), from the Jordan Rift Valley south of the Sea of Galilee, the western foothills, and the far west (Naphoth Dor; v. 2).16 An important Canaanite seaport, Naphoth Dor lies in the Sharon Plain twelve miles south of Carmel.17 Roughly, the total territory of the northern kings extends north from the mountains between Dor and the Jordan Valley and north to Upper Galilee above Hazor.

Ethnically, the entire army features Canaanites from the west coast and Jordan Valley (lit., “from east and from west”), four peoples from the central mountains (Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, and Jebusites), and Hivites from somewhere south of Mount Hermon (i.e., northeast of Hazor; v. 3).18 Notwithstanding the lack of details (cf. ch. 10), the text clearly locates the episode geographically as northern. Technically, two peoples listed are usually reckoned as southern (Hittites, Jebusites), but here the author probably draws on a typical list of Canaan’s peoples to underscore the large size of the force being mustered.19

Skillfully, the writer traces developments leading up to the impending battle. All the above kings answer the summons of Jabin; each leaves his home base with his entire army (v. 4). Briefly, the author emphasizes the vast size and frightening technology of the gathering force. The threefold repetition of the Hebrew word rab (“much, many, great”), the last climactically emphatic (rab-meʾod, “a very great [number]”), presents it as “a huge [rab] army.” It numbers as many (rab) soldiers as there are sand grains on the seashore, along with “a large number” of horses and chariots.20

This marks the debut of horses and chariots in Joshua—an ominous note for poor Israel, who faces the enemy on foot. Of course, horses and chariots are precisely the technological superiority enjoyed by Pharaoh at the Red Sea, and look what happened to him! The kings and their forces rendezvous (“joined forces”) and bivouac together at the Waters of Merom (v. 5), the staging area from which they will launch an attack on Israel somewhere farther south. The location of the Waters of Merom remains uncertain, but the evidence slightly favors a spring near modern Tell el-Khirbeh, the suggested site for Merom ca. fourteen miles northwest of Hazor in the highlands of Upper Galilee.21

The reader rightly imagines a dramatic scene around the Merom spring: a huge military force determined to stop Israel’s advance into Galilee. Verses 1–5 create the impression that everyone has come from everywhere—and with frightening firepower. The reader knows that this scene is no mere “show-of-force” to intimidate Israel. The biggest battle—the dramatic denouement of the entire conquest—is about to begin. The result could be Canaan’s last stand or Israel’s final triumph.

Suddenly, the text ushers the reader to the Israelite side at an unknown location. The unexpected change signals that the anticipated battle is about to begin at last (vv. 6–15). The narrative assumes that Joshua knows the enemy’s moves, because Yahweh opens the battle report with a word of assurance, a promise, and an instruction for Joshua (v. 6). The assurance and promise echo similar reassuring statements given before the battles of Ai and Gibeon (8:1; 10:8): “Do not be afraid of them because by this time tomorrow I will hand all of them over to Israel, slain” (11:6; cf. 6:1).22

But the wording (“by this time tomorrow,” “all,” and “slain”) gives the present promise immediacy and certainty. Unlike Yahweh’s instructions before battles at Jericho (6:2–5) and Ai (8:1–2, 18), here they concern not the battle proper (the victory is his to achieve) but the mop-up afterward.23 Once Israel finds the enemy “slain” (lit., “pierced”) right before their eyes, they are to put the previously ominous horses and chariots permanently out of commission. The horses are to be hamstrung and the chariots burned, the typical way in warfare both ancient and modern to disable both. Since these actions follow the enemy’s retreat, they symbolize the overwhelming victory won.24 So, Joshua and the whole Israelite army take the offensive (v. 7), launching a surprise attack as they did at Gibeon (cf. 10:9). It catches the enemy camp off-duty, unprepared for battle. If the location of Merom proposed above is correct, the Israelites may have suddenly fallen upon the unsuspecting soldiers from the highland forests near their campsite.25

True to his word, Yahweh gives the coalition troops into Israel’s hands (v. 8). Israelite soldiers rout them and chase the retreating enemy in two directions. Some Israelites pursue them northwest ca. twenty miles, later branching into two subgroups. One subgroup goes as far as “Greater Sidon,” the coastal region above the Litani River dominated by the powerful city-state of Sidon (cf. 19:28). The other subgroup chases the enemy to a coastal town on Greater Sidon’s southern border, Misrephoth Maim (lit., “lime kilns by the water”), probably modern Khirbet Musheirefeh at the northern end of the Plain of Acco.26

A second Israelite band heads northeast from Merom into the Valley of Mizpeh, probably a valley ca. twenty miles away in the Lebanon Mountains east of the Litani.27 (Apparently, Israel has blocked all escape routes to the south.) Relentlessly, Israel strikes the fleeing enemy “until no survivors were left,” the latter phrase a formulaic echo of chapter 10 and typically deuteronomic (10:28, 30, 33, 37, 39, 40; cf. 8:22; Num. 21:35; Deut. 2:34; 3:3; 2 Kings 10:11). The northern coalition has suffered the same disastrous fate as its southern counterpart.

To close the scene, the author stresses that Joshua does to them precisely what Yahweh commanded (v. 9), thereby sounding a theme heard earlier—Joshua’s unwavering obedience to Yahweh.28 The object-first word order makes the point emphatically: “Their horses he hamstrung and their chariots he burned with fire” (my translation). The reader imagines a scene of fire, rising smoke, hobbled warhorses, and no enemy in sight. Israel owns the battlefield—a great victory, indeed!

Special Notice: Hazor (vv. 10–11)

Special notice: Hazor (vv. 10–11). Sometime later,29 Joshua “turns back” from wherever he is (e.g., chasing enemy troops, disabling their horses and chariots, etc.) and captures the city of Hazor (v. 10). The combination of “turn” (šub) and “capture” (lakad) echoes the language of 10:38–39, the report of the last southern city to fall (Debir). The shared terminology links the two-city conquest scenes literarily (i.e., Conquest Phases I and II) and also marks the fall of Hazor as the battle’s climatic event.30 Given the gigantic importance of Hazor in antiquity, the short chiastic headline—(lit.) “[he] captured Hazor” // its king [he] killed”—smacks of stunning understatement!

The writer quickly explains that Hazor fell not because of an Israelite preemptive strike but because of its long-standing, regional dominance (“head of all these kingdoms”).31 The remark implies that Hazor sustained its lengthy, regional hegemony (see vv. 1–3) by violent oppression of its underlings—and that here Hazor finally receives its just desserts for the bloodshed. Its demise ends the last bastion of Canaanite rule—a very, very big deal for Israel—and inaugurates the Israelite period.

The narrator tells the story behind the headline in a slow-paced, solemn statement and restatement that weave in key wording from chapter 10 (11:11). Together they picture the treatments of north and south as identical. With swords Israel (lit.) “struck down” everyone in Hazor as ḥerem (ḥaram hi.), leaving no survivors (cf. 10:28, 30, 32, 35, 37).32 Also, Hazor shares a dubious distinction with Jericho and Ai: It is only the third city in Canaan that Joshua sets ablaze (cf. 6:24; 8:28).

Conclusion (vv. 12–15)

Conclusion (vv. 12–15). The other cities and kings suffered the same fate as Hazor (v. 12).33 This is what Moses commanded, the writer adds (cf. Deut. 20:16–18), and he alone (so far) bears this unique title of the highest authority (“the servant of the LORD”).34 Again, the narrator sounds one of the book’s main themes, Joshua (and Israel’s) completion of Moses’ mandates (cf. v. 15; 1:7, 13; 4:10, 12; 8:30–33; 20:2; 21:2, 8; 22:2).

But two exceptions limit the destruction carried out here (v. 13).35 (1) Israel does not burn any northern cities built atop mounds except for Hazor, with whose destruction the writer credits Joshua. Presumably, this proviso leaves the Israelites ready-made cities in Galilee in which to settle after the land distribution. (2) Language echoing the same provision at Ai (8:2, 27) permits Israel to keep for their own personal use plunder (i.e., food, clothes, pottery, valuables, etc.) and livestock from the cities (v. 14).36

But, again, object-first word order underscores an exception even to this provision: Israel cannot keep any humans. Instead, “all the people” suffer the same fate as their armies (v. 8) exactly as their counterparts in the south (10:28, 30, 33, 37, 39, 40). Israel strikes them down with the sword until they are wiped out—precisely what the Gibeonites had feared (9:24)—not sparing “anyone that breathed” (lit., “all breath”). The reader imagines cities everywhere “breathless”—empty, silent, void of the rhythmic respiration-pulse of human activity.

A concluding comment retraces the historical chain of command that authorized the above scene (v. 15). Yahweh commanded Moses, Moses commanded Joshua, and Joshua did it. Indeed, the writer stresses, he did it perfectly: “He left nothing undone” of what Yahweh had commanded Moses. With unswerving devotion, he fully executed his divine commission (1:7), anticipating David’s similar obedience (1 Kings 15:15; cf. Deut. 28:14). Fittingly, the conquest enterprise that began with Joshua now ends with a brief word of commendation for his faithful service to Yahweh (cf. v. 23). He achieves the stature in Israel that Yahweh promised him (3:7).

In Praise of Joshua: Conquest Summary (11:16–23)

Bridging Contexts

FOUR IMPORTANT MATTERS MERIT follow up in transition to the Contemporary Significance section: a summary of the archaeology of Hazor, further discussion concerning the Canaanite kings, comments about the portrayal of Joshua, and a closing glimpse on the “rest from war.”

The archaeology of Hazor. It is clear that after a long, prestigious history, Canaanite Hazor suffered a violent, fiery destruction sometime in the thirteenth century B.C. But the identity of its destroyers, including the relevance of Joshua 11 to the question, remains a matter of scholarly dispute.54 Two centuries later (eleventh cent. B.C.), a new population of unknown size settled on the vacant site, but it occupied only ten acres of Hazor’s western hill. Its evidently short stay left behind comparatively meager architectural remains, most prominently many round pits three by five feet in diameter and depth that probably served for disposal of refuse.55 The pottery styles from this period differ significantly from the Canaanite tradition of the previous occupiers and suggest inhabitants of a different ethnic group. Further, the new arrivals apparently lived in tents and temporary structures—an encampment of transients rather than long-term residents. Later, they vacated the site voluntarily, since it shows no evidence of destruction.

Ben-Ami tentatively interprets this settlement as one of the temporary Israelite camps evident in Joshua and Judges (e.g., Gilgal [Josh. 2–10], Shiloh [Josh. 18:1–10; Judg. 21:12], and Dan’s two camps [Judg. 13:25; 18:12]). From biblical evidence he speculates that the site may represent an early settlement of the tribe of Naphtali or a group of tribes. If so, the term “camp of Israel” (e.g., Josh. 6:18, 23; 18:9) may reflect part of the historical reality of how the Israelites settled: encampments as preparation for and transition to permanent settlement.56

But Ben-Ami also observes an especially striking phenomenon. Typically, subsequent settlements raise their buildings on earlier foundations and reutilize building materials and walls left by former residents. At Hazor, however, both the Israelite encampment and the later Israelite city (ca. 950 B.C.) do nothing with the ruined Canaanite palace in their midst. He suggests that both may have believed it to be under a curse or ban, a belief that persisted over several centuries.57 In short, the archaeological picture of Hazor comprises three phases: the Canaanite city that ended violently (thirteenth cent. B.C.), two centuries without occupation, a short-term Israelite encampment (eleventh cent. B.C.), and a permanent Israelite city (tenth to eighth cent. B.C.).

Now, the question is: Did the Israelites destroy Canaanite Hazor? Ben-Ami denies any cause-and-effect relationship between that destruction and the later Israelite encampment. He assumes (without apparent rationale, in my view) no connection between the two parties and, in effect, denies that the destroyers were Israelites. His view is that the biblical author wrote Joshua 11 as an etiology—simply to explain how the once-great city of Hazor became well-known, impressive ruins.58 However, Ben-Ami rightly allows another possible scenario—that the city’s destroyers and later encampment occupants were both Israelite groups, albeit centuries apart.

In my view, Ben-Ami’s suggestion concerning the curse or ḥerem ban might provide the link between them. If, as he suggests, the populace maintained such a belief, later Israelite settlers would likely have known it, too. One could imagine, for example, the possibility that an oral tradition about the destruction passed down from earlier Israelites, perhaps even from the destroyers themselves. At present, certainty eludes us in the matter, and the continuing excavation may require revisions, but my inclination is toward the second of Ben-Ami’s two proposed scenarios.59

Hard-hearted Canaanite kings. Once again the reader confronts a scene of widespread death and destruction done in God’s name. Joshua 11, however, lays the blame at the feet of Canaan’s kings. In Gamaliel’s words, they were “fighting God” (Acts 5:39). They all represented the old order of Canaan: city-states, each ruled by a prince or king but still subject to the Egyptian pharaoh until the mid-twelfth cent. B.C. Each city-state held sway over territory and small villages in the surrounding countryside. Occasionally, they squabbled with the others for their own benefit (and perhaps to curry Egypt’s favor).60

Each dynasty required taxation of the populace to support it, usually in the form of grain, wine, oils, and other goods, but occasionally slaves were also drafted for royal service. As part of the Egyptian empire, local rulers had to pay the required periodic tribute to staff Egyptian farms and vineyards within Canaan, and on demand to supply the Egyptian homeland with highly valued goods.61 The local leaders felt strong pressure to meet royal demands, whether local or Egyptian, and so did the populace. Our knowledge of pre-Israelite Canaan is limited, but the general situation seems a good seedbed for abusive oppression of ordinary people. Even without such injustices, however, the fact is that God had decreed the death of the old order and the birth of a new one (Josh. 2–11). Canaan’s rulers opposed that new order and so set themselves to “fighting God.” The issue was whether or not they would submit to God’s authority.

