Joshua 22:1–34

Original Meaning

Scene 1 (Shiloh): “Troops, Dismissed!” (22:1–8)

Joshua’s Remarks (vv. 1–6)

JOSHUA’S REMARKS (VV. 1–6). With the fighting done and west-bank land secure, Joshua summons the Transjordanian tribes (Reuben, Gad, East Manasseh) to a private meeting (v. 1). Its location is unstated but is probably Shiloh, since in recent chapters Shiloh has replaced Gilgal as Israel’s gathering place (see vv. 9, 12; cf. 18:1; 19:51; 21:2).5 The initial “then” (lit., “at that time”) introduces the occasion as a past event loosely connected chronologically to the context (cf. 8:30; 10:33; 20:6).6 Its content, however, presupposes at least the completion of the military conquest west of the Jordan (ch. 11).

Literarily, the scene forms a nice inclusio with Joshua’s meeting with the same tribes in chapter 1 (Josh. 1:12–18) and signals that something important is about to come to an end. But unlike the first meeting on the eve of the Jordan crossing, at this miniceremony Joshua does all the talking (vv. 2–8). He recalls that long ago Moses had granted their requested inheritances in Transjordan on one condition—that they not occupy them until they and the other tribes had together conquered Cisjordan (Num. 35). He also recalls that at the Jordan they had committed themselves to obey Joshua (Josh. 1:16–18). Thus, Joshua affirms that they have fully met both obligations, obeying both Moses and himself (v. 2).

Specifically, they did not abandon their brothers, although the hardships implicit in the conquest narrative (chs. 1–12) gave them many reasons to bail out (v. 3). The treks into the mountains from Israel’s home base at Gilgal to battle sites inland were long and arduous. Injury or death in battle—and for land not their own—stalked them constantly. An additional likely hardship was the long separation from their wives and children left at home east of the Jordan. So also was the sheer length of the endeavor (“a long time now” [v. 3]). Through it all, Joshua notes, they have remained loyal to their brothers. The prophet Obadiah would later critique Esau (Edom) for leaving Jacob (Judah, Jerusalem) to be sacked by invaders (Obad. 10–11), but Reuben, Gad, and East Manasseh have loyally stuck it out to the end.

Most importantly, Joshua affirms that, ultimately, their service was not to fellow Israelites but to Yahweh himself. “The LORD your God” had assigned them their mission, so their faithful execution of it lived out their faithfulness to God. But now that the job is done—God has given their west-bank kin “rest” (cf. comments at 21:44)—Joshua orders them (v. 4) to turn and head home (lit., to their “tents”). Their “land” (NIV) is specifically, ʾaḥuzzah (cf. 21:12, 41)—the “property they own” in Transjordan that Moses gave them as their inheritance, land they have yet fully to enjoy. The Hebrew term bears one important implication relevant to the controversy soon to follow: Their land fulfills the promise to Abraham and, hence, forms part of the Promised Land (Gen. 17:8). A contrary view of them and of their land, however, will soon become apparent.7

In brief detail Joshua makes sure the returnees remember what is ultimately most important (v. 5). They must stay on their guard (“be very careful”) to scrupulously observe everything Moses taught them (“the commandment and the law” means “Moses from A to Z”).8 Clarification comes in the series of phrases that follow: “to love the LORD” (emotional devotion), “to walk in his ways” (i.e., live as he wants), “to hold fast to him” (i.e., stick to him like glue), and “to serve [perhaps ‘worship’] him” wholeheartedly. The wording echoes the unique vocabulary of Moses’ farewell speeches in Deuteronomy (e.g., Deut. 10:12–13; 11:22; 19:8–9; 30:20) and anticipates Joshua’s own final address in ch. 23 (Josh. 23:6, 8, 11, 14). As Assis observes, the Mosaic language

casts Joshua as Moses and the Transjordanian tribes as Israelites standing before Moses prior to the entrance to the land. The depiction of the ceremony in such a light is meant to reinforce the legitimacy of the departure of the Transjordanian tribes … to settle in Transjordan, just as Moses’ speeches precede the entrance of the people to the Land of Israel.9

Implicitly, the initial “be very careful” (lit., “watch, stay alert”) warns them that constant threats besiege such devotion and that momentary inattention imperils it. With so much at stake and so many threats all around, one cannot be too careful.

Finally, Joshua pronounces a blessing over them, another echo of Moses whose final speech is a blessing of the tribes (Deut. 33). The implication of Joshua’s Mosaic-like vocabulary and blessing is that Joshua regards the east-bank tribes as an integral part of Israel despite their distant settlement location. The blessing further legitimizes their settlement there, a view soon to come into question.10 Cleverly, the narrator wields these words to set the scene for those subsequent events. At last, Joshua formally issues them their honorable discharge, and they head out (v. 6).

An Authorial Comment (v. 7)

An authorial comment (v. 7). An awkward, parenthetical remark explains the special situation of Manasseh with branches on both sides of the Jordan. The remark traces the odd circumstance to the simple fact that Moses gave Bashan east of the Jordan to one tribal half, while Joshua gave the other half land west of it (v. 7a). It also stresses that Joshua’s dismissal and blessing also apply to East Manasseh (v. 7b).11 The reason for including such comments is unclear, but it is striking that Joshua 22 also omits Manasseh from three lists of eastern tribes (vv. 25, 32, and 33 [but not in LXX]). Also curious is the fact that in Numbers 32 it is Reuben and Gad who convince Moses to allot them land in Transjordan. But, out of the blue, his pronouncement of the land distribution inexplicably includes half of Manasseh in it (Num. 32:33; cf. Deut. 3:13; 29:8). Perhaps the best one can say is that behind these inconsistencies lies some special history unknown to us through which Manasseh received land in Transjordan. In any case, with one foot on each side of the Jordan, Manasseh comprises a “bridge people,” a tribe whose very geography symbolizes Israel’s unity. They also embody the chapter’s central dilemma—the tension between geographical separation and religious solidarity.12

Joshua’s Charge (v. 8)

Joshua’s charge (v. 8). Joshua’s concluding charge (v. 8) also fits this understanding: “Very wealthy (in goods) go home” (lit.; the word order is emphatic). An inventory of their loot—all plundered or bartered in Canaan—includes great herds of livestock, silver, gold, bronze, iron, and lots of clothes (cf. Num. 31:22, 28).13 Not a bad haul for one-time desert nomads to take home with them! Yahweh has truly showered his richest blessing on his people in their new land!