As noted above, the narrator explains why the kings of Canaan went down to defeat (v. 20): Yahweh “hardened their hearts” to attack Israel and suffer certain doom. Literarily, this motif echoes the same divine scheme against Pharaoh and links the Exodus and Conquest as two triumphs of Yahweh within a single larger plan (cf. Josh. 4:23–24; Ps. 114:3–6). But this explanation may trouble modern readers, as John Goldingay says:

Making the king resistant … could suggest that the king is Yhwh’s toy, to be manipulated in such a way as to serve Yhwh’s purpose, without regard for his personal desires. Is Yhwh playing mind games, or working like a hypnotist who gets people to do something they would not otherwise do by planting ideas in their subconscious minds that they would not otherwise generate, or treating the king like a computer to be programmed at will?62

Did the kings have no choice in the matter? Did God manipulate them into doing something against their wishes? If so, is that not unfair to the kings? Given God’s character, how could he simply railroad them to disobey his will? Indeed, at first glance, the kings seem faced with a no-win situation: If they do nothing, Israel will annihilate them anyway, but if they attack they face certain defeat by Yahweh.

In response, Goldingay carefully reviews the scenario in Exodus. The underlying issue, he argues, is the authority of Yahweh: “Is the king of Egypt the great sovereign, or is the God of Israel?”63 From the outset God knows that he will inevitably have to compel Pharaoh to let Israel go (Ex. 3:19), so he declares upfront his intention to strengthen Pharaoh’s resolve to not release Israel. He does this so that, in the end, he may kill Pharaoh’s firstborn son for his refusal to free Yahweh’s firstborn son, Israel (Ex. 4:21–23). To demonstrate his superiority—that is, to get Pharaoh to acknowledge “that there is no one like me in all the earth” (Ex. 9:14)—Yahweh chooses through the plagues “to maneuver the king [Pharaoh] into acting stupidly.”64

One might add that their stupidity betrays a blind self-confidence born of a deadly delusion—the conviction that they can beat Yahweh at any game. In the case of Joshua 1–11, Yahweh also launches Israel’s invasion to demonstrate his superiority (“so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the LORD is powerful” [Josh. 4:24]) and to force the kings of Canaan similarly to “act stupidly.”

Further, Goldingay observes an interesting pattern in the plague narrative. Twice Yahweh declares his intention to stiffen Pharaoh’s resolve (Ex. 4:21; 7:3), but a series of subsequent statements report that “Pharaoh hardened his heart” or “his heart was tough” (e.g., Ex. 7:13, 14, 22; 8:15[11], 19[15], 32[28]; 9:7, 34, 35). These statements reveal strong symptoms of stupid, royal resistance and willfulness, after which later comments add that “Yahweh stiffened [Pharaoh’s] resolve” (10:1, 20, 27; 11:10; cf. also 9:12). In short, the latter acts serve to firm up the stupidity toward which Pharaoh was inclined on his own and also to punish him. This is the key point: The juxtaposition of Yahweh-hardened and Pharaoh-hardened reports implies that things are turning out just as Yahweh anticipated, not that Yahweh caused them. The very juxtaposition cleverly “draws attention to the mystery about human stupidity.”65 Goldingay concludes:

[Yhwh’s] decision stands as the background to what happens, yet it does not force people to take a path they would not otherwise have taken. Even if Yhwh had done nothing, the opening of Exodus suggests that the king likely had quite enough stupidity to resist a change of policy. So Pharaoh is responsible for his acts, yet they take place within Yhwh’s purpose.66

Now, the book of Joshua has nothing like the rich, detailed narrative tracing the face-off between Yahweh and Pharaoh. But Goldingay’s discussion nevertheless illumines the claim of divine hardening in Joshua 11:20. Yahweh’s decision to have Israel invade Canaan forces the kings of the land to respond according to their natural inclination—either to acknowledge Yahweh’s authority or to fight back. A pattern soon emerges in the book: Each Israelite victorious forward step provokes responses from the land’s leadership—in every case, a military move to stop Israel (except for the Gibeonites).67 Canaan’s kings show the same stupidity as Egypt’s Pharaoh—despite the obvious knowledge of Yahweh, his evident power, and his will for Canaan that Rahab and the Gibeonites voice (see 2:10–11; 9:24). Rather than manipulate or override each leader’s will, God simply gives them good reasons to follow their own inclinations, however foolish they may prove to be. As with Pharaoh, the disastrous defeats that the Canaanite leadership suffers signal God’s displeasure with their resistance and result in divine punishment.68

The portrait of Joshua. A brief review of the theme of Joshua’s rise in stature will lay the groundwork for the Contemporary Significance section. Yahweh himself introduces it, informing Joshua that the Jordan crossing will elevate him in Israel’s eyes (3:7–8). He marks the event as the decisive demonstration that God is with Joshua just as he was with Moses. Perhaps doubts about Joshua haunted some Israelite minds; the transition from Moses to Joshua, they reasoned, was no guarantee of Yahweh’s blessing, especially if Joshua messed up badly. The entry into Canaan showed that Yahweh truly backs Joshua and accords him maximum credibility with the Israelites. Indeed, Israel “revered him all the days of his life, just as they had revered Moses” (4:14).

The loss of Moses meant no loss of quality leadership. Israel’s first victory at Jericho further confirmed that “the LORD was with Joshua” and also spread “his fame … throughout the land” (6:27). Even in the dark shadow of Israel’s defeat at Ai, Joshua unhesitatingly picked up the Mosaic mantle to represent Israel’s interests before God (7:6–9). Finally, the rout at Gibeon in answer to Joshua’s bold prayer dispelled all doubt that Yahweh listened to him (10:12–14). Later, the book will close with a concluding eulogy at his death (see comments on 24:29–31).

What made Joshua so great? To the narrator, Joshua is first and foremost an obedient servant of Yahweh. The repeated literary schema, Yahweh’s instructions followed by Joshua’s execution of them, portrays this trait.69 So, Joshua carries out divine orders concerning the Jordan crossing (ch. 3), the memorial of twelve stones (4:1–8), the ark’s exit from the Jordan (4:15, 17), the circumcision at Gilgal (5:2–3), the method of taking Jericho (ch. 6), the way to expose Achan’s secret sin (ch. 7), the tactics and plunder policy at Ai (ch. 8, esp. v. 27), and the treatment of chariots and horses left by the northern coalition (11:6, 9). Joshua accepts his place in the chain of command below Moses and Yahweh, respectively (11:15; cf. 4:10; 11:23).

The same three-level command structure undergirds two later special appeals for Joshua to allocate inheritance land (14:2–6, 12; 17:4) and probably one to allocate cities to the Levites (21:1–3, 8). The YahwehMoses-Joshua chain probably goes all the way back to Joshua’s emergence as Moses’ aide (Ex. 17:14; 27:18, 21; Deut. 31:14; cf. 33:11).70 It seems to govern larger policy matters (i.e., the Instruction; see 1:7; 23:6), but concerning immediate tactical matters Yahweh addresses Joshua directly as he did Moses. Later, Joshua will carry out Yahweh’s direct orders to distribute the land among the tribes (13:6–7; chs. 14–19) and to designate cities of refuge (ch. 20).

Joshua is also an obedient servant of Moses. One prominent motif in Joshua traces how Joshua obediently carried out specific Mosaic instructions. That obedience underlies Joshua’s dealings with the Transjordanian tribes (1:12–18; 22:1–4, 9; cf. 12:6), his initiation of the covenant ceremony on Mount Ebal (8:25–30; cf. Deut. 11:29; 27:4, 13), the destruction of the northern kingdoms (11:12), and the distribution of land (14:2, 5), including special allocations for West Manasseh (17:4).71

But one striking feature of Joshua’s portrait is that he occasionally accommodated Moses to Israel’s current reality in Canaan. For example, in the case of the Gibeonites, Joshua made a decision that, on the face of it, seems not quite in keeping with Moses’ instructions. Rather than subjecting the Gibeonites to ḥerem, he let them live and work as suppliers of wood and water for Yahweh’s altar. In my view, Joshua 9 portrays him as creatively applying two Mosaic provisions to them, the role assigned resident-aliens (gerim) and the making of treaties with foreign peoples. Ultimately, the theme of Yahweh’s elevation of Joshua may aim to give him the Moses-like authority to make such judgments. In other words, he is free to act in the “spirit” (though not the “letter”) of Moses (see comments on ch. 9). At the same time, in making such exceptions, Joshua still operates within the Instruction of Moses rather than freelance. Such episodes serve only to enhance the picture of Joshua as the paradigmatic obedient servant of Moses. Thus, he has much to teach leaders of future generations.

Rest from war. Both occurrences of “the land had rest from war” (11:23; 14:15) invoke the verb šaqaṭ, “to be quiet, undisturbed” (cf. 2 Chron. 14:5; Isa. 14:7; Zech. 1:11).72 A variation of the phrase, primarily in Judges, substitutes lengths of time (usually, forty years) for “from war” (Judg. 3:11, 30 [eighty years]; 5:31; 8:28; 2 Chron. 13:2–3 [ten years]). All the above occurrences describe the state of peace, quiet, and calm that follows the end of military threats or oppression. Notice one striking aspect about the biblical phrase: Its subject is not the people but “the land”—a collective reference to a whole, wide geographical area, the physical region that people populate. The phrase’s true sense becomes a little clearer if one ponders the picture conveyed by its opposite—for example, “the land was greatly disturbed by war.”

War “disturbs” or “disquiets” not just people but the entire environment—the people, the animals, the birds, the plants, the trees, the grass, the air, and the soil itself. It completely disrupts the world’s natural state. The cheerful songs of songbirds and children at play fall eerily silent. Across the usually quiet landscape erupts a horrible cacophony of angry shouting, the clangs of clashing weapons, the grunts and groans of soldiers’ grappling, and the cries and moans of the maimed and dying. The smoky smell of burning homes, the crackle of harvest fields ablaze, and the stench of dead flesh shove aside the sweet smells of new-mown grass, freshly cut stalks, spring flowers, and the pleasant breeze. For a few hours (or days) the land becomes ugly—a living hell: “The land is greatly disturbed.”

Against this background, the reader more fully appreciates how good it was that “the land had rest from war.” The horrible cacophony falls silent, the gut-grabbing dread and wrenching grief are gone, and nature’s sweet smells return. The giddy sense of relief—the heady rush of having survived death—is one of life’s most powerful experiences. It is a kind of victory appreciated most fully against the dark, harsh reality that preceded it. And it points toward an even greater victory and an even more wonderful peace to be discussed below.

Contemporary Significance

Contemporary Significance

WHENEVER I TELL MY students that “God is a warrior,” a spirited discussion always breaks out. They reckon texts like Exodus 15:2 (“The LORD is a warrior”) as an oxymoron. The “God of love” they know and the term “warrior” simply do not go together. The statement strikes them as nonsense—like saying, “Elephants fly,” “men birth babies,” or “white is dark.”

Their reaction is, however, a typical one for Christians, followers of Jesus Christ, a man who refused to fight his enemies though it cost him his life. He was also a man who taught his followers to endure abuse rather than retaliate—in his words, to “turn the other cheek” (Matt. 5:39; Luke 6:29). They buy his ethic of quiet nonviolence and nonretaliation, and talk of Christians engaged in war understandably makes them uneasy. Further, consistent with that view, the words they (and readers) associate with Jesus include “loving,” “gentle,” “kind,” “compassionate,” “caring,” and “truthful.” Those words capture a pattern of conduct they themselves pursue as disciples of Jesus. But the contemporary relevance of Joshua 11 begins with recognition that behind the confrontation between Canaan’s rulers and Joshua and the Israelites stands the same cosmic struggle of God against willful human rebellion that goes on today. The same eternal question still confronts people: Will you surrender to Jesus’ authority?

The battle still rages. Joshua and the Canaanites may be long gone, but Jesus himself threw down the gauntlet, signaling that the battle over his authority—the same issue that divided Joshua and his enemies—had begun with his coming:

Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn

“a man against his father,

a daughter against her mother,

a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—

a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.”

(Matt. 10:34–36, quoting Mic. 7:6)

Granted, Jesus was addressing everyone rather than just rulers, and in this case the “battle” is a spiritual rather than a military one. But Jesus’ point is that he came swinging a sword for war, not peace. The war is about his lordship—whether people will surrender to it or fight against it. The battle, he says, will split families; some members will surrender and serve him, others will not. The Gospels report the unfolding of that split. Over time, confrontations with Jesus unleashed a momentum among the “willnots” that eventuated in his trial and execution. More than a millennium after Joshua 2–11, people still found themselves “fighting God,” a battle still raging today every time someone hears the gospel and Jesus’ demand that a person make him their Lord.

Joshua faced the kings of Canaan’s city-states, but who are the enemies we face today? Enemy Number One is the “power of Satan” (Acts. 26:18) still at work around us. He is the one who fires the fiery darts against which the “shield of faith” protects us (Eph. 6:16), and his schemes lie behind failure by Christians to forgive each other and be reconciled (2 Cor. 2:10–11). He is also an expert at disinformation, blinding the minds of unbelievers so they cannot see the gospel’s light (2 Cor. 4:4) and cleverly masquerading as an “angel of light” to lead believers away from the truth (2 Cor. 11:14). Cunningly, he sets traps to capture and keep unrepentant believers unrepentant (2 Tim. 2:26); roaring loudly, he roams about like a lion eager to pounce on unsuspecting spiritual prey (1 Peter 5:8). Through unstated means, he stopped Paul and Silas from revisiting Thessalonica, a place they had fled from earlier because of an uproar (Acts 17:1–9; 1 Th. 2:18). Two millennia may have passed since the New Testament era, but Satan—the master spiritual terrorist—still stealthily stalks believers behind the scenes. His aim remains the disruption of God’s salvation plan for the world.73

Some governments, political systems, and businesses also today oppose the gospel and the new world order it represents. Recall the concept of hell that C. S. Lewis describes in the introduction to the Screwtape Letters:

The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid “dens of crime” that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps.… But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.74

Lewis goes on to describe how this Hell operates:

“Dog eat dog” is the principle of the whole organization. Everyone wishes everyone else’s discrediting, demotion, and ruin; everyone is an expert in the confidential report, the pretended alliance, the stab in the back. Over all this their good manners, their expressions of grave respect, their “tributes” to one another’s invaluable services form a thin crust. Every now and then it gets punctured, and the scalding lava of their hatred spurts out.75

Lewis paints the picture in the extreme, but people who have lived under recent communist or totalitarian regimes will immediately identify with it. The sad fact is that there are still regimes that forbid, or at least heavily regulate, the access to Bibles of their populace. There are still places in which Christians must keep a low profile for fear of imprisonment or death. There are also regimes that promote other religions as superior to and to be preferred to Christianity. Other governments sponsor a secular religion, one that worships human reason and creativity as supreme and excludes the God of the Bible from their realms.

As for businesses, some readers may recognize something of their own hellish workplace in it. The dog-eat-dog competition pits them against coworkers whom they would otherwise like to befriend in the name of Christ. They live daily with pressures to produce that all too often collide with their ethics as Christians. They may face the awkward choice between company loyalty and loyalty to Christ. The choice is not exactly outright persecution, but the “wrong” choice might cost them their precious livelihood.

Some enemies are more intellectual. One of the themes of the science fiction novel Contact, by the late, popular astronomer Carl Sagan, is scientific skepticism about God’s existence and about Christian claims about God. One well-known scene features a conversation between two Christian ministers, the Reverend Billy Jo Rankin and the Reverend Palmer Joss, and Dr. Eleanor (“Ellie”) Arroway, director of Project Argus. That project had set up radio telescopes in New Mexico to search for evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence in the universe and had received one such communication. In the discussion, Dr. Arroway says:

When I say I’m an agnostic, I only mean that the evidence isn’t in. There isn’t compelling evidence that God exists—at least your kind of god—and there isn’t compelling evidence that he doesn’t. Since more than half the people on the Earth aren’t Jews or Christians or Muslims, I’d say that there aren’t any compelling arguments for your kind of god. Otherwise, everybody on Earth would have been converted. I say again, if your God wanted to convince us, he could have done a much better job.76

It is fitting to respect and honor Sagan’s brilliant scientific career and widespread popularity, but fitting also to beware of views antithetical to faith. On the more popular level, the early twenty-first century has also seen Jesus in the headlines, albeit by popular media promoting unorthodox views. Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code builds on the assumption that Jesus married Mary Magdelene and fathered a child. This claim has been around for centuries, but Brown’s novel has repackaged it for a new generation to consider.

Similarly, in 2007 the Discovery Channel aired a documentary, “The Lost Tomb of Jesus,” which claimed that the bones of Jesus and Mary Magdalene had been found in a family tomb near Jerusalem. The lively debate that ensued, including a critical assessment by Ted Koppel, seemed to undermine the thesis and subject the show’s producers to much criticism. Whatever the motives behind such phenomena, both clearly contradict traditional Christian beliefs. They are “enemy” in that they feed skeptics fresh ammunition and spread confusion about the gospel’s real claims. Most of us, however, experience an “enemy” more personally: a neighbor who keeps aloof because we are Christians, a friend who rejects our attempts to talk about Jesus, or a coworker who ridicules our faith because of bad experiences with a church.

These cases lead me to voice two words of caution. (1) The purpose for pursing this theme is to remind us of an oft-forgotten aspect of reality, the larger spiritual struggle over Jesus’ lordship. Through Joshua, God demanded that Canaan’s kings bow to his authority, and through the gospel Jesus likewise demands surrender today. Opposition is really about him, not about us.

(2) While honestly reckoning with this reality, no paranoia or panic need result. No one needs to scrutinize relatives, neighbors, coworkers, or friends to root out possible enemies. The thoughtless labeling of anyone as an “enemy” demeans a person whom Jesus loves and for whom he died. It may also wrongly skew our perception of him or her and needlessly lead us warily to keep our distance. Clearly, that amounts to a retreat of the gospel rather than its advance. Instead, we should simply understand that we may occasionally experience conflict over our commitment to Jesus Christ. We should also draw confidence from God’s powerful presence with us through his Holy Spirit. As God was with Moses and Joshua, so he is with us. Though vigilant, we need fear no ambush or rout because the Spirit who lives in us is greater than the warring spirits in the world (1 John 4:4; cf. 2 Kings 6:16).

This second word of caution is actually a strong warning. Christian readers should never demonize anyone with whom conflict arises. Labeling someone in unflattering terms harms rather than advances the gospel’s interests. It is needlessly offensive, if not insulting, and cuts off the possibility of further conversations of any sort, much less about our faith. Jesus told it straight: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you” (Luke 6:27; cf. Matt. 5:44).

In other words, surprise the heck out of such people! Give them the one response they do not expect—kindness for unkindness, warmth for coldness, love for hate. That unexpected response demonstrates how different—indeed, how startlingly transformed—Christians are compared to other people. It will spark their curiosity and open them up a little to consider the gospel. In military terms, Jesus orders us to use a surprise attack—to react in an unexpected way that knocks them a little off balance. Surprise worked militarily at Ai and Gibeon, and it can work non-militarily for us, too.

Some Christian refugees from Sudan in a town near Chicago illustrate the spirit of Jesus at work.77 Before emigrating, they suffered greatly at the hands of the pro-Islamic government of Sudan that violently sought to force southern Sudan to become Muslim and culturally Arab. Many Sudanese refugees watched in horror as strafing aircraft, bombardments, and infantry assaults claimed the lives of loved ones. Between 1983 and 2005, merciless attacks on defenseless southern villages killed two million people and forced four million into exile, some in America. That horrible history notwithstanding, every Christmas and Easter the Sudanese Community Church of Wheaton invites Muslim Sudanese for a lamb dinner (the Muslims reciprocate after Ramadan). Since participants speak various tribal languages, the event is conducted in a mixture of Arabic (many speak it) and other languages (for non-Arabic speakers). According to one Christian from the Dinka tribe, the tribe of the well-known “Lost Boys,” a spiritual imperative led the Christians to initiate the semiannual celebration: “Even though they are Muslim,” said Wilson Lual, “Jesus says, ‘Love your enemies.’”78 And Jesus still says that.

The promise still applies. Joshua 11 traces Joshua’s military success to a simple promise (my paraphrase): “Don’t be afraid of them because I’m handing all of them over to you dead” (Josh. 11:6). “Don’t be afraid” (ʾal-tiraʾ ) is a typical formula of warfare, the reassurance of victory that Yahweh gives his on-site commander shortly before the battle begins (Num. 21:34; Josh. 10:8; 11:6). A promise (“because [ki] I’m handing them over to you”) typically supports the reassurance.79

The encouraging words “Don’t be afraid” also echo elsewhere across the biblical landscape. Angels reassured Mary and Joseph not to worry about the ramifications of her mysterious pregnancy (Matt. 1:20; Luke 1:30). They encouraged Zechariah that God had answered his prayer—that barren Elizabeth would bear a son (Luke 1:13). “Don’t be afraid” calmed the fears of the shepherds frightened by the angelic singing in the sky above (Luke 2:10), and bucked up the disciples before they dispersed on their mission (Matt. 10:26, 28, 31). The words gently dispelled whatever doubts Jesus’ “little flock” (i.e., the disciples) might have about actually seeing God’s kingdom come (Luke 12:32). “Don’t be afraid” eased John’s terror at seeing God’s awesome majesty in a vision (Rev. 1:17), and through John’s vision eased the fears of Christians at Smyrna about to suffer severe persecution (Rev. 2:10).

One night at Corinth God spoke those soothing words to Paul in a vision: “Do not be afraid; keep on speaking, do not be silent. For I am with you” (Acts 18:9–10). Reassured, Paul taught God’s word there for a year and a half (v. 11). “Don’t be afraid” permits us, as we face our own battles, to respond with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can human beings do to me?” (Heb. 13:6 TNIV; cf. Ps. 27:1; 118:6).

Fears plague us all, especially when we are keenly aware that a spiritual battle swirls around us. Some Christians may fear actual physical harm for their faith in Christ. Certainly, believers who suffer under oppressive regimes know that fear intimately. The dark, ugly specter of brutal beatings, long imprisonment, and even death still haunt them. I have a friend whose wife became a Christian as a teenager in a central Asian country, and her family immediately threw her out in the street, never to return. Three decades later, they still refuse contact with her, a terrible grief for her to bear. Many from nonreligious or antireligious homes in the West face a similar fear. Those who toy with accepting the gospel often must fearfully weigh their family’s reaction before deciding.

Still yet another fear of Christians is the fear of failing and disappointing God. Behind this lies a deep sense of inadequacy in light of the imagined enormity of what God expects. It is true that the Christian life is no lazy stroll through the park. Sexuality and materialism preoccupy the surrounding culture, not an easy arena in which to remain pure before God and to avoid the lure of excessive material goods. Small wonder that some believers live with worry over not being good enough in God’s eyes. But the reassuring “Don’t be afraid” spoken by Jesus applies to fears of persecution, ostracism, and personal inadequacy. It offers us a powerful antidote to the stresses they inflict on us, his daily presence with us.

Those who occasionally give a gospel witness fear the negative reactions of their hearers. The possibility of rejection—not only of the gospel but of us personally—is ever-present and anxiety-producing, especially if our witness puts an important personal relationship at risk. The popular press tends to tar evangelicals with the brush of intolerance, a craving for power, and hypocrisy. To humiliate women thought guilty of adultery, the New England Puritans used to put them in stocks in the public square wearing an “A” (for adultery).80 In today’s popular media, the terms “evangelical” or “fundamentalist” often carry their own set of negative connotations. Some might even regard such people as a “threat to the Republic.”

All this means that it is politically incorrect to say that someone “needs Christ.” Behind the popular mood lurks a fear among nonevangelicals that evangelical critic Robert Lanham recently called “evangophobia.” This is the fear that the evangelical right is not a new counter-culture but the new cultural mainstream.81 What particularly troubles Lanham are beliefs that that culture cherishes what he deems destructive (e.g., opposition to gay rights). He believes such teachings create divisions between people rather than bring them together. Given such fears and fully aware of the Christian task, one is tempted in despair to invoke that line from Paul, “And who is equal to such a task?” (2 Cor. 2:16).

One night during my tour in Vietnam as a circuit-riding Navy chaplain, I witnessed an awesome display of military might. Thankfully, the show aimed to impress dignitaries visiting the small riverboat base in the Mekong Delta rather than to repel attackers in an actual firefight. Hovering over the base, a single Huey helicopter fired its Gatling-style minigun into the empty forest behind it at a rate of four thousand rounds per minute. The whole area echoed with a frightening racket, and tracer rounds cast a laser-like light beam from the chopper to its pretended target. Between minigun bursts, the helo’s rocket pods fired their small, destructive missiles into the dark treeline. A loud “whoosh!” and short vapor trail quickly produced a sudden flash in the trees, each explosion further lighting up the night sky.

As I watched, I quivered inside at the overwhelming firepower on display. I imagined myself as the enemy recipient of the fiery fury raining down from the sky. I imagined the frozen grip of deathly terror and the frightened urge to seek shelter or escape. To this day I can still hear the ear-splitting racket, smell the gunpowdery smoke, and see the fireworks display. It was a dazzling/tantalizing demonstration of human wizardry.

But that display pales into harmless puffs of smoke and kids’ sparklers alongside the awesome, unstoppable power of God. It is that power that backs up God’s “Don’t be afraid” to us and eases our fears. It is that power that, in the face of our daily struggles, bucks up our confidence, relaxes our tense muscles, relieves our troubled minds, and lifts our sagging spirits. Remember that this is the true evidence that the gospel has transformative power; to outsiders it seems at first glance as foolish (How can someone who dies on a cross save people? [1 Cor. 1:18–24]), weak (i.e., its messengers are frail humans [2 Cor. 4:7]), and unimpressive (i.e., its proclaimers lack eloquence and impressive learning [1 Cor. 2:1–8]). The only plausible explanation for the credibility and effects of the gospel message is not its intellectual persuasiveness, its stunning spokespersons, its dazzling display of miracles, its dramatic religious rituals, its impressive list of well-known believers, or its down-to-earth practical advice. The gospel’s credibility derives from its amazing power—the “amazing grace that saved a wretch like me”—to transform human lives. It heals the hurting, repairs the broken-hearted, makes the ugly beautiful, and softens the hard-hearted into tenderness.