The last sentence urges East Manasseh to reciprocate their gains in Canaan by sharing future plundered goods from the east bank with their Cisjordanian brothers. The Mosaic Instruction mandates that Israelites split the spoils of war with battle participants, the community, Yahweh, and the Levites (Num. 31:27–30). But soldiers sometimes resented sharing them with noncombatants, an attitude David overruled on one occasion (1 Sam. 30:21–25). Joshua’s point anticipates and concurs with David’s later ruling: “The share of the man who stayed with the supplies is to be the same as that of him who went down to the battle. All will share alike” (30:24). If observed, such sharing would go a long way toward maintaining unity between east-and west-bank tribes. The command may even intend to promote generosity among those whom one regards as “kin.”14

In sum, Joshua offers a grateful military commander’s final, “job-welldone” farewell speech to some of his loyal, departing troops. They have finished a unique, tough assignment of shared hardships with their western brothers. But his charge warns them not to let distance from the Israelite heartland create distance between them and God. And so an era ends, as the two-and-a half tribes break camp at Shiloh and head east for a happy reunion with their families, who have awaited their safe return for so long. Before long, however, events will transpire that will lead some Israelite quarters to call into question the picture of them here as obedient and loyal.

Scene 2 (Transjordan): What’s Going on? (22:9–31)

Bridging Contexts

GEOGRAPHICAL PERSPECTIVE. TO CROSS the bridge from Joshua 22 to today requires additional comment concerning four topics. The first concerns the geographical perspective of Joshua 22. As noted above, for Cisjordanians the land of Israel lies only west of the Jordan in Canaan, not in Gilead to its east. Readers familiar with the wide, all-Israel perspective of the land and town distributions (chs. 13–21) find that perspective strange. But there is much biblical data to support it. It was Canaan that Yahweh promised Abraham (Gen. 17:8; Ex. 6:4) and to which Moses led the Israelites (Deut. 32:49). Consider, further, the symbolic significance of manna, Israel’s special food supply in the wilderness. Biblical tradition says that Israel ate manna for forty years “until they reached the border of Canaan” (Ex. 16:35). It also records that the first year after Israel crossed the Jordan the manna stopped and Israel ate “the produce of Canaan” (Josh. 5:12). Clearly, these texts mentally map a world with two main geographical regions—the wilderness east of the Jordan and Canaan west of it.

Consider, also, the boundary description of Numbers 34. According to Moses, the eastern boundary of Canaan below the Sea of Kinnereth (i.e., Lower Jordan) runs along the Jordan and ends at the Dead Sea (Num. 34:12; cf. Ezek. 47:18). At the same time, the chapter also knows that tribes will occupy both sides of the river—nine-and-a-half to the west and two-and-a-half to the east—as their “inheritance” (Num. 34:13–15). Thus, whatever differences of status may apply elsewhere, Numbers 34 recognizes both locations as “inheritance,” a word associated with Yahweh’s land promise (e.g., Deut. 4:37–38).

Besides location, two apparent differences distinguish the two groups. Yahweh himself assigns the larger group to Cisjordan, and they will receive their individual portions “by lot”—presumably by Yahweh’s hidden guidance (Num. 34:13). The smaller group, by contrast, has simply to “receive” their inheritance (vv. 14–15), but nothing is said about from whom. Numbers 34 concludes with a list of the men whom Yahweh appoints to divide up the land (vv. 16–29). Interestingly, the list contains only men from west-bank tribes. Neither Yahweh nor Moses makes any provision as to how the distribution in Transjordan is to be done. (But see below).

One final observation concerns what strikes me as a telling distinction in the way the book of Joshua talks about the allotments of eastern versus western land. Consider the implications of this text: “Now that the LORD your God has given your brothers rest as he promised, return to your homes in the land that Moses the servant of the LORD gave you on the other side of the Jordan” (22:4). It clearly contrasts tribal lands in Canaan as the fulfillment of Yahweh’s promise with lands in Transjordan as a gift of Moses.

This is not the place to pursue the matter in depth, but a brief survey of language in the book of Joshua confirms the association of Yahweh with Canaan and of Moses with Transjordan. For example, Yahweh directly orders the distribution of land in Canaan, albeit originally through Moses and later through Joshua (e.g., 13:2–7; 14:2, 5). The case of Caleb, who received land in Cisjordan, conforms to this same pattern. The authority for his special inheritance derives from Yahweh’s promise through Moses (14:6, 10, 12) and Joshua (15:13) in response to his (and Joshua’s) unwavering loyalty to Yahweh (vv. 8, 9).54 Further, as noted above, the mandated means for the distribution (by casting lots) also assumes Yahweh’s indirect participation in the process. By contrast, the authority backing tribal allotments in Transjordan is Moses—e.g., “Moses the servant of the LORD gave it to them” (18:7; cf. 13:8, 15; 14:3; cf. Num. 32:33). In fact, he is the one who actually assigns each tribe its portion, and with no apparent recourse to lots or direct consultation with Yahweh (Josh. 13:15, 24, 29, 32).55

In short, the texts do not portray Yahweh as a direct participant in land distributions in Transjordan in the same way as he is with those in Cisjordan. Now, one might object that Moses’ title (“the servant of the LORD”) implies Yahweh’s presence or his delegation of responsibility to Moses to act on his behalf. These views are certainly possible. In my view, the texts do not imply that the Mosaic distribution was unauthorized by Yahweh or displeasing to him. But the pattern of the language used in each case strikes me as requiring some explanation. For the present, my suggestion is that behind the language lies a view that Canaan marks Yahweh’s priority, but that Gilead retains its own importance. Certainly, the primacy of Canaan, based on the tabernacle’s presence there, reflects the perspective of Phinehas and his companions and drives the conflict in Joshua 22. How widely that view prevailed is a matter of speculation.

Several conclusions follow from the above discussion. Yahweh’s direct involvement in west-bank distribution betrays a subtle, greater divine identification with Canaan. This would make sense, since that land had been his target for conquest and settlement from the time of Abraham. It also seems fair to say that his subsequent involvement with Israel certainly centers there as well. Further, from a human perspective, the scenario by which the Transjordanian tribes came into their inheritance may have forever saddled them with suspicion in the minds of their Cisjordanian kin. Joshua 22 reflects both their awareness of prejudice against them and the ready bent of west-bank tribes to suspect them of evil. Did the other tribes read their initiative in petitioning Moses for an inheritance in Transjordan as selfishness? What did they make of the Transjordanians’ plea, “Don’t make us cross the Jordan” (Num. 32:5)? Were the other tribes jealous of the huge holdings of livestock that made the east-bank region so attractive to them (32:1, 4)? What about the fact that they filed their request with Moses rather through Moses to Yahweh (v. 5)? Did the tribes read that as dishonoring to God—a symptom of weak covenant loyalty?

Moses clearly heard in their petition an echo of the ten rebellious spies and angrily railed at them as a “brood of sinners” (Num. 32:6–15; cf. chs. 13–14). It struck him as a similar act of rebellion that could cause Yahweh also to destroy the present generation. Now, eventually Reuben and Gad agreed to Moses’ conditions (vv. 16–32, esp. vv. 25, 31), and Moses granted their petition (v. 33).56 But among some tribes their agreement may not have shaken the suspicion that the whole affair was masking a problematic streak of tribal independence. Indeed, Budd believes the deuteronomistic editors of Number 32:5–15

saw in the request of Gad and Reuben the seeds of the old unwillingness to take possession of the land God had given. Investigation of the factors which had led to the loss of land was always uppermost in [their] minds … and a lack of a serious commitment to Yahweh and his gift was often a major feature of their analysis.57

In short, the biblical text denies us full knowledge of how the tribes regarded each other, but this discussion helpfully suggests some of the real human dynamics behind both the events in Joshua 22 and the present written report about them. This recognition of very human intertribal dynamics in ancient Israel sets the scene for the discussion below of some of the interpersonal dynamics within our church life today.

The Jordan River. A second follow-up comment concerns the motif of the Jordan River as a natural boundary. The fear in Transjordan is that future Cisjordanians will deny their descendants any “share in the LORD” because Yahweh “made the Jordan a boundary” (v. 25). How real is this fear? As an obvious, indisputable landmark, the river clearly demarcates Cisjordan from Transjordan (Num. 32; cf. Deut. 1:4) and also provides the eastern boundary for various tribes (Josh. 15:5; 16:7; 18:2; 19:22, 33–34).58 The question is, besides being a “boundary,” is the Jordan also a “barrier”? How easy is it to cross?

Apparently, it was easy enough to permit Old Testament judges, kings, and their enemies to cross to do battle or make their escapes (e.g., Judg. 6:33; 8:4; 1 Sam. 13:5–7; 2 Sam. 10:17). Ancient east-west travel, of course, required knowledge of the Jordan’s crossing points, much as we who live along rivers know where the bridges are. A letter by an Egyptian royal official named Hori (late thirteenth cent. B.C.) satirically asks his unknown correspondent, “The stream of Jordan, how is it crossed?”59 Fords offer the best crossing points, except when the spring runoff significantly increased the Jordan’s depth and made it less passable, if not impassable.

Fords formed when silt deposited by tributaries shaped sandbars shallow enough to permit safe foot traffic across.60 Fords, however, are also vulnerable to closure by force. Given this phenomenon, the fears voiced in Transjordan make good sense. Groups with sufficient force (e.g., armies, bandits, etc.) can control fords for their own purposes—such as to exact tolls, shut down all traffic, prevent escapes, and the like. For example, the judge Eglon and some armed Ephraimites seized the fords that led across to Moab and trapped and killed thousands of retreating Moabite soldiers (Judg. 3:28). In another example, the judge Jephthah and men from Gilead seized the Jordan fords on the east side to prevent their enemy, the Ephraimites, from escaping to the west (Judg. 12:1–6). Anyone who denied being an Ephraimite was asked to say “Shibboleth” (“flowing stream”), since Ephraimites pronounced the word as “Sibboleth.” The clever screening snagged thousands of Ephraimites and cost them their lives.

Though occurring later than the pow-wow in Transjordan, these examples show that Transjordanian fears have some basis in reality. How much of a “basis” would depend on the good will of future Cisjordanians, and the second example illustrates a further complication—tribal jealousies. Theologically, Israel may be one people, but from time to time its tribes and clans might still squabble, compete, and promote their own interests.61 For our purposes, the point is that, to be important, fears do not have to be real, only partially so—or thought to be. I will return to discuss the contemporary significance of this in the next section.

Before leaving this topic, mention should be made of the echoes of the Jordan River in Christian hymnody.62 The crossing of the Jordan often appears as a metaphor for the transition from death to life or from the present world to heaven. For example, the chorus of the African-American song, “Roll, Jordan, Roll,” says:

Roll, Jordan, roll,

Roll, Jordan, roll;

I want to go to heaven when I die,

To hear sweet Jordan roll.

Or note Samuel Stennet’s eighteenth-century hymn “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks,” where the worshiper imagines himself as a Christian pilgrim gazing across in hopeful wonder at Canaan (i.e., heaven):

On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand

And cast a wishful eye,

To Canaan’s fair and happy land,

Where my possessions lie.

I am bound for the promised land,

I am bound for the promised land;

Oh who will come and go with me?

I am bound for the promised land.

This usage of the biblical image reflects a good reading of biblical texts. They understand Canaan to be the true Promised Land—Israel’s long-expected final destination and place of final rest. In that sense, they represent the view of Cisjordanian primacy espoused by Phinehas and his delegation. By implication, they also accord Transjordan secondary status as a place to escape rather than to stay, a perspective similar to that of some Old Testament texts discussed above. They further confirm that the fears in Transjordan are not completely unfounded.

Corporate guilt and shared disaster. Another subject is the theme of corporate guilt and shared disaster. Although the theme received some treatment in chapter 7 (see comments), it bears additional comment here. The topic is so biblically important yet seems so strange to our modern, individualistic mindset. In Joshua 22, the idea surfaces in the citation of the Peor and Achan incidents (22:17–18, 20; cf. Num. 25; Josh. 7). The former symbolizes the increased risk for divine judgment caused by the alleged Transjordanian apostasy. The latter symbolizes that, though only two-and-a-half tribes committed the sin, the resulting judgment may strike all twelve. Both assume Israel to be a corporate entity in which the actions of subparts benefit or imperil everyone.

Totality-thinking, a key principle undergirding the Old Testament’s understanding of reality, stands behind this.63 Totality-thinking describes Israel’s perception of individual persons or actions always as part of larger wholes. The family, clan, tribe, and nation comprise the larger whole for persons, while individual actions form part of larger processes. That wholeness even extends over generations, as Joshua’s comment at Gilgal about the Exodus shows:

For the LORD your God dried up the Jordan before you until you had crossed over. The LORD your God did to the Jordan just what he had done to the Red Sea when he dried it up before us until we had crossed over. (Josh. 4:23, my italics).

Few in his audience had in fact been alive at the time of the Exodus, but “us” and “we” imply that his whole audience actually participated in it. Joshua’s statement reveals his understanding that Israel constitutes a corporate whole that also transcends time.

In totality-thinking, the ideal reality is a state of wholeness or completeness (Heb. šalom) in which no essential part is missing or nothing essential is left incomplete. That sense of wholeness/completeness, for example, is what drives the restorer of blood to kill the person thought responsible for killing his kinsman (Josh. 20). The loss leaves the clan metaphysically incomplete, but the death of the killer restores its wholeness.

Totality-thinking also undergirds the Old Testament’s view of reward and punishment. According to Boaz, Ruth’s remarkable loyalty to Naomi had earned the Moabitess proper payment. So, twice invoking the root šalem (“to be complete, whole”), Boaz wishes that her deeds become “complete”—that she be paid in full (Ruth 2:11–12).