The story told by friends of mine who live in a Muslim country illustrates this point well. My friends had just attended the funeral of a Christian woman from their church, the only believer in her entire family. Though her family was Muslim and animist, they decided to honor the woman’s choice of religion by having a Christian funeral rather a Muslim one. Muslims have a saying that if someone becomes a Christian, they will have a bad funeral (no one will come). This claim discourages many Muslims from following Christ because to do so would risk great humiliation at death. That explains why the family was shocked at how many people turned out for the celebration—almost the entire church. By my friends’ account, the service was wonderful, the good news of Jesus Christ infusing each of aspect of the event. During a Muslim funeral, people come to the house of the deceased and pray all night that Allah will mercifully allow the person into heaven. The deceased’s family were therefore surprised that all the church people came to celebrate all night that the woman was already in heaven with her Savior.

The turnout for this old woman’s memorial services showed the family that a Christian does have a good, honorable funeral. As a result, her Muslim family came to church the following Sunday. That day, her son announced to the church that he wanted to follow Christ. Through the powerful Christian testimony of his mother’s funeral God had transformed his heart. The power lay in the simple truths of the gospel message—as Paul put it, “the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes” (Rom. 1:16). That transformative power enables us to do whatever God sets in front of us to do. With such power available, we respond to it by affirming with renewed confidence, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). According to popular speaker Michael Pritchard, “Fear is that little darkroom where negatives are developed.”82 But God’s “Don’t be afraid” brightens our lives, leaving no room for “negatives.”

The best soldiers: humble, obedient servants. Joshua 11 highlights how Joshua faithfully carried out God’s instructions, whether given directly by Yahweh or through Moses. Literarily, he stands in stark contrast to all the kings whose attempts to stamp out Israel Joshua soundly defeated. Two aspects of his obedience make him an especially good example of good soldiering in God’s service today.

(1) Joshua humbly subordinated himself to the leadership of Moses. In his biblical debut, Joshua had won Israel’s first military victory, the defeat of the Amalekites at Rephidim (Ex. 17:8–13). Thereafter the Bible remembers him as Moses’ “aide” (Heb. mešaret “servant”; Ex. 24:13; Num. 11:28), a position he filled from his youth until Moses died (Josh. 1:1). Biblical chronology for the Mosaic era is uncertain, but Joshua probably served at Moses’ side—and in his shadow, too—about forty-five to fifty years. That’s a long time for Joshua to await his turn to lead Israel. A more ambitious man might have cleverly played the “Bye, Moses! Back to Egypt!” rebellion against Moses (Num. 14) to his advantage and replaced him as leader. Instead, he (and Caleb) defended Moses against the mob and became the only two of their generation actually to enter the land. Joshua 11 praises Joshua for doing “just as the LORD commanded Moses” (vv. 15, 23). Even when he finally got to “sit in Moses’ seat” (Matt. 23:2), he still carried out the agenda of Moses rather than his own. He models a unique humility for a leader, the humility to support someone else as a subordinate.

Jesus taught his disciples (and us) something similar in two well-known episodes. In the first, his disciples ask him to settle a disagreement among them as to who of them is the greatest in the kingdom of God (Matt. 18:1–6; Mark 9:33–37; Luke 9:46–48). In retrospect, it is almost laughable to imagine them even asking such an arrogant question. In reply, Jesus surprises them by bringing a little child into their midst and saying, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me” (Matt. 18:4–5). Jesus contrasts the sweet simplicity of a child’s devoted love for Jesus with the adult power games of his adult disciples.

Granted, the disciples later would constitute the apostolic pillars of the infant community of Jesus. But notwithstanding their exalted position in the church, they were never to lose their basic stance toward Jesus—the simple, trusting, loving devotion of a little child. Karl Barth, a theological giant of the twentieth century, never lost that simplicity. During a visit to America, someone once asked the brilliant Swiss theologian what was the most profound theological idea he had ever encountered. Without missing a beat, Barth replied, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” He was a theological genius—but still a “child” in what he deemed the essential Christian truth.

In a second episode, Jesus contrasts the leadership model of the scribes and Pharisees with the model his followers were to pursue (Matt. 23:1–12). The religious leaders of his day, Jesus says, command obedience as Moses’ successors, but they are corrupt. They do not “practice what they preach”; they saddle humans with “heavy loads” (i.e., their strict interpretation of the Torah) but do not “lift a finger” to help humans manage them. In other words, they are great experts at making demands but rank amateurs at compassion. Also, what drives them is not service of God’s people but adoration by them. They wear exaggerated religious clothes simply to get noticed. They gush inside when people pay them special attention—upfront seats at banquets, the solemn address as “Rabbi.”

Not so among you (and us), Jesus counters, because you are to understand yourselves differently. We serve one Master, Jesus, below whom we share the same rank—peers within a family. We have one “father,” our heavenly Father, and one “teacher” (Jesus, the Messiah), and neither shares his title with anyone. Our world is an upside-down one: The “greatest” is the servant of the others, and ladder climbers end up at the bottom. The winners in this competition are those who go lower than anyone else, not those who reach the top!

This teaching cuts across the common tendency of human organizations to create “pecking orders” and status symbols. In business, the ultimate prize is the proverbial key to the executive washroom and the title “CEO,” but the size and location of one’s office and parking space scores big status points, too. In academia, the rank of “professor” marks the professional pinnacle, a delicacy garnished with lots of invitations to write important books and to give lectures before adoring crowds. In churches, “senior pastor” or “chairman of the board” top the pecking order, with all the respect (if not adoration) of “associate pastors” and laity alike. All such pecking orders subtly cause ego-inflation, the confident feeling—never voiced publicly, of course—that “I’m good at what I do, so I’m entitled to all this.”

Against this, Jesus challenges both leaders and followers to be servants who regard others as more important than themselves. In his kingdom, there is no ladder to be scaled or mountain to be climbed, only the simple drudgery of ensuring that the needs of everyone else are met first. Such submission cuts across the grain of the self-centered, entrepreneurial, competitive spirit of contemporary Western culture. Jesus bypasses that spirit and leads his people in the opposite direction. It is terribly countercultural, but there is no getting around it: That is precisely the way Jesus wants it.

(2) The second aspect of Joshua’s obedience is his consistent surrender to God’s will. The simple reports about Joshua in Joshua 11 in effect toss accolades his way on this topic. He is thorough: He “left nothing undone” (v. 15) and even dealt with the Anakites (vv. 21–22). He shows remarkable endurance: “Joshua waged war against all these kings for a long time” (v. 18). God honors his thoroughness and endurance by giving him success: “Joshua took the whole land” (vv. 16, 23).

It is striking that Joshua 11 credits Joshua so highly. Earlier chapters have Yahweh in the forefront, at key points issuing reassurances as well as tactical orders (chs. 3–4; 6; 8; 9–10). But unlike 10:42, here Yahweh steps into the background to spotlight Joshua’s faithfulness. As a whole, the book of Joshua portrays a Joshua who consistently does God’s will once he succeeds Moses as leader. In that context, the land descriptions that follow (chs. 13–19) read like long lists of his sparkling achievements—an impressive resumé of leadership, indeed. Certainly, his life pursued what Eugene Peterson calls “a long obedience in the same direction.”83

Joshua offers a good model of obedience, but all too often our lives more resemble Achan than Joshua. The contrast between the two men confronts us with a basic but important biblical reality: Obedience does not come naturally to us humans. Achan knew the rules concerning ḥerem, but he still secretly kept some booty from Jericho for himself. Adam and Eve knew that God had set that special tree off-limits, but the prohibition apparently rankled them. In my view, that is why they fell for the serpent’s clever pitch: They already suspected that God was keeping something good from them—that he was neither “good” nor “generous.” And, alas, I find myself siding with them.

Candidly, some early disillusionment with Christian leaders whose guidance and example I had trusted has scarred my soul. Painfully, I learned that not all of what my guides taught me was true, so I still suffer occasional suspicions about God’s good intentions. But a recent book by David Benner has helped me understand obedience in a new way. My soul nods “yes” when Benner writes that “most of us harbor a deep-seated suspicion that God’s desires for us and ours for ourselves share no common ground.”84 So willfulness, with its motto of “my way or no way,” rules our lives: “Living life ‘our way’ appears to be the hard-wired default option for all of us.… And often—at least in the short term—it seems to work reasonably well.”85 We simply kick our steely self-discipline into gear, following the spiritual disciplines we deem necessary to a healthy spiritual life. But, Benner notes, that approach treats those routines as ends in themselves, not as means to the true, God-honoring end—our inner transformation.86 They simply live out the “kingdom of self” rather than the kingdom of God.

In the kingdom of God, however, self-discipline must give way to total surrender to God. It requires us to pray with Jesus, “Not as I will, but as you will” (Matt. 26:39). But how does such a submission of our will happen? According to Benner, God wants us to love him, not out of obligation, but out of an inner willingness born of deep desire for God. Benner describes this as a “love-shaped willing”—deep, “inner longings for relationship and intimacy” with God that our external spiritual practices live out.87 The reason is, quite simply, that God first and foremost wants our heart—our surrender to him out of our love for him—not just our determination to obey him.

As humans, we devote ourselves totally and most passionately to the things we desire deep down inside—the things for which we long, the things whose absence leaves a gaping hole, the things that propel us to action. As Thomas Merton wrote, “Life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.”88 The book of Joshua exposes none of Joshua’s inner thoughts or struggles of the heart. But it does demonstrate that his full surrender to the important task God had given him shaped the great leader that he became. His devotion to God spurred his growth into a stature on par with Moses.

Now, some approaches to the Christian life require the crucifixion of our desires, but Benner avers that actually God seeks their “distillation” and purification. When we surrender our will to God’s will, his love shapes, as it were, a “love-shaped place deep within us. Our fundamental longing will be a thirst for Living Water.”89 Facing myself squarely in the mirror, I feel embarrassed by some of my desires—for example, to be liked or to please, to experience adventure, to command respect, to have status, to enjoy good health in old age. They seem self-centered and less than godly, if not just plain evil. But Benner reads them as “disordered,” surface desires that actually derive from the core spiritual needs I received from God because he created me that way. In other words, my surface desires are simply distorted, “residual traces of God’s desires for us and always therefore point toward God.”90

But how do we purify or distill from our “disordered” desires the “ordered” or purified desires at their roots? To launch a spiritual self-improvement plan will not do. We have all tried those before, and our sinful, human weakness always dooms them inevitably to failure. No, instead of self-reformation we need the transformation of our disordered and confused state. We need to hand ourselves over to God in sincere prayer. By this I do not mean a simple “OK, God, please take over. Amen.” With Benner, I suggest prayers over time that ask God to sort out our desires and that also leave times of silence to listen for God’s voice speaking to us.91 The transformation from willful rebel to willing soldier of God’s love begins with such a prayer season.

Recent radio commercials in my city promote a special cardiological evaluation called “Heart Check.” Through a thorough series of tests, their doctors are said to diagnose reliably the most life-threatening heart problems, even those other doctors might miss. Now, I have no expertise to assess the program, but I wholeheartedly commend a regular spiritual “heart check” for myself and my Christian readers. This spiritual self-examination aims to diagnose how close our heart is to God’s heart. Test #1 asks: What are my desires—to feel safe and secure, to know who I really am (i.e., my identity), to feel significant, to find ways of self-expression, or to attain a feeling of fulfillment? Test #2 asks: Do I really love God, or am I just serving him out of obligation or duty? Test #3 asks: Do my suspicions or hurts keep God at arms’ length? If so, will I pray to move closer to him? If the diagnosis shows an openness to loving God more deeply, I would tell God that in prayer. Your transformation is already underway. You are becoming the same kind of willing soldier as Joshua. For those who feel a little tongue-tied talking to God, perhaps this prayer of Thomas Merton might suggest some words to use:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I cannot see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But, I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.92

The result: peace. Joshua 11 ends with the comment that “the land had rest from war” (v. 23), a comment that also closes the report of Caleb’s capture of his inheritance (14:15). In both cases, God’s victories brought peace, albeit temporarily. It compares to the brief respite that the early church in Judea, Galilee, and Samaria enjoyed after its archenemy, Saul of Tarsus, became a Christian. Spirit-filled vitality, buoyed confidence, and numerical growth resulted (Acts 9:28–31).

In God’s plan, however, Christians enjoy a more profound, unshakeable inner peace that the temporary quiet in Joshua’s day only anticipates. Jesus’ reassuring words to his disciples speak of it: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). Even when trouble strikes, as it inevitably will, his followers have peace “in me” (John 16:33). At the heart of this peace is the peace that we have with God through faith in Christ’s redemptive work, a peace that inspires hope even amid sufferings (Rom. 5:1–4).93 What great confidence Paul shows—almost an echo of Joshua 10:24–25—when he promises the believers in Rome that “the God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet” (Rom. 16:20). Wow! A powerful pep talk to people facing strong spiritual opposition!

The challenge, however, is to keep that marvelous inner peace vital while at war. By nature, war of any kind unnerves, dispirits, and terrorizes us. How, then, can soldiers of Christ maintain it while still battling? Paul’s sage advice to the Philippians is helpful. Instead of sinking helplessly into the grip of anxiety, he counsels, constantly “present your requests to God,” giving God proper thanks in the process (Phil. 4:6). By so doing, we will experience “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding” (v. 7). A breathtaking experience that dispels all anxiety! And, like a soldier who bars admission to an inner sanctum, that astounding calm will “guard [our] hearts and minds,” denying fear access inside. The key lesson is this: an ongoing prayer life is our peacekeeper. A consistent habit of petition and thanksgiving keeps the guard on duty. It makes space for “the peace of Christ [to] rule in [our] hearts,” thereby leaving no room for fear (Col. 3:15).

Conclusion. So, the spiritual war continues. God’s powerful presence keeps our courage up, and the experience of his love enlivens us to faithful obedience. Keeping in touch with God through prayer keeps our inner peace alive, despite the struggles. Remember that the triumph of Jesus Christ is certain, a point that buoyed Paul’s spirits at a particular low point in his ministry:

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. (2 Cor. 2:14–15)

Original Meaning

In Praise of Joshua: Conquest Summary (11:16–23)

TO CELEBRATE THE STATURE of Joshua, the narrator now summarizes his impressive accomplishments (vv. 16–23; cf. 10:40–42). “Joshua took this entire land,” a claim that verse 23 repeats almost verbatim, thus bracketing vv. 21–23 with an inclusio. What the young spies excitedly told Joshua before Jericho had come true (2:24).37

Geographical Summary (vv. 16–17a)

Geographical summary (vv. 16–17a). A survey of Canaan’s major geographical regions asserts the extent of Joshua’s conquests. It seems to reflect a Judahite perspective, beginning with a traditional southern survey that echoes verse 2 (e.g., Deut. 1:7; cf. 10:40): the central mountains (hahar “the hill country”), the whole Negev (the southern desert), all the land of Goshen (see comments on 10:41; cf. 15:51), the western foothills (šepelah), and the Arabah (the Jordan Rift Valley).

The author then tacks on two general northern references, “the mountains (hahar) of Israel” (a term used only here and in v. 21) and their foothills (šepelah). He invokes a typical “from X to Y” schema to trace the sweep of the land from border to border (v. 17a). It begins way south at Mount Halak (ca. thirty miles southeast of Beersheba; cf. 12:7) that ascends eastward to Seir (i.e., Edom) and reaches way north to “Baal Gad in the Valley of Lebanon” (the modern Beqa Valley), a town apparently north of Israelite Dan and “below” (i.e., northwest of) Mount Hermon.38

Noticeable by their absence are the coastal plain and details about Galilee, the latter all the more unusual since the battle report above takes place there. The latter two regions will dominate the list of Canaan’s unconquered areas (Josh. 13:1–7), and the silence here may reflect similar awareness that they have eluded conquest. This chapter’s closing summary anticipates the even more comprehensive conclusion in 21:43–45.

An Interpretive Surprise (vv. 17b–20)

An interpretive surprise (vv. 17b–20). Clearly, Joshua is the author’s main interest, but he also has an interpretive surprise up his sleeve. In the narrative, it is Israel who does everything,39 but as Joshua’s unique, memorable act the author singles out his capture and execution of enemy kings (v. 17b).40 Those moments befit his role as commander-in-chief, but they also serve further to enhance his stature in Israel’s eyes (cf. 3:7; 6:27) and to encourage the people that Yahweh truly is on their side (cf. 10:25). That Joshua battled all these kings “for a long time” attests his persistence and perseverance in pursuit of Yahweh’s plan (v. 18).

But, the writer adds, the ultimate reason for the long conquest is the Canaanite kings’ refusal to seek peace41 with the Israelites: Not one city (except for the Hivites of Gibeon) did so. That explains why the Israelites have to take all of them militarily (v. 19). This is a startling statement, for it applies Moses’ instruction on making peace with cities outside Canaan (Deut. 20:10–15) to peoples inside it, something Moses expressly forbad (vv. 16–17).42 Further, the reports of conquest in Joshua 11 echo its language, implying that Israel’s actions obey it. Even more important, the author now springs the chapter’s real surprise (v. 20)—something truly new—the book’s only theological explanation for why Canaan’s kings universally opposed Israel.

In short, God did it (lit., “from the LORD it was” [emphatic word order]).43 He himself stiffened their resolve (lit., “hardened their hearts”) to meet Israel in battle. The same phrase describes how Yahweh hardened Pharaoh’s heart to not release the Israelites (Ex. 4:21; 10:20, 27; 9:12; 11:10; 14:4, 8, 17). A person with a “hard heart” is intractable, obdurate, stubbornly resistant to outside influences.44 The intended result of this Canaanite obduracy was to “destroy them totally” (Heb. ḥaram hi.)—to carry out the religious slaughter of “the ban.” The cries of the Canaanites to God for mercy fell on deaf divine ears because he intended their annihilation, just what Yahweh had commanded Moses (Deut. 7:2; 20:16–17).45

Now, the claim about heart-hardening by God raises some important questions, questions to be dealt with in the Bridging Contexts section. For now, the point of the text must be grasped: The Canaanites could have escaped disaster by making peace with Israel, but they refused because Yahweh steeled their resolve to attack instead. By the same token, the comment also implies that God did not harden the heart of the Hivites of Gibeon, leaving them free to seek peace rather than rally for war. Theologically, the comment suggests divine awareness of the Hivites’ inclination in that direction, an inclination that God permits to run its course. Indeed, it seems tantamount to an act of divine grace toward an otherwise condemned people. In short, amid the dark horrors of war and ḥerem a small candle of mercy shines on a group of humans whose attitude pleases God.

Special Notice: The Anakites (vv. 21–22)

Special notice: the Anakites (vv. 21–22). Finally, the chapter concludes with a special notice concerning the Anakites (vv. 21–23). About the same time as the above events (“at that time”; cf. 5:2; 6:26), Joshua also destroys (lit., “cuts off”) the Anakites from the southern central mountains (v. 21; see comment at v. 2). They apparently did not attack Israel or conspire with others to do so, so their fame and iconic status in Israelite memory probably motivate Joshua’s action.

The Anakites were descendants of Anak son of Arba (Josh. 15:13) and, ultimately, of the fabled Nephilim (Num. 13:33; cf. Gen. 6:4).46 Their stunning height and gigantic size had especially terrified the Israelite spies (Num. 13:28; Deut. 1:28; 2:10, 21; 9:2, 3).47 The author underscores the completeness of the destruction, listing the areas from which Joshua cut off these long-dreaded enemies. The Bible locates the main concentration of Anakites in and around their capital at Hebron in southern Canaan (Gen. 23:2; 35:27), and the list of three cities (Hebron, Debir, Anab) and the “hill country of Judah” fit that picture.48 But the Bible nowhere else locates Anakites in the “hill country of Israel” (see v. 16), so the writer may be invoking the word pair “hill country of Judah and … Israel” as hyperbole to underscore the comprehensiveness of the destruction.49

Joshua “totally destroyed” them and their cities under the “ban” (ḥaram hi.), just as he had the northern coalition (cf. v. 20). Whether he burned the Anakite towns as he did Jericho, Ai, and Hazor (6:24; 8:28; 11:11) is not stated, but the results are devastating (v. 22): No Anakites survive except in Gaza, Gath, and Ashdod, three Philistine cities along the Mediterranean where they either lived or fled for refuge.50 The mention of Gath is significant: It anticipates the later debut of Goliath, who (along with other giants) presumably descended from the Anakite remnant in Philistia (1 Sam. 17:4, 8, 23; 2 Sam. 21:16–22; cf. 1 Chron. 20:4–8).51

“The End” (v. 23)

“The end” (v. 23). With this long-dreaded enemy gone, Joshua’s triumph is now complete. Again, the author reaffirms that “Joshua took the entire land” just as Yahweh commanded Moses (cf. vv. 15, 21). By this, the author means that he has faithfully executed the ḥerem or ritual destruction of the land’s inhabitants (v. 23; cf. Deut. 7; 20).52 Further, to round out his encomium to Joshua, the writer adds that Joshua gives the land as an inheritance to Israel “according to their tribal divisions” (cf. Josh. 12:7). This comment seems slightly out of place since the land distribution report comes later (chs. 13–19). Perhaps it formed part of the author’s original source and could not be excluded. Thematically, it does anticipate the book’s second half, the settlement narrative and its inheritance theme, and thus helps unify the book’s two halves.

A closing rings down the curtain on the conquest narrative (chs. 1–11): “Then the land had rest [šaqaṭ “be quiet”] from war,” which introduces the quiet that will allow the settlement (chs. 13–24) to proceed peacefully. Later, the DH will again invoke the phrase to end the report of Caleb’s defeat of the Anakites (15:14) and to set off phases of the era of the judges (Judg. 3:11, 30; 5:31; 8:28; 18:7). Israel will not enjoy its final, complete “rest” (a different word) until each tribe has received its inheritance land (see Josh. 21:43–45).53

The present campaign had been long and grueling, but in Yahweh’s mighty power Joshua has won the victory at last. The “quiet” gives Israel a chance to rest, replenish supplies, reconnoiter the land, and think about the future. They can now “beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.” They can stop being soldiers and start being farmers, vineyard owners, and cultivators of fruit trees.

Bridging Contexts

Bridging Contexts

FOUR IMPORTANT MATTERS MERIT follow up in transition to the Contemporary Significance section: a summary of the archaeology of Hazor, further discussion concerning the Canaanite kings, comments about the portrayal of Joshua, and a closing glimpse on the “rest from war.”

The archaeology of Hazor. It is clear that after a long, prestigious history, Canaanite Hazor suffered a violent, fiery destruction sometime in the thirteenth century B.C. But the identity of its destroyers, including the relevance of Joshua 11 to the question, remains a matter of scholarly dispute.54 Two centuries later (eleventh cent. B.C.), a new population of unknown size settled on the vacant site, but it occupied only ten acres of Hazor’s western hill. Its evidently short stay left behind comparatively meager architectural remains, most prominently many round pits three by five feet in diameter and depth that probably served for disposal of refuse.55 The pottery styles from this period differ significantly from the Canaanite tradition of the previous occupiers and suggest inhabitants of a different ethnic group. Further, the new arrivals apparently lived in tents and temporary structures—an encampment of transients rather than long-term residents. Later, they vacated the site voluntarily, since it shows no evidence of destruction.

Ben-Ami tentatively interprets this settlement as one of the temporary Israelite camps evident in Joshua and Judges (e.g., Gilgal [Josh. 2–10], Shiloh [Josh. 18:1–10; Judg. 21:12], and Dan’s two camps [Judg. 13:25; 18:12]). From biblical evidence he speculates that the site may represent an early settlement of the tribe of Naphtali or a group of tribes. If so, the term “camp of Israel” (e.g., Josh. 6:18, 23; 18:9) may reflect part of the historical reality of how the Israelites settled: encampments as preparation for and transition to permanent settlement.56

But Ben-Ami also observes an especially striking phenomenon. Typically, subsequent settlements raise their buildings on earlier foundations and reutilize building materials and walls left by former residents. At Hazor, however, both the Israelite encampment and the later Israelite city (ca. 950 B.C.) do nothing with the ruined Canaanite palace in their midst. He suggests that both may have believed it to be under a curse or ban, a belief that persisted over several centuries.57 In short, the archaeological picture of Hazor comprises three phases: the Canaanite city that ended violently (thirteenth cent. B.C.), two centuries without occupation, a short-term Israelite encampment (eleventh cent. B.C.), and a permanent Israelite city (tenth to eighth cent. B.C.).

Now, the question is: Did the Israelites destroy Canaanite Hazor? Ben-Ami denies any cause-and-effect relationship between that destruction and the later Israelite encampment. He assumes (without apparent rationale, in my view) no connection between the two parties and, in effect, denies that the destroyers were Israelites. His view is that the biblical author wrote Joshua 11 as an etiology—simply to explain how the once-great city of Hazor became well-known, impressive ruins.58 However, Ben-Ami rightly allows another possible scenario—that the city’s destroyers and later encampment occupants were both Israelite groups, albeit centuries apart.

In my view, Ben-Ami’s suggestion concerning the curse or ḥerem ban might provide the link between them. If, as he suggests, the populace maintained such a belief, later Israelite settlers would likely have known it, too. One could imagine, for example, the possibility that an oral tradition about the destruction passed down from earlier Israelites, perhaps even from the destroyers themselves. At present, certainty eludes us in the matter, and the continuing excavation may require revisions, but my inclination is toward the second of Ben-Ami’s two proposed scenarios.59

Hard-hearted Canaanite kings. Once again the reader confronts a scene of widespread death and destruction done in God’s name. Joshua 11, however, lays the blame at the feet of Canaan’s kings. In Gamaliel’s words, they were “fighting God” (Acts 5:39). They all represented the old order of Canaan: city-states, each ruled by a prince or king but still subject to the Egyptian pharaoh until the mid-twelfth cent. B.C. Each city-state held sway over territory and small villages in the surrounding countryside. Occasionally, they squabbled with the others for their own benefit (and perhaps to curry Egypt’s favor).60

Each dynasty required taxation of the populace to support it, usually in the form of grain, wine, oils, and other goods, but occasionally slaves were also drafted for royal service. As part of the Egyptian empire, local rulers had to pay the required periodic tribute to staff Egyptian farms and vineyards within Canaan, and on demand to supply the Egyptian homeland with highly valued goods.61 The local leaders felt strong pressure to meet royal demands, whether local or Egyptian, and so did the populace. Our knowledge of pre-Israelite Canaan is limited, but the general situation seems a good seedbed for abusive oppression of ordinary people. Even without such injustices, however, the fact is that God had decreed the death of the old order and the birth of a new one (Josh. 2–11). Canaan’s rulers opposed that new order and so set themselves to “fighting God.” The issue was whether or not they would submit to God’s authority.