Sin, likewise, comprises part of a larger whole, as the Cisjordanian use of ʿawon above indicates (Josh. 22:17, 20). It designates both the original “sin” (idolatry) and the resulting “guilt” from which Israel needs cleansing. In Joshua 22, ʿawon does not mean “punishment”; contextually the idea of punishment as the expected result of ʿawon as “guilt” is clear (cf. Gen. 4:13; Ezek. 21:30, 32). Thus, the word ʿawon offers a microcosm of totality-thinking: Its framework is a whole process, the sequence of sinful act, guilt, and either forgiveness (Heb. to “carry ʿawon away”) or punishment (Heb. “to impose ʿawon,” Num. 14:18).

Tribal interaction. Finally, in light of the above, a retrospective debrief of the tribal interaction in Joshua 22 will lay helpful groundwork for the next section. In a word, there is plenty of praise and blame for both sides. The poor communication between east and west obviously creates a dangerous situation, given their differing perspectives and passionate feelings. Scholars tend to view the altar building as provocative in intent, but why did they resort to provocation rather than direct communication? They could have spared everyone the confrontation had they done so. Did a sense of social or spiritual inferiority lead them to avoid a confrontation, or were they just too eager to get home after their long absence?

Or, if provocation was not their intent, did they assume that their western kin would deduce that the altar’s massive size excluded its use for sacrifice, an assumption some scholars make? In other words, in their minds, the altar’s design made it obvious that it served no sacrificial purpose. Further, it probably never occurred to them that, after proving their loyalty to the other tribes in battle, anyone would suspect them of apostasy.

As for the western tribes, the text simply says that “they heard” and quotes the report about the altar (v. 11, cf. v. 12). But how did they know their eastern kin had built it? And, if one believes the later Transjordanian explanation, then why did the Cisjordanians (or their source) not notice that the altar showed no signs of sacrificial use (e.g., blood stains, ashes, blackened surfaces, etc.)? Why, instead, did they immediately think the worst of their fellow Israelites? Did blind fear of Yahweh’s anger cloud their judgment and unleash their suspicions of apostasy? Or, did prior prejudices against the east-bank tribes predispose them to presume the worst?

To my knowledge the two-and-a-half tribes had no track record of apostasy. After all, the notorious Peor and Achan episodes each involved west-bank people, a Simeonite (Num. 25:14) and a Judahite (Josh. 7:1). Further, if the Transjordanians truly intended rebellion, why build the altar on the west bank rather than closer to home? In sum, whatever the roots of their reaction (fear, prejudice, superiority), they obviously overlooked questions or evidence that would have spared them their misunderstanding. At the same time, the entire incident has much to teach us about church life today, teaching to which we now turn.

Contemporary Significance

WHAT BEGAN AS AN ordinary day suddenly changed as Betty cheerfully bore her grocery bags in from the car. When she entered the kitchen, she found her husband, Jerry, his back turned, writhing, and gyrating almost out of control. Then her eyes saw the electric wire dangling from him.

“Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed. “It’s that wire—he’s being electrocuted!”

Now her only thought was to find a piece of wood to separate her husband from the wire. Quickly she tossed her bags aside, raced to the pantry, grabbed a broom, returned to her still-quivering husband, and swatted him as hard as she could on the arm.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Jerry protested, turning around.

It was then that Betty saw that the “wire” was connected to something metal in Jerry’s hands. It ran up his body, split in two, one wire going to this left ear and the other to his right. He wasn’t a victim of electric shock—he’d simply been listening to music on his Walkman.

Things are not always what they seem. That was true of the altar controversy, and it is often true of church life today. Indeed, to look closely at Joshua 22 is to look into a mirror at life in our churches. Though reporting an event long ago, it has very contemporary meaning. The central theme of Joshua 22 is “the unity of the people despite geographical separation.”64 Christianity also treasures that as a central conviction, so once again an Israelite experience can show us what Christ-like conduct in our church communities might look like. The Jordan River was the geographical symbol of theological tensions that could have divided Israel. It provides an appropriate metaphor to guide the following discussion of theological and nontheological differences within our churches. Wielded by misguided or overly-zealous members, they have the potential to cause divisions.

Beware the little Jordans. The Transjordanians feared that the Jordan River would be used to exclude them from worship. At that moment, what ably served as a natural boundary marker would become a barrier to keep them out. One group within Israel would use its geography to divide Israel into parts labeled “Us” and “Them.” In my view, little Jordans, capable at least of eroding, if not dividing, Christian unity, flow quietly through every local Christian congregation.

Imagine the complex make-up of your own church, a complexity whose small Jordans might quickly reach a floodstage of divisive conflict. It has people of different ages (from newborns to senior citizens) and different genders (males and females). In some congregations, the old are in charge and hold the younger generation at bay, while in others the opposite situation prevails. Congregations define the roles that women may play in church life differently, including whether they may teach adults or serve as pastor or elder. Some gifted, mature women feel excluded from leadership, although the issue never surfaces. Others are perfectly content with the ministry opportunities that their church affords them. These days a congregation probably has people from various ethnic and cultural backgrounds, including recently arrived immigrants from other countries. Whether a Jordan rivulet separates them from settling in comfortably will depend on their facility in English and the warmth of the welcome they receive.

Some churches contain a mix of people with various denominational backgrounds and others without any religious upbringing at all. They may each be surprised—and at times irritated—at what the other regards as a “big deal” at church. A variety of religious experiences may also populate a congregation, with intellectuals, mystics, contemplatives, skeptics, charismatics, evangelists, and easy-goers in the mix. Such differing experiences raise divisive questions about what the church should be doing—evangelism, spiritual formation, worship, social service, and “all of the above.” They also often cause divisions about how the church should worship—formal, informal, or blended worship style?

In recent decades, congregations have become more aware—and at times, divided—by political affiliation, too. In my experience, a congregation evenly divided between Republicans, Democrats, and independents is a rarity. Usually, one of the first two dominates, with the remaining two a minority. The challenge is to avoid criticizing or denigrating fellow believers for their political beliefs. Political passions often run hotter than theological ones! Of course, congregations differ as to how politically visible or partisan they choose to be. Sadly, in my view, the larger church seems divided over how to relate to another category, the rich and poor among us. The fact is that, while no (or perhaps few) churches turn away the rich, some congregations are more welcoming of the poor than others.

Finally, other possible little Jordans include the length of time attending a congregation (i.e., “newcomers” versus “oldtimers”) and the visibility or invisibility of someone in church life. Visible people lead worship, serve on committees and boards, teach Sunday school, give announcements or make reports in church, and offer special music. Visible people tend to see themselves as part of the church’s central core—its stakeholders, so to speak—whereas invisible people feel themselves more on the periphery. Visible people are more likely to attend church business meetings and to speak their mind than invisible people.