As noted above, the narrator explains why the kings of Canaan went down to defeat (v. 20): Yahweh “hardened their hearts” to attack Israel and suffer certain doom. Literarily, this motif echoes the same divine scheme against Pharaoh and links the Exodus and Conquest as two triumphs of Yahweh within a single larger plan (cf. Josh. 4:23–24; Ps. 114:3–6). But this explanation may trouble modern readers, as John Goldingay says:

Making the king resistant … could suggest that the king is Yhwh’s toy, to be manipulated in such a way as to serve Yhwh’s purpose, without regard for his personal desires. Is Yhwh playing mind games, or working like a hypnotist who gets people to do something they would not otherwise do by planting ideas in their subconscious minds that they would not otherwise generate, or treating the king like a computer to be programmed at will?62

Did the kings have no choice in the matter? Did God manipulate them into doing something against their wishes? If so, is that not unfair to the kings? Given God’s character, how could he simply railroad them to disobey his will? Indeed, at first glance, the kings seem faced with a no-win situation: If they do nothing, Israel will annihilate them anyway, but if they attack they face certain defeat by Yahweh.

In response, Goldingay carefully reviews the scenario in Exodus. The underlying issue, he argues, is the authority of Yahweh: “Is the king of Egypt the great sovereign, or is the God of Israel?”63 From the outset God knows that he will inevitably have to compel Pharaoh to let Israel go (Ex. 3:19), so he declares upfront his intention to strengthen Pharaoh’s resolve to not release Israel. He does this so that, in the end, he may kill Pharaoh’s firstborn son for his refusal to free Yahweh’s firstborn son, Israel (Ex. 4:21–23). To demonstrate his superiority—that is, to get Pharaoh to acknowledge “that there is no one like me in all the earth” (Ex. 9:14)—Yahweh chooses through the plagues “to maneuver the king [Pharaoh] into acting stupidly.”64

One might add that their stupidity betrays a blind self-confidence born of a deadly delusion—the conviction that they can beat Yahweh at any game. In the case of Joshua 1–11, Yahweh also launches Israel’s invasion to demonstrate his superiority (“so that all the peoples of the earth might know that the hand of the LORD is powerful” [Josh. 4:24]) and to force the kings of Canaan similarly to “act stupidly.”

Further, Goldingay observes an interesting pattern in the plague narrative. Twice Yahweh declares his intention to stiffen Pharaoh’s resolve (Ex. 4:21; 7:3), but a series of subsequent statements report that “Pharaoh hardened his heart” or “his heart was tough” (e.g., Ex. 7:13, 14, 22; 8:15[11], 19[15], 32[28]; 9:7, 34, 35). These statements reveal strong symptoms of stupid, royal resistance and willfulness, after which later comments add that “Yahweh stiffened [Pharaoh’s] resolve” (10:1, 20, 27; 11:10; cf. also 9:12). In short, the latter acts serve to firm up the stupidity toward which Pharaoh was inclined on his own and also to punish him. This is the key point: The juxtaposition of Yahweh-hardened and Pharaoh-hardened reports implies that things are turning out just as Yahweh anticipated, not that Yahweh caused them. The very juxtaposition cleverly “draws attention to the mystery about human stupidity.”65 Goldingay concludes:

[Yhwh’s] decision stands as the background to what happens, yet it does not force people to take a path they would not otherwise have taken. Even if Yhwh had done nothing, the opening of Exodus suggests that the king likely had quite enough stupidity to resist a change of policy. So Pharaoh is responsible for his acts, yet they take place within Yhwh’s purpose.66

Now, the book of Joshua has nothing like the rich, detailed narrative tracing the face-off between Yahweh and Pharaoh. But Goldingay’s discussion nevertheless illumines the claim of divine hardening in Joshua 11:20. Yahweh’s decision to have Israel invade Canaan forces the kings of the land to respond according to their natural inclination—either to acknowledge Yahweh’s authority or to fight back. A pattern soon emerges in the book: Each Israelite victorious forward step provokes responses from the land’s leadership—in every case, a military move to stop Israel (except for the Gibeonites).67 Canaan’s kings show the same stupidity as Egypt’s Pharaoh—despite the obvious knowledge of Yahweh, his evident power, and his will for Canaan that Rahab and the Gibeonites voice (see 2:10–11; 9:24). Rather than manipulate or override each leader’s will, God simply gives them good reasons to follow their own inclinations, however foolish they may prove to be. As with Pharaoh, the disastrous defeats that the Canaanite leadership suffers signal God’s displeasure with their resistance and result in divine punishment.68

The portrait of Joshua. A brief review of the theme of Joshua’s rise in stature will lay the groundwork for the Contemporary Significance section. Yahweh himself introduces it, informing Joshua that the Jordan crossing will elevate him in Israel’s eyes (3:7–8). He marks the event as the decisive demonstration that God is with Joshua just as he was with Moses. Perhaps doubts about Joshua haunted some Israelite minds; the transition from Moses to Joshua, they reasoned, was no guarantee of Yahweh’s blessing, especially if Joshua messed up badly. The entry into Canaan showed that Yahweh truly backs Joshua and accords him maximum credibility with the Israelites. Indeed, Israel “revered him all the days of his life, just as they had revered Moses” (4:14).

The loss of Moses meant no loss of quality leadership. Israel’s first victory at Jericho further confirmed that “the LORD was with Joshua” and also spread “his fame … throughout the land” (6:27). Even in the dark shadow of Israel’s defeat at Ai, Joshua unhesitatingly picked up the Mosaic mantle to represent Israel’s interests before God (7:6–9). Finally, the rout at Gibeon in answer to Joshua’s bold prayer dispelled all doubt that Yahweh listened to him (10:12–14). Later, the book will close with a concluding eulogy at his death (see comments on 24:29–31).

What made Joshua so great? To the narrator, Joshua is first and foremost an obedient servant of Yahweh. The repeated literary schema, Yahweh’s instructions followed by Joshua’s execution of them, portrays this trait.69 So, Joshua carries out divine orders concerning the Jordan crossing (ch. 3), the memorial of twelve stones (4:1–8), the ark’s exit from the Jordan (4:15, 17), the circumcision at Gilgal (5:2–3), the method of taking Jericho (ch. 6), the way to expose Achan’s secret sin (ch. 7), the tactics and plunder policy at Ai (ch. 8, esp. v. 27), and the treatment of chariots and horses left by the northern coalition (11:6, 9). Joshua accepts his place in the chain of command below Moses and Yahweh, respectively (11:15; cf. 4:10; 11:23).

The same three-level command structure undergirds two later special appeals for Joshua to allocate inheritance land (14:2–6, 12; 17:4) and probably one to allocate cities to the Levites (21:1–3, 8). The YahwehMoses-Joshua chain probably goes all the way back to Joshua’s emergence as Moses’ aide (Ex. 17:14; 27:18, 21; Deut. 31:14; cf. 33:11).70 It seems to govern larger policy matters (i.e., the Instruction; see 1:7; 23:6), but concerning immediate tactical matters Yahweh addresses Joshua directly as he did Moses. Later, Joshua will carry out Yahweh’s direct orders to distribute the land among the tribes (13:6–7; chs. 14–19) and to designate cities of refuge (ch. 20).

Joshua is also an obedient servant of Moses. One prominent motif in Joshua traces how Joshua obediently carried out specific Mosaic instructions. That obedience underlies Joshua’s dealings with the Transjordanian tribes (1:12–18; 22:1–4, 9; cf. 12:6), his initiation of the covenant ceremony on Mount Ebal (8:25–30; cf. Deut. 11:29; 27:4, 13), the destruction of the northern kingdoms (11:12), and the distribution of land (14:2, 5), including special allocations for West Manasseh (17:4).71

But one striking feature of Joshua’s portrait is that he occasionally accommodated Moses to Israel’s current reality in Canaan. For example, in the case of the Gibeonites, Joshua made a decision that, on the face of it, seems not quite in keeping with Moses’ instructions. Rather than subjecting the Gibeonites to ḥerem, he let them live and work as suppliers of wood and water for Yahweh’s altar. In my view, Joshua 9 portrays him as creatively applying two Mosaic provisions to them, the role assigned resident-aliens (gerim) and the making of treaties with foreign peoples. Ultimately, the theme of Yahweh’s elevation of Joshua may aim to give him the Moses-like authority to make such judgments. In other words, he is free to act in the “spirit” (though not the “letter”) of Moses (see comments on ch. 9). At the same time, in making such exceptions, Joshua still operates within the Instruction of Moses rather than freelance. Such episodes serve only to enhance the picture of Joshua as the paradigmatic obedient servant of Moses. Thus, he has much to teach leaders of future generations.

Rest from war. Both occurrences of “the land had rest from war” (11:23; 14:15) invoke the verb šaqaṭ, “to be quiet, undisturbed” (cf. 2 Chron. 14:5; Isa. 14:7; Zech. 1:11).72 A variation of the phrase, primarily in Judges, substitutes lengths of time (usually, forty years) for “from war” (Judg. 3:11, 30 [eighty years]; 5:31; 8:28; 2 Chron. 13:2–3 [ten years]). All the above occurrences describe the state of peace, quiet, and calm that follows the end of military threats or oppression. Notice one striking aspect about the biblical phrase: Its subject is not the people but “the land”—a collective reference to a whole, wide geographical area, the physical region that people populate. The phrase’s true sense becomes a little clearer if one ponders the picture conveyed by its opposite—for example, “the land was greatly disturbed by war.”

War “disturbs” or “disquiets” not just people but the entire environment—the people, the animals, the birds, the plants, the trees, the grass, the air, and the soil itself. It completely disrupts the world’s natural state. The cheerful songs of songbirds and children at play fall eerily silent. Across the usually quiet landscape erupts a horrible cacophony of angry shouting, the clangs of clashing weapons, the grunts and groans of soldiers’ grappling, and the cries and moans of the maimed and dying. The smoky smell of burning homes, the crackle of harvest fields ablaze, and the stench of dead flesh shove aside the sweet smells of new-mown grass, freshly cut stalks, spring flowers, and the pleasant breeze. For a few hours (or days) the land becomes ugly—a living hell: “The land is greatly disturbed.”

Against this background, the reader more fully appreciates how good it was that “the land had rest from war.” The horrible cacophony falls silent, the gut-grabbing dread and wrenching grief are gone, and nature’s sweet smells return. The giddy sense of relief—the heady rush of having survived death—is one of life’s most powerful experiences. It is a kind of victory appreciated most fully against the dark, harsh reality that preceded it. And it points toward an even greater victory and an even more wonderful peace to be discussed below.

Contemporary Significance

Contemporary Significance

WHENEVER I TELL MY students that “God is a warrior,” a spirited discussion always breaks out. They reckon texts like Exodus 15:2 (“The LORD is a warrior”) as an oxymoron. The “God of love” they know and the term “warrior” simply do not go together. The statement strikes them as nonsense—like saying, “Elephants fly,” “men birth babies,” or “white is dark.”

Their reaction is, however, a typical one for Christians, followers of Jesus Christ, a man who refused to fight his enemies though it cost him his life. He was also a man who taught his followers to endure abuse rather than retaliate—in his words, to “turn the other cheek” (Matt. 5:39; Luke 6:29). They buy his ethic of quiet nonviolence and nonretaliation, and talk of Christians engaged in war understandably makes them uneasy. Further, consistent with that view, the words they (and readers) associate with Jesus include “loving,” “gentle,” “kind,” “compassionate,” “caring,” and “truthful.” Those words capture a pattern of conduct they themselves pursue as disciples of Jesus. But the contemporary relevance of Joshua 11 begins with recognition that behind the confrontation between Canaan’s rulers and Joshua and the Israelites stands the same cosmic struggle of God against willful human rebellion that goes on today. The same eternal question still confronts people: Will you surrender to Jesus’ authority?

The battle still rages. Joshua and the Canaanites may be long gone, but Jesus himself threw down the gauntlet, signaling that the battle over his authority—the same issue that divided Joshua and his enemies—had begun with his coming:

Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn

“a man against his father,

a daughter against her mother,

a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—

a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.”

(Matt. 10:34–36, quoting Mic. 7:6)

Granted, Jesus was addressing everyone rather than just rulers, and in this case the “battle” is a spiritual rather than a military one. But Jesus’ point is that he came swinging a sword for war, not peace. The war is about his lordship—whether people will surrender to it or fight against it. The battle, he says, will split families; some members will surrender and serve him, others will not. The Gospels report the unfolding of that split. Over time, confrontations with Jesus unleashed a momentum among the “willnots” that eventuated in his trial and execution. More than a millennium after Joshua 2–11, people still found themselves “fighting God,” a battle still raging today every time someone hears the gospel and Jesus’ demand that a person make him their Lord.

Joshua faced the kings of Canaan’s city-states, but who are the enemies we face today? Enemy Number One is the “power of Satan” (Acts. 26:18) still at work around us. He is the one who fires the fiery darts against which the “shield of faith” protects us (Eph. 6:16), and his schemes lie behind failure by Christians to forgive each other and be reconciled (2 Cor. 2:10–11). He is also an expert at disinformation, blinding the minds of unbelievers so they cannot see the gospel’s light (2 Cor. 4:4) and cleverly masquerading as an “angel of light” to lead believers away from the truth (2 Cor. 11:14). Cunningly, he sets traps to capture and keep unrepentant believers unrepentant (2 Tim. 2:26); roaring loudly, he roams about like a lion eager to pounce on unsuspecting spiritual prey (1 Peter 5:8). Through unstated means, he stopped Paul and Silas from revisiting Thessalonica, a place they had fled from earlier because of an uproar (Acts 17:1–9; 1 Th. 2:18). Two millennia may have passed since the New Testament era, but Satan—the master spiritual terrorist—still stealthily stalks believers behind the scenes. His aim remains the disruption of God’s salvation plan for the world.73

Some governments, political systems, and businesses also today oppose the gospel and the new world order it represents. Recall the concept of hell that C. S. Lewis describes in the introduction to the Screwtape Letters:

The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid “dens of crime” that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps.… But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.74

Lewis goes on to describe how this Hell operates:

“Dog eat dog” is the principle of the whole organization. Everyone wishes everyone else’s discrediting, demotion, and ruin; everyone is an expert in the confidential report, the pretended alliance, the stab in the back. Over all this their good manners, their expressions of grave respect, their “tributes” to one another’s invaluable services form a thin crust. Every now and then it gets punctured, and the scalding lava of their hatred spurts out.75

Lewis paints the picture in the extreme, but people who have lived under recent communist or totalitarian regimes will immediately identify with it. The sad fact is that there are still regimes that forbid, or at least heavily regulate, the access to Bibles of their populace. There are still places in which Christians must keep a low profile for fear of imprisonment or death. There are also regimes that promote other religions as superior to and to be preferred to Christianity. Other governments sponsor a secular religion, one that worships human reason and creativity as supreme and excludes the God of the Bible from their realms.

As for businesses, some readers may recognize something of their own hellish workplace in it. The dog-eat-dog competition pits them against coworkers whom they would otherwise like to befriend in the name of Christ. They live daily with pressures to produce that all too often collide with their ethics as Christians. They may face the awkward choice between company loyalty and loyalty to Christ. The choice is not exactly outright persecution, but the “wrong” choice might cost them their precious livelihood.

Some enemies are more intellectual. One of the themes of the science fiction novel Contact, by the late, popular astronomer Carl Sagan, is scientific skepticism about God’s existence and about Christian claims about God. One well-known scene features a conversation between two Christian ministers, the Reverend Billy Jo Rankin and the Reverend Palmer Joss, and Dr. Eleanor (“Ellie”) Arroway, director of Project Argus. That project had set up radio telescopes in New Mexico to search for evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence in the universe and had received one such communication. In the discussion, Dr. Arroway says:

When I say I’m an agnostic, I only mean that the evidence isn’t in. There isn’t compelling evidence that God exists—at least your kind of god—and there isn’t compelling evidence that he doesn’t. Since more than half the people on the Earth aren’t Jews or Christians or Muslims, I’d say that there aren’t any compelling arguments for your kind of god. Otherwise, everybody on Earth would have been converted. I say again, if your God wanted to convince us, he could have done a much better job.76

It is fitting to respect and honor Sagan’s brilliant scientific career and widespread popularity, but fitting also to beware of views antithetical to faith. On the more popular level, the early twenty-first century has also seen Jesus in the headlines, albeit by popular media promoting unorthodox views. Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code builds on the assumption that Jesus married Mary Magdelene and fathered a child. This claim has been around for centuries, but Brown’s novel has repackaged it for a new generation to consider.

Similarly, in 2007 the Discovery Channel aired a documentary, “The Lost Tomb of Jesus,” which claimed that the bones of Jesus and Mary Magdalene had been found in a family tomb near Jerusalem. The lively debate that ensued, including a critical assessment by Ted Koppel, seemed to undermine the thesis and subject the show’s producers to much criticism. Whatever the motives behind such phenomena, both clearly contradict traditional Christian beliefs. They are “enemy” in that they feed skeptics fresh ammunition and spread confusion about the gospel’s real claims. Most of us, however, experience an “enemy” more personally: a neighbor who keeps aloof because we are Christians, a friend who rejects our attempts to talk about Jesus, or a coworker who ridicules our faith because of bad experiences with a church.

These cases lead me to voice two words of caution. (1) The purpose for pursing this theme is to remind us of an oft-forgotten aspect of reality, the larger spiritual struggle over Jesus’ lordship. Through Joshua, God demanded that Canaan’s kings bow to his authority, and through the gospel Jesus likewise demands surrender today. Opposition is really about him, not about us.

(2) While honestly reckoning with this reality, no paranoia or panic need result. No one needs to scrutinize relatives, neighbors, coworkers, or friends to root out possible enemies. The thoughtless labeling of anyone as an “enemy” demeans a person whom Jesus loves and for whom he died. It may also wrongly skew our perception of him or her and needlessly lead us warily to keep our distance. Clearly, that amounts to a retreat of the gospel rather than its advance. Instead, we should simply understand that we may occasionally experience conflict over our commitment to Jesus Christ. We should also draw confidence from God’s powerful presence with us through his Holy Spirit. As God was with Moses and Joshua, so he is with us. Though vigilant, we need fear no ambush or rout because the Spirit who lives in us is greater than the warring spirits in the world (1 John 4:4; cf. 2 Kings 6:16).

This second word of caution is actually a strong warning. Christian readers should never demonize anyone with whom conflict arises. Labeling someone in unflattering terms harms rather than advances the gospel’s interests. It is needlessly offensive, if not insulting, and cuts off the possibility of further conversations of any sort, much less about our faith. Jesus told it straight: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you” (Luke 6:27; cf. Matt. 5:44).

In other words, surprise the heck out of such people! Give them the one response they do not expect—kindness for unkindness, warmth for coldness, love for hate. That unexpected response demonstrates how different—indeed, how startlingly transformed—Christians are compared to other people. It will spark their curiosity and open them up a little to consider the gospel. In military terms, Jesus orders us to use a surprise attack—to react in an unexpected way that knocks them a little off balance. Surprise worked militarily at Ai and Gibeon, and it can work non-militarily for us, too.

Some Christian refugees from Sudan in a town near Chicago illustrate the spirit of Jesus at work.77 Before emigrating, they suffered greatly at the hands of the pro-Islamic government of Sudan that violently sought to force southern Sudan to become Muslim and culturally Arab. Many Sudanese refugees watched in horror as strafing aircraft, bombardments, and infantry assaults claimed the lives of loved ones. Between 1983 and 2005, merciless attacks on defenseless southern villages killed two million people and forced four million into exile, some in America. That horrible history notwithstanding, every Christmas and Easter the Sudanese Community Church of Wheaton invites Muslim Sudanese for a lamb dinner (the Muslims reciprocate after Ramadan). Since participants speak various tribal languages, the event is conducted in a mixture of Arabic (many speak it) and other languages (for non-Arabic speakers). According to one Christian from the Dinka tribe, the tribe of the well-known “Lost Boys,” a spiritual imperative led the Christians to initiate the semiannual celebration: “Even though they are Muslim,” said Wilson Lual, “Jesus says, ‘Love your enemies.’”78 And Jesus still says that.

The promise still applies. Joshua 11 traces Joshua’s military success to a simple promise (my paraphrase): “Don’t be afraid of them because I’m handing all of them over to you dead” (Josh. 11:6). “Don’t be afraid” (ʾal-tiraʾ ) is a typical formula of warfare, the reassurance of victory that Yahweh gives his on-site commander shortly before the battle begins (Num. 21:34; Josh. 10:8; 11:6). A promise (“because [ki] I’m handing them over to you”) typically supports the reassurance.79

The encouraging words “Don’t be afraid” also echo elsewhere across the biblical landscape. Angels reassured Mary and Joseph not to worry about the ramifications of her mysterious pregnancy (Matt. 1:20; Luke 1:30). They encouraged Zechariah that God had answered his prayer—that barren Elizabeth would bear a son (Luke 1:13). “Don’t be afraid” calmed the fears of the shepherds frightened by the angelic singing in the sky above (Luke 2:10), and bucked up the disciples before they dispersed on their mission (Matt. 10:26, 28, 31). The words gently dispelled whatever doubts Jesus’ “little flock” (i.e., the disciples) might have about actually seeing God’s kingdom come (Luke 12:32). “Don’t be afraid” eased John’s terror at seeing God’s awesome majesty in a vision (Rev. 1:17), and through John’s vision eased the fears of Christians at Smyrna about to suffer severe persecution (Rev. 2:10).

One night at Corinth God spoke those soothing words to Paul in a vision: “Do not be afraid; keep on speaking, do not be silent. For I am with you” (Acts 18:9–10). Reassured, Paul taught God’s word there for a year and a half (v. 11). “Don’t be afraid” permits us, as we face our own battles, to respond with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can human beings do to me?” (Heb. 13:6 TNIV; cf. Ps. 27:1; 118:6).

Fears plague us all, especially when we are keenly aware that a spiritual battle swirls around us. Some Christians may fear actual physical harm for their faith in Christ. Certainly, believers who suffer under oppressive regimes know that fear intimately. The dark, ugly specter of brutal beatings, long imprisonment, and even death still haunt them. I have a friend whose wife became a Christian as a teenager in a central Asian country, and her family immediately threw her out in the street, never to return. Three decades later, they still refuse contact with her, a terrible grief for her to bear. Many from nonreligious or antireligious homes in the West face a similar fear. Those who toy with accepting the gospel often must fearfully weigh their family’s reaction before deciding.

Still yet another fear of Christians is the fear of failing and disappointing God. Behind this lies a deep sense of inadequacy in light of the imagined enormity of what God expects. It is true that the Christian life is no lazy stroll through the park. Sexuality and materialism preoccupy the surrounding culture, not an easy arena in which to remain pure before God and to avoid the lure of excessive material goods. Small wonder that some believers live with worry over not being good enough in God’s eyes. But the reassuring “Don’t be afraid” spoken by Jesus applies to fears of persecution, ostracism, and personal inadequacy. It offers us a powerful antidote to the stresses they inflict on us, his daily presence with us.

Those who occasionally give a gospel witness fear the negative reactions of their hearers. The possibility of rejection—not only of the gospel but of us personally—is ever-present and anxiety-producing, especially if our witness puts an important personal relationship at risk. The popular press tends to tar evangelicals with the brush of intolerance, a craving for power, and hypocrisy. To humiliate women thought guilty of adultery, the New England Puritans used to put them in stocks in the public square wearing an “A” (for adultery).80 In today’s popular media, the terms “evangelical” or “fundamentalist” often carry their own set of negative connotations. Some might even regard such people as a “threat to the Republic.”

All this means that it is politically incorrect to say that someone “needs Christ.” Behind the popular mood lurks a fear among nonevangelicals that evangelical critic Robert Lanham recently called “evangophobia.” This is the fear that the evangelical right is not a new counter-culture but the new cultural mainstream.81 What particularly troubles Lanham are beliefs that that culture cherishes what he deems destructive (e.g., opposition to gay rights). He believes such teachings create divisions between people rather than bring them together. Given such fears and fully aware of the Christian task, one is tempted in despair to invoke that line from Paul, “And who is equal to such a task?” (2 Cor. 2:16).

One night during my tour in Vietnam as a circuit-riding Navy chaplain, I witnessed an awesome display of military might. Thankfully, the show aimed to impress dignitaries visiting the small riverboat base in the Mekong Delta rather than to repel attackers in an actual firefight. Hovering over the base, a single Huey helicopter fired its Gatling-style minigun into the empty forest behind it at a rate of four thousand rounds per minute. The whole area echoed with a frightening racket, and tracer rounds cast a laser-like light beam from the chopper to its pretended target. Between minigun bursts, the helo’s rocket pods fired their small, destructive missiles into the dark treeline. A loud “whoosh!” and short vapor trail quickly produced a sudden flash in the trees, each explosion further lighting up the night sky.

As I watched, I quivered inside at the overwhelming firepower on display. I imagined myself as the enemy recipient of the fiery fury raining down from the sky. I imagined the frozen grip of deathly terror and the frightened urge to seek shelter or escape. To this day I can still hear the ear-splitting racket, smell the gunpowdery smoke, and see the fireworks display. It was a dazzling/tantalizing demonstration of human wizardry.

But that display pales into harmless puffs of smoke and kids’ sparklers alongside the awesome, unstoppable power of God. It is that power that backs up God’s “Don’t be afraid” to us and eases our fears. It is that power that, in the face of our daily struggles, bucks up our confidence, relaxes our tense muscles, relieves our troubled minds, and lifts our sagging spirits. Remember that this is the true evidence that the gospel has transformative power; to outsiders it seems at first glance as foolish (How can someone who dies on a cross save people? [1 Cor. 1:18–24]), weak (i.e., its messengers are frail humans [2 Cor. 4:7]), and unimpressive (i.e., its proclaimers lack eloquence and impressive learning [1 Cor. 2:1–8]). The only plausible explanation for the credibility and effects of the gospel message is not its intellectual persuasiveness, its stunning spokespersons, its dazzling display of miracles, its dramatic religious rituals, its impressive list of well-known believers, or its down-to-earth practical advice. The gospel’s credibility derives from its amazing power—the “amazing grace that saved a wretch like me”—to transform human lives. It heals the hurting, repairs the broken-hearted, makes the ugly beautiful, and softens the hard-hearted into tenderness.

The story told by friends of mine who live in a Muslim country illustrates this point well. My friends had just attended the funeral of a Christian woman from their church, the only believer in her entire family. Though her family was Muslim and animist, they decided to honor the woman’s choice of religion by having a Christian funeral rather a Muslim one. Muslims have a saying that if someone becomes a Christian, they will have a bad funeral (no one will come). This claim discourages many Muslims from following Christ because to do so would risk great humiliation at death. That explains why the family was shocked at how many people turned out for the celebration—almost the entire church. By my friends’ account, the service was wonderful, the good news of Jesus Christ infusing each of aspect of the event. During a Muslim funeral, people come to the house of the deceased and pray all night that Allah will mercifully allow the person into heaven. The deceased’s family were therefore surprised that all the church people came to celebrate all night that the woman was already in heaven with her Savior.