Now, I admit that the above picture involves oversimplification, if not distortion. Many congregations with multiple kinds of diversity function amicably. In mature congregations, an awareness of differences and a positive spirit toward them prevails. Everyone accepts the little Jordans as nothing more than an accepted part of the ongoing rhythm of congregational life. But the altar episode suggests that during a congregational crisis (or something perceived to be so) some little Jordans may quickly reach flood-stage. The trick is for leadership to build understanding and trust across the streams through ongoing conversation. To alter the metaphor slightly, a truly, healthy, united congregation is one in which differences flow to the surface quickly to be dealt with openly rather than lurk menacingly beneath the surface of church life.

In Joshua 22, the west-bank group regarded itself as superior to their east-bank kin. For us, the question is, what barriers divide our congregations-or, to put it differently, how inclusive of diversity are we? Do our churches unconsciously think in terms of “castes” or “classes”—for example, the “truly committed,” the “semi-committed,” and the “pew-warmers”? Through misunderstandings, subtle prejudices can develop between the groups.

And what about visitors? How welcoming are we to people unlike us who make us uncomfortable? What about someone who wanders in off the street, who dresses, speaks, or acts inappropriately (by our standards)? How do we react to those who do not speak Churchese or who do not know the rules? Do we see them as an opportunity or an intrusion? Our constant challenge—indeed, a truly joyous task—is to keep the little Jordans flowing and enriching our church life but always below floodstage. That challenge applies to everyone who worships with us—members, regular attenders, seekers, and droppers-in.

Lucy Van Pelt in a recent “Peanuts” cartoon illustrates the cluelessness to be avoided:

“The way I see it, Charlie Brown,” she says, “your faults simply outweigh your virtues!” After a moment of thought, she adds, “I wish there were some way to demonstrate what I mean.…”

“I have it!” she brightens up. “I think I can give you a graphic presentation which will help you to see yourself as you really are!” She leads Charlie over to a fallen log and picks up a board just right for an impromptu teeter-totter.

“This board will represent an evenly balanced personality,” she explains. “Now, on one side I’ll place this pebble which represents all of your virtues.… On the other side I’ll place this boulder which represents your countless faults.… Now, watch what happens.…

Lucy drops the boulder on one end, and it quickly drives the board to the ground with a “Wump!” At the same instant the other end pops up with a “Boing!” flipping the pebble past the two of them. As Charlie Brown leaves sadly, Lucy speaks after him: “Don’t you think you’re lucky to have me around to point up these things in such a graphic manner?”65

The dangers of distance. Implicit in the Cisjordanians’ argument is an assumption: Geographical proximity to Israel’s central sanctuary made them theologically superior to their east-bank kin. As a result, distance from Shiloh and the tabernacle posed a serious practical problem for the tribes living in Transjordan. It poses no less serious a threat to the vitality of our congregations.

Here I have in mind “distance” in two senses. The first sense—geographical distance—compares to the Transjordanian problem. By geographical distance I mean the distance, measured either in miles/kilometers or in time required to arrive—that separates our home from our place of worship. Now, at the risking of slaughtering a sacred cow, let me make full disclosure upfront: If given a choice, I think it better to associate with a truly “local” church (one a short distance from home), over a commuter-style one. I concede that there are often good reasons for selecting a more distant church over a closer one—e.g., a church’s theological stance, spiritual vibrancy, programs for youth and children, public reputation, connections with family, and so on. The congregations near our homes may simply not be acceptable compared to ones farther away. I also freely confess that I myself have had church memberships in the past that required significant commutes, and so I am in no position to pontificate on the matter.

But permit me humbly to voice the main concern that drives my comments on geographical distance. It goes back to my comments in the last chapter, specifically, that I share the vision of people like Reggie McNeal, who says that to be effective today, churches need to engage their communities in order to transform them. In his view, that is the only way the church can live out its mission to impact society spiritually today.

In my view, a church congregation has two main goals: to bind its worshipers into a close, caring community and to maintain close connections with its surrounding community. The former aims to build up the people of God so they may love and serve Christ, the latter to provide the many avenues in which that service may take place. My concern, thus, is that church life at a distance may get in the way of reaching both goals. It may make it difficult for us to stay connected both with fellow worshipers and our neighborhoods. But, given that distance may separate our home and our church, how can we overcome these disadvantages (and perhaps even make them work for the kingdom)?

One good way is to find other Christians who live nearby and with them form a small group—a kind of local mini-congregation—for prayer, encouragement, accountability, and community service. Some larger churches intentionally facilitate the formation of such neighborhood subgroups, a strategy I affirm, but one may have to find a group of fellow believers nearby that is not from our church. Another good way is to maintain neighborhood connections through involvement in local community organizations such as schools, service clubs, professional societies, sports teams, and neighborhood interest groups. In short, the problem of distance in Joshua 22 reveals that geographical distance in our church life has its downsides, notwithstanding how common commuting to church is today. Through whatever means, the point is to minimize, if not overcome or utilize, those downsides for the advance of the kingdom.

The second sense—emotional distance—is a more uniquely modern problem. By “emotional distance” I mean the tendency to be standoffish or unengaged personally in relationships with others. It is the antithesis of the intimacy and transparency in which I share with someone else my true feelings about something important to me. I bridge emotional distance also when I listen empathetically to someone sharing their feelings. Emotionally distant people guard their emotions to prevent revealing them. They have trouble making a genuine personal connection with another human being.

Now, levels of emotional distance or intimacy vary from person to person. I have friends, for example, who weep or show anger easily, and others who rarely show either. In the latter case, the language they use in conversation is symptomatic. They initiate personal sharing with “I think” (i.e., my intellectual analysis of things) rather than “I feel” (i.e., my emotional response to them). In the climactic scene of A Few Good Men, Marine Colonel Nathan Jessup (Jack Nicholson) maintains emotional distance despite intense cross examination from Navy Lieutenant Daniel Kaffee (Tom Cruise). But when Kaffee cries, “I want the truth!” Jessup openly unloads his heretofore hidden anger, replying, “You can’t handle the truth!” A few lines later, pushed emotionally to the edge, the visibly outraged Colonel blurts out testimony that, alas, amounts to self-incrimination and leads to his incarceration. In that moment he is emotionally close rather than distant.

People also keep emotional distance from God. I have known people who find God hard to talk about. When they speak of him, my gut feeling is that they have invisible hands stuck out to keep God at arm’s length. People who have been emotionally hurt by unfortunate, negative church experiences are particularly standoffish. Though a Christian for many years, I sympathize with their desire for distance. (I have suffered some negative church experiences myself.) To them God is a mysterious, unpredictable, threatening, and spooky unknown with whom they have no way of dealing. That is true—until, of course, you get to know him.

In the previous chapter, we emphasized that church communities should be safe places. By that I mean places where people feel comfortable over time to drop their guard and open up. Only such churches create spiritual hothouses where, like lovingly tended plants, people can thrive and loving, healthy relationships bloom. Those relationships will grow both horizontally—with other people—and vertically—with God. The Cisjordanians in Joshua 22 pursued an approach that created distance between themselves and the Transjordanians. They opened the conversation with a frank, serious accusation and brought up past history to back it up. The charge of idolatry and allusions to Peor and Achan put the east-bank tribes on notice—and on the defensive, too. I would not advise that approach in day-to-day conversations at church!

But, occasionally some frank-spoken sisters and brothers plunge ahead nonetheless. Once at a graduation reception I encountered a man whom I knew casually and who knew me because of my position. After shaking hands and exchanging greetings, he abruptly threw me a hand grenade—a direct question on a matter of great controversy. Now, after several decades as an educator, I am quite used to being asked Bible or theological questions at any moment. But, quite frankly, my sense was that he, like Phinehas and company, was trying to “nail” me, and inside I felt resentment for his abruptness. A reception for graduates hardly seemed the occasion to probe what somebody believes on a hot topic. Thankfully, my mind framed a judicious answer that was both true to my convictions and satisfactory to him.

My general approach to bridging emotional distance is to draw people out by asking, first, nonthreatening questions, and, later, more personal ones. This go-slow approach puts strangers at ease and makes a personal connection. Whatever approach one takes, the point is to connect and launch an ongoing relationship. The focus should also be on the present and future, not the past. It is best to let the “past” be the “past”—long ago and far away and forgotten. This kind of relationship sets the stage for the Holy Spirit to work on narrowing emotional distance horizontally and vertically.

Many years ago, I watched a narrowing of emotional distance take place in someone. Out of friendship, Charlie (not his real name) had generously driven a close friend to a Christian group of which I was a part. He had never attended any of the group’s twice-yearly meetings before, and the friend would have had difficulty attending without his kindness. Several of us introduced ourselves and learned a little about Charlie. For several years, Charlie would drop his friend off but stay outside in his vehicle during the meeting. He was keeping a safe distance, but he was also carefully watching. We always greeted him by name but never pressured him to come inside.

Then, several years later, at one meeting he unexpectedly came inside on his own, sat in the very back, and stayed the whole time. Several more years of watching from the back followed. Over time, he inched his way closer to the front and began to converse with others attending. Soon, he began actually to participate in the group, and he and I became friends. Gradually, he began to tell me bits and pieces of his life story and I came to understand his wariness. He also began to ask me hard questions about God and his love. He did not quite believe that God could really love him, but eventually he asked me to get him a Bible. In time, he became a regular member of the group and entered a new relationship with Jesus. It took a while, but the Holy Spirit patiently coaxed him closer, eventually closing his emotional distance with God and with others. And God desires to replicate that same process over and over again in our churches.

Hanging together. An African proverb says, “If you have enough friends, you can carry an elephant into the house.” The east-bank tribes in Joshua 22 had been good friends to their west-bank kinfolk, and the result—the conquest of Canaan—was as amazing as carrying an elephant into the house. They rightly received their honorable discharge from Joshua, and their commitment to Israel’s success reminds us of a foundational theme for Christians. At heart, we are a people of shared hardship. Paul summed up our motto with powerful simplicity: “When one [body] member suffers, all suffer together with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (1 Cor. 12:26–27).

The metaphor of the human body underlies his words. When we stub a toe, the head feels the pain, the shoulders may shudder, and the stomach become tense. The body is not a loose collection of independent organs but an integrated whole. The same is true of the church of Jesus Christ. Granted, we do not all play the same role in the kingdom. Some of us get to be up front and to do the talking—and some readers are glad it is not them! Others preach even more eloquent sermons with their skilled hands, their organizational expertise, and their compassionate presence. Whatever our role, we Christians are a tight-knit family that mutually shares the ups and downs of life. We weep together, bear each other’s burdens, lift each other up, hold each other accountable, and walk through shadowy death valleys together.

How wonderful that, when our duties are done, a commendation likewise awaits us—not from Joshua but from his namesake, Jesus: “Well done, good and faithful servant.… Come and share your master’s happiness” (Matt. 25:23). Or, in Paul’s words, “Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing” (2 Tim. 4:8). Great joy awaits us!

In the present, however, one primary shared suffering consumes us. We are all engaged in obeying what Jesus taught:

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for you to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit your very self? (Luke 9:23–24 TNIV; cf. Matt. 16:24–25; Mark 8:34–35)

Every day we all share the same hardship, the demand for self-denial and for cross-bearing. As we all know, self-denial is no easy task. Self-preoccupation with our needs, wants, and agendas comes naturally to us.

We are all like the seagulls in the movie Finding Nemo. With great effort Nemo has managed to escape both the aquarium in the dentist’s office and the clutches of his dentist’s niece, Darla, the one with the mouth filled with sparkling silver braces. Nemo has reached the open sea but, alas, right in front of a row of hungry seagulls perched high above. They erupt into a chorus of “Mine! Mine! Mine!” They are all eager to swallow little Nemo to assuage their hunger. Similarly, how much more readily “Mine!” escapes our lips than “It’s all yours!” Our culture applauds and admires self-assertion, especially if it leads to great wealth or celebrity.

Our culture is, well, full of itself. It perverts normal hungers—the need to belong, to feel important, to be who I really am—into exaggerated, ravenous appetites. Only self-centeredness and self-preoccupation can satisfy these appetites. But Jesus calls us not just to have our self-assertion take a back seat. He expects us to crucify it and get rid of it! We must “lose” it completely!

But that is not the end. After the crucifixion, Jesus also calls us to carry our cross around every day as we follow him. That habit daily reminds us not to resurrect the old selfishness again. That is the heavy price we pay every day to follow Jesus. Life is a constant struggle to keep the old self dead and buried. It is an especially ever-present struggle because the world around us keeps tempting us to resuscitate it. That way, we will be like them and fit in better.

The grip of selfishness on us is illustrated in a parable told in the The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoyevsky. There was a wicked peasant woman who died without having done a single good deed. As the devils plunged her into the lake of fire, her guardian angel tried to remember a good deed of hers to tell God. Finally, he said, “She once pulled up an onion in her garden … and gave it to a beggar woman.”

God answered with this instruction: “You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the lake, and let her take hold and be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of the lake, let her come to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman must stay where she is.”

The angel ran to her and held out the onion to her. “Come, catch hold,” he urged, “and I’ll pull you out.” Carefully, he began to drag her out and was about to succeed when the other sinners in the lake grabbed the woman in hopes of being pulled out with her. But the woman began kicking them, saying, “I’m to be pulled out, not you. It’s my onion, not yours.” At that moment the onion broke and the woman fell back into the lake, and the angel wept and left.66 Similarly, the same instinct toward selfishness afflicts us all, and our daily challenge is to not breathe new life into it.

At the same time, the life of self-denial is crucial to maintaining credibility with the very world that seeks to trip us up. As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once warned, “If today’s church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century.”67

Further, only as we follow in Jesus’ footsteps, embracing our crosses as he did his, do we truly experience the power of our heavenly Father. Only on those days can we exult with Phinehas the priest, “Today we know that the LORD is with us” (Josh. 22:31). The cross-bearing becomes for us not only the place of our daily death to self, but also of our daily resurrection as our new selves. The only way the Transjordanians could enjoy their future home was to bear their cross—to proceed into battle beside their Cisjordanian brothers. For them there was no alternate route home except via the hard road of sacrifice. By the same token, no alternate route—and surely, no escape route!—permits us to bypass the narrow street called the Way of the Cross. That tight way is the only direct route to experiencing God’s power in us conquering our selfishness. As Benner writes:

The Christian life is filled with little deaths and little resurrections, little Good Fridays and little Easter Sundays. Each embrace of my cross is a further step into the kingdom of God, a kingdom we can reach only on the other side of the death of our kingdoms and queendoms of self-sufficiency and self-determination.68

Trust and loyalty. One implication of the episode in Joshua 22 is that ultimately we Christians should trust each other and give each other the benefit of the doubt. Imagine this: The nine-plus western tribes were ready to go to war against the two-plus eastern ones because of a misinterpretation. A horrible, unjust slaughter could have resulted. In the church, we do not treat each other violently, but we sometimes do treat each other with similar suspicion and distrust. But think of it this way: The care of the church and its people really belongs to Christ, and he is fully capable of doing so.

Therefore, rather than confront each other over every little thing, there are times simply to let things pass because we trust each other—and we trust the unseen work of the Holy Spirit. After all, unlike us, the Spirit sees the whole situation and truly knows what is best for all concerned. As the Transjordanian shout, “The LORD! He knows!” (Josh. 22:22). I cannot say this loud enough: The church suffers when we fail to give each other room, fail to trust each other, or fail simply to ignore minor mistakes. This means, further, that we need to beware that our knowledge of past history may mislead us. From a distance, much behavior is simply ambiguous. As an onlooker, I have interpreted scenes one way, only to discover that they were in reality about something very different.

It is too easy—out of pure motives and passion for Christ—to misread each other’s actions or to attribute wrong motives to each other. We do not need churches where we eye each other warily across the pews because of misunderstandings. So, Joshua 22 warns us to be wary of our own eyes, lest we jump to the wrong conclusions about each other. Instead, rather than do what the Israelites did, it calls us to think the best of each other and to deal with each other directly. The best vaccination against misunderstandings is frequent contact with each other and direct, candid communication.

Joshua 22 also positively reaffirms the principle that we are mutually accountable to each other. I affirm the need in church life for a Christian sister or brother discretely to approach a fellow Christian and give feedback concerning ambiguous behavior. I have both given and received it—thankfully, not very often—and when I receive it I interpret it gratefully. I do not take it as spiritual one-upmanship, but as the sincere concern of a loving friend for my spiritual welfare and for the health of the body.

When a dejà vu moment occurs, the temptation is to read the past into the present: “Oh, here we go again! I should have expected this, given your history!” Frankly, some of us by temperament are pessimists and some of us are optimists. We are like the two people who died and found themselves in the afterlife locked in a room ceiling-high with manure. The pessimist wrung his hands crying, “Oh, this is terrible! We’ll never get out of here!” while the optimist had grabbed a shovel nearby and started digging. “Relax, man!” he shouted cheerfully. “There’s got to be a horse in here somewhere!” By temperament, some of us are more suspicious or paranoid than others and, hence, more inclined to compare present ambiguous conduct with someone’s past track record. I remind us all, however, that Jesus forgives and forgets all confessed sin (including our own)—and so should we.

I also remind us that Jesus is in the business of transforming people and that there is no one better at it than he. The Bible and church history teem with examples of impossible, incorrigible, irredeemable people whom God marvelously changed, much to the surprise of their neighbors, family, and friends. I venture to guess that some of those transformed people sit next to you every Sunday—or you are one of them. In short, when we suspect bad things about a fellow Christian, I call us to set aside the past and treat the person on the basis of the present and the future.

Several North American restaurants have recently been experimenting with an intriguing new service called “dark dining.”69 In dark dining, customers enjoy the usual multicourse meal, but they dine blindfolded or seated in a completely dark room, and blind or visually impaired waiters serve them. Removal of the usual visual stimuli heightens the diner’s awareness of and dependence on other senses.

“It’s a mind-opening thing, like meditation would be,” explains Benjamin Uphues, whose company, Opaque-Dining in the Dark, stages weekend dinners for fifty at one California hotel. The menus feature dishes with especially sensuous aromas, textures, and tastes (though soup is excluded for obvious reasons). In Greenwich Village, New York, sighted waiters serve up the dark-dining experience, which also includes audio artists—a bass player or Irish percussive dancer—and a surprise light neck massage.

“The most deeply satisfying thing that happens,” says event hostess Dana Salisbury, “is that everybody becomes very open and drops their defenses and becomes incredibly wonderful to watch. People do soften in an extremely wonderful way.”

Talk about a clever new idea for church worship! Seriously, imagine wearing mental blindfolds to church. A similar positive effect might occur. Removal of our usual observations would heighten our awareness of new aspects of people. It would certainly screen out our misperceptions of them and dispense with our misjudgments. Also, imagine the changed perspectives on life that might result from the experience of being temporarily blind or visually impaired. The experience would open us up to each other, level away all hierarchy, lead us to depend more on each other, and “soften” our spirits. The watching world might sit up and take notice of us—a truly unique people who hang together, give each other space, forget the past, and treat each other with trust and loyalty. That day, they might shout, “Now we know that the LORD is with us!” (Josh. 22:31).

Original Meaning

Scene 2 (Transjordan): What’s Going On? (22:9–31)

Report: The Altar Building (vv. 9–10)

REPORT: THE ALTAR BUILDING (vv. 9–10). The narrator follows the troops bound for home (and so do we). The two-and-a-half tribes leave Shiloh in Canaan and proceed to the land of Gilead, where they own land by God’s command through Moses (v. 9).15 Besides authorization from Joshua, they have Moses’ authority to settle there and to assume that they remain part of Israel in doing so. The narrator, however, invokes terminology that noticeably contrasts the east and west-bank areas. It seems to represent a Cisjordanian perspective: “Shiloh in the land of Canaan” versus “the land of Gilead”; (lit.) “children of Reuben, Gad, and half-Manasseh” versus “the children of Israel.”

This contrast raises a question: If Canaan is the true land of promise and the Israelites its recipients, what is the status of these two-and-a-half tribes outside it? The reader may rightly wonder how soon such sensitivity concerning their status might surface among those tribes. In any case, the travelers reach the area along the Jordan’s west bank, presumably at a major crossing point, where they build an altar (v. 10).16

Ancient altars were made of packed earth (Ex. 20:24), piled field stones (20:25), wood (27:1–8), or large unhewn stones (Judg. 6:11–24). But the author here provides neither details about nor rationale for its construction. He says nothing about what, if any, religious ceremonies took place during or after the project. Instead, the lone comment is that the altar is “imposing” (lit., “big to seeing”)—in modern terms, “so big you couldn’t miss it.”17 The terse report leaves the reader to wonder what it symbolizes—human arrogance like the Tower of Babel (Gen. 11), idolatry like Canaanite examples, or simple remembrance of something important like patriarchal altars (Gen. 12:7; 26:23–25; 35:1–8).18 And what is its function—other than to attract attention? The narrative silence thus far is deafening.

A Delegation to Transjordan (vv. 11–14)

A delegation to Transjordan (vv. 11–14). A report (or rumor?) concerning this striking structure beside the Jordan soon reaches the Israelites (v. 11). The NIV obscures the fact that the author quotes it but leaves its source anonymous: (paraphrased) “Look! The east-bank tribes [names spelled out] have built an altar by the Jordan on the Israelite side of the river!” This is a startling statement: “Israelite side” (v. 11) defines “Israel” as territory west of the Jordan, assumes Transjordan to be the “non-Israelite side,” and further characterizes east-bank residents as less than full Israelites.19

The report about the unsettling discovery conveys shocked urgency, as if the altar were scandalous and posed a serious threat to west-bank well-being. Apparently, no one bothers to ask why the returning troops have placed the altar there on the west bank—an inconvenient spot for Transjordanian access!—rather than (more conveniently) on their side of the river. Instead, the news sparks a rush of the “whole community of Israel” to an emergency pow-wow at Shiloh (v. 12). The same words (“the whole assembly … gathered”) open the earlier scene where the last tribal allotments are made (Josh. 18:1), but here Israel meets to prepare for war against the two-and-a-half tribes.20

Presumably, the war in mind is “holy war”—defense of the proper worship of Yahweh against apostasy. That the crowd thinks in terms of “us” versus “them” makes that normally unthinkable option acceptable. “They” (the altar builders) are no longer truly “Israelites.” At the same time, to wage holy war also assumes some sense of collective oneness with and responsibility for the east-bank tribes. The thought is that, when grievously wrong, even second-class Israelites merit accountability.21

But the assembly does not seek Yahweh’s guidance on the matter through an oracle (i.e., a prophet or the Urim and Thummim), although Israel often did so before war (cf. 9:14).22 And the reader wonders about the disconnect between two perceptions: Can the people whose obedience Joshua has praised so highly (vv. 1–8) really be the same people behind this scandal? Can they really have violated his parting injunctions so soon after their departure? First, however, the Israelites dispatch a delegation to the Transjordanian tribes (again, names spelled out) in Gilead with a priest, Phinehas son of Eleazar, as its head (vv. 13–14)—the only member explicitly named. To put a priest in charge assumes the issue to be a religious one, and this particular priest has an interesting past history.

The Bible knows Phinehas above all as a heroic “defender of the faith,” especially of the proper way to worship Yahweh.23 He is best known for his decisive, violent action at Baal Peor that ended a devastating plague in Israel’s camp and won him special praise from Yahweh (Num. 25; cf. Ex. 6:25; Num. 31:6; Judg. 20:27–28). If the situation demands a ruling on altars or bold, daring initiative, Phinehas is certainly the right man for the job.

But the rest of the delegates are no slouches, either. They clearly comprise the highest level of leadership in Israel, the Israelite equivalent of a presidential cabinet. The NIV simplifies four Hebrew phrases into three, thus obscuring the narrator’s piling up of phrases to portray them as political heavyweights (cf. the short version in v. 30). The group consists of ten “chief men” (nasiʾ, “chief, prince”), one from each tribe, each one head of a family unit within a clan among all Israel’s clans. In the Old Testament, they occupy the same leadership level as Moses, Joshua, and high priests (Num. 4:46; 27:2; 36:11; Josh. 9:15). They represent the tribes in many decisions affecting the whole nation—for example, the ratification of Joshua’s treaty with the Gibeonites (Josh. 9:15–21)—and present offerings at the tabernacle on behalf of the tribes (Num. 7:11; cf. Ex. 35:27).24

The West-Bank View (vv. 15–20)

The west-bank view (vv. 15–20). Phinehas and the ten VIPs reach Gilead and, at an unnamed site, at length address the gathered Transjordanian tribes (again, spelled out by name; vv. 15–20). The opening messenger formula (“Thus says the whole community of the LORD”) presents the speech as spoken, not by a single individual like Phinehas, but by the community of Yahweh as a whole (v. 16).25 Subtly, it also implies some serious problem with the standing of the east-bank tribes in the eyes of Yahweh and Israel.

The dignitaries’ first question levels a blunt, strongly worded accusation: “How could you break faith with … God like this?” “Break faith” (maʿal) echoes the report of Achan’s secret perfidy (7:1)—the severest of crimes against God, one that imperiled all Israel—and immediately tars the audience with the same slimy brush.26 The word implies rank hypocrisy: Publicly they act the part of Yahweh’s faithful, but in secret they connive evil against him. “Today” (twice in the verse) they have turned and walked away from Yahweh by building an altar to revolt (marad) against him. The delegation assumes that, since Yahweh has authorized only one altar—the one in Canaan (cf. v. 19)—the new altar must honor another god. Therein lies the Transjordanian revolt, the visitors argue; it is apostasy, plain and simple.

The setting of marad (“to revolt, rebel”) is the arena of international relations where an asymmetrical power relationship binds powerful kings with lesser kings and subordinates.27 Political, economic, or military weakness forces the vassal king or royal subordinate willingly or unwillingly to swear political loyalty to the stronger king. Marad designates the attempt by the former to escape through revolt his burdensome bonds of dependence on the latter.28

Theologically, marad assumes a similar asymmetrical relationship between Yahweh and Israel and paints Israel’s attempts to escape its commitment of loyalty to Yahweh as revolts (cf. v. 18; Num. 14:9; Neh. 9:26; Ezek. 2:3; Dan. 9:5, 9). In short, in