The turnout for this old woman’s memorial services showed the family that a Christian does have a good, honorable funeral. As a result, her Muslim family came to church the following Sunday. That day, her son announced to the church that he wanted to follow Christ. Through the powerful Christian testimony of his mother’s funeral God had transformed his heart. The power lay in the simple truths of the gospel message—as Paul put it, “the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes” (Rom. 1:16). That transformative power enables us to do whatever God sets in front of us to do. With such power available, we respond to it by affirming with renewed confidence, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). According to popular speaker Michael Pritchard, “Fear is that little darkroom where negatives are developed.”82 But God’s “Don’t be afraid” brightens our lives, leaving no room for “negatives.”

The best soldiers: humble, obedient servants. Joshua 11 highlights how Joshua faithfully carried out God’s instructions, whether given directly by Yahweh or through Moses. Literarily, he stands in stark contrast to all the kings whose attempts to stamp out Israel Joshua soundly defeated. Two aspects of his obedience make him an especially good example of good soldiering in God’s service today.

(1) Joshua humbly subordinated himself to the leadership of Moses. In his biblical debut, Joshua had won Israel’s first military victory, the defeat of the Amalekites at Rephidim (Ex. 17:8–13). Thereafter the Bible remembers him as Moses’ “aide” (Heb. mešaret “servant”; Ex. 24:13; Num. 11:28), a position he filled from his youth until Moses died (Josh. 1:1). Biblical chronology for the Mosaic era is uncertain, but Joshua probably served at Moses’ side—and in his shadow, too—about forty-five to fifty years. That’s a long time for Joshua to await his turn to lead Israel. A more ambitious man might have cleverly played the “Bye, Moses! Back to Egypt!” rebellion against Moses (Num. 14) to his advantage and replaced him as leader. Instead, he (and Caleb) defended Moses against the mob and became the only two of their generation actually to enter the land. Joshua 11 praises Joshua for doing “just as the LORD commanded Moses” (vv. 15, 23). Even when he finally got to “sit in Moses’ seat” (Matt. 23:2), he still carried out the agenda of Moses rather than his own. He models a unique humility for a leader, the humility to support someone else as a subordinate.

Jesus taught his disciples (and us) something similar in two well-known episodes. In the first, his disciples ask him to settle a disagreement among them as to who of them is the greatest in the kingdom of God (Matt. 18:1–6; Mark 9:33–37; Luke 9:46–48). In retrospect, it is almost laughable to imagine them even asking such an arrogant question. In reply, Jesus surprises them by bringing a little child into their midst and saying, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me” (Matt. 18:4–5). Jesus contrasts the sweet simplicity of a child’s devoted love for Jesus with the adult power games of his adult disciples.

Granted, the disciples later would constitute the apostolic pillars of the infant community of Jesus. But notwithstanding their exalted position in the church, they were never to lose their basic stance toward Jesus—the simple, trusting, loving devotion of a little child. Karl Barth, a theological giant of the twentieth century, never lost that simplicity. During a visit to America, someone once asked the brilliant Swiss theologian what was the most profound theological idea he had ever encountered. Without missing a beat, Barth replied, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” He was a theological genius—but still a “child” in what he deemed the essential Christian truth.

In a second episode, Jesus contrasts the leadership model of the scribes and Pharisees with the model his followers were to pursue (Matt. 23:1–12). The religious leaders of his day, Jesus says, command obedience as Moses’ successors, but they are corrupt. They do not “practice what they preach”; they saddle humans with “heavy loads” (i.e., their strict interpretation of the Torah) but do not “lift a finger” to help humans manage them. In other words, they are great experts at making demands but rank amateurs at compassion. Also, what drives them is not service of God’s people but adoration by them. They wear exaggerated religious clothes simply to get noticed. They gush inside when people pay them special attention—upfront seats at banquets, the solemn address as “Rabbi.”

Not so among you (and us), Jesus counters, because you are to understand yourselves differently. We serve one Master, Jesus, below whom we share the same rank—peers within a family. We have one “father,” our heavenly Father, and one “teacher” (Jesus, the Messiah), and neither shares his title with anyone. Our world is an upside-down one: The “greatest” is the servant of the others, and ladder climbers end up at the bottom. The winners in this competition are those who go lower than anyone else, not those who reach the top!

This teaching cuts across the common tendency of human organizations to create “pecking orders” and status symbols. In business, the ultimate prize is the proverbial key to the executive washroom and the title “CEO,” but the size and location of one’s office and parking space scores big status points, too. In academia, the rank of “professor” marks the professional pinnacle, a delicacy garnished with lots of invitations to write important books and to give lectures before adoring crowds. In churches, “senior pastor” or “chairman of the board” top the pecking order, with all the respect (if not adoration) of “associate pastors” and laity alike. All such pecking orders subtly cause ego-inflation, the confident feeling—never voiced publicly, of course—that “I’m good at what I do, so I’m entitled to all this.”

Against this, Jesus challenges both leaders and followers to be servants who regard others as more important than themselves. In his kingdom, there is no ladder to be scaled or mountain to be climbed, only the simple drudgery of ensuring that the needs of everyone else are met first. Such submission cuts across the grain of the self-centered, entrepreneurial, competitive spirit of contemporary Western culture. Jesus bypasses that spirit and leads his people in the opposite direction. It is terribly countercultural, but there is no getting around it: That is precisely the way Jesus wants it.

(2) The second aspect of Joshua’s obedience is his consistent surrender to God’s will. The simple reports about Joshua in Joshua 11 in effect toss accolades his way on this topic. He is thorough: He “left nothing undone” (v. 15) and even dealt with the Anakites (vv. 21–22). He shows remarkable endurance: “Joshua waged war against all these kings for a long time” (v. 18). God honors his thoroughness and endurance by giving him success: “Joshua took the whole land” (vv. 16, 23).

It is striking that Joshua 11 credits Joshua so highly. Earlier chapters have Yahweh in the forefront, at key points issuing reassurances as well as tactical orders (chs. 3–4; 6; 8; 9–10). But unlike 10:42, here Yahweh steps into the background to spotlight Joshua’s faithfulness. As a whole, the book of Joshua portrays a Joshua who consistently does God’s will once he succeeds Moses as leader. In that context, the land descriptions that follow (chs. 13–19) read like long lists of his sparkling achievements—an impressive resumé of leadership, indeed. Certainly, his life pursued what Eugene Peterson calls “a long obedience in the same direction.”83

Joshua offers a good model of obedience, but all too often our lives more resemble Achan than Joshua. The contrast between the two men confronts us with a basic but important biblical reality: Obedience does not come naturally to us humans. Achan knew the rules concerning ḥerem, but he still secretly kept some booty from Jericho for himself. Adam and Eve knew that God had set that special tree off-limits, but the prohibition apparently rankled them. In my view, that is why they fell for the serpent’s clever pitch: They already suspected that God was keeping something good from them—that he was neither “good” nor “generous.” And, alas, I find myself siding with them.

Candidly, some early disillusionment with Christian leaders whose guidance and example I had trusted has scarred my soul. Painfully, I learned that not all of what my guides taught me was true, so I still suffer occasional suspicions about God’s good intentions. But a recent book by David Benner has helped me understand obedience in a new way. My soul nods “yes” when Benner writes that “most of us harbor a deep-seated suspicion that God’s desires for us and ours for ourselves share no common ground.”84 So willfulness, with its motto of “my way or no way,” rules our lives: “Living life ‘our way’ appears to be the hard-wired default option for all of us.… And often—at least in the short term—it seems to work reasonably well.”85 We simply kick our steely self-discipline into gear, following the spiritual disciplines we deem necessary to a healthy spiritual life. But, Benner notes, that approach treats those routines as ends in themselves, not as means to the true, God-honoring end—our inner transformation.86 They simply live out the “kingdom of self” rather than the kingdom of God.

In the kingdom of God, however, self-discipline must give way to total surrender to God. It requires us to pray with Jesus, “Not as I will, but as you will” (Matt. 26:39). But how does such a submission of our will happen? According to Benner, God wants us to love him, not out of obligation, but out of an inner willingness born of deep desire for God. Benner describes this as a “love-shaped willing”—deep, “inner longings for relationship and intimacy” with God that our external spiritual practices live out.87 The reason is, quite simply, that God first and foremost wants our heart—our surrender to him out of our love for him—not just our determination to obey him.

As humans, we devote ourselves totally and most passionately to the things we desire deep down inside—the things for which we long, the things whose absence leaves a gaping hole, the things that propel us to action. As Thomas Merton wrote, “Life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.”88 The book of Joshua exposes none of Joshua’s inner thoughts or struggles of the heart. But it does demonstrate that his full surrender to the important task God had given him shaped the great leader that he became. His devotion to God spurred his growth into a stature on par with Moses.

Now, some approaches to the Christian life require the crucifixion of our desires, but Benner avers that actually God seeks their “distillation” and purification. When we surrender our will to God’s will, his love shapes, as it were, a “love-shaped place deep within us. Our fundamental longing will be a thirst for Living Water.”89 Facing myself squarely in the mirror, I feel embarrassed by some of my desires—for example, to be liked or to please, to experience adventure, to command respect, to have status, to enjoy good health in old age. They seem self-centered and less than godly, if not just plain evil. But Benner reads them as “disordered,” surface desires that actually derive from the core spiritual needs I received from God because he created me that way. In other words, my surface desires are simply distorted, “residual traces of God’s desires for us and always therefore point toward God.”90

But how do we purify or distill from our “disordered” desires the “ordered” or purified desires at their roots? To launch a spiritual self-improvement plan will not do. We have all tried those before, and our sinful, human weakness always dooms them inevitably to failure. No, instead of self-reformation we need the transformation of our disordered and confused state. We need to hand ourselves over to God in sincere prayer. By this I do not mean a simple “OK, God, please take over. Amen.” With Benner, I suggest prayers over time that ask God to sort out our desires and that also leave times of silence to listen for God’s voice speaking to us.91 The transformation from willful rebel to willing soldier of God’s love begins with such a prayer season.

Recent radio commercials in my city promote a special cardiological evaluation called “Heart Check.” Through a thorough series of tests, their doctors are said to diagnose reliably the most life-threatening heart problems, even those other doctors might miss. Now, I have no expertise to assess the program, but I wholeheartedly commend a regular spiritual “heart check” for myself and my Christian readers. This spiritual self-examination aims to diagnose how close our heart is to God’s heart. Test #1 asks: What are my desires—to feel safe and secure, to know who I really am (i.e., my identity), to feel significant, to find ways of self-expression, or to attain a feeling of fulfillment? Test #2 asks: Do I really love God, or am I just serving him out of obligation or duty? Test #3 asks: Do my suspicions or hurts keep God at arms’ length? If so, will I pray to move closer to him? If the diagnosis shows an openness to loving God more deeply, I would tell God that in prayer. Your transformation is already underway. You are becoming the same kind of willing soldier as Joshua. For those who feel a little tongue-tied talking to God, perhaps this prayer of Thomas Merton might suggest some words to use:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I cannot see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But, I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.92

The result: peace. Joshua 11 ends with the comment that “the land had rest from war” (v. 23), a comment that also closes the report of Caleb’s capture of his inheritance (14:15). In both cases, God’s victories brought peace, albeit temporarily. It compares to the brief respite that the early church in Judea, Galilee, and Samaria enjoyed after its archenemy, Saul of Tarsus, became a Christian. Spirit-filled vitality, buoyed confidence, and numerical growth resulted (Acts 9:28–31).

In God’s plan, however, Christians enjoy a more profound, unshakeable inner peace that the temporary quiet in Joshua’s day only anticipates. Jesus’ reassuring words to his disciples speak of it: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). Even when trouble strikes, as it inevitably will, his followers have peace “in me” (John 16:33). At the heart of this peace is the peace that we have with God through faith in Christ’s redemptive work, a peace that inspires hope even amid sufferings (Rom. 5:1–4).93 What great confidence Paul shows—almost an echo of Joshua 10:24–25—when he promises the believers in Rome that “the God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet” (Rom. 16:20). Wow! A powerful pep talk to people facing strong spiritual opposition!

The challenge, however, is to keep that marvelous inner peace vital while at war. By nature, war of any kind unnerves, dispirits, and terrorizes us. How, then, can soldiers of Christ maintain it while still battling? Paul’s sage advice to the Philippians is helpful. Instead of sinking helplessly into the grip of anxiety, he counsels, constantly “present your requests to God,” giving God proper thanks in the process (Phil. 4:6). By so doing, we will experience “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding” (v. 7). A breathtaking experience that dispels all anxiety! And, like a soldier who bars admission to an inner sanctum, that astounding calm will “guard [our] hearts and minds,” denying fear access inside. The key lesson is this: an ongoing prayer life is our peacekeeper. A consistent habit of petition and thanksgiving keeps the guard on duty. It makes space for “the peace of Christ [to] rule in [our] hearts,” thereby leaving no room for fear (Col. 3:15).

Conclusion. So, the spiritual war continues. God’s powerful presence keeps our courage up, and the experience of his love enlivens us to faithful obedience. Keeping in touch with God through prayer keeps our inner peace alive, despite the struggles. Remember that the triumph of Jesus Christ is certain, a point that buoyed Paul’s spirits at a particular low point in his ministry:

But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. (2 Cor. 2:14–15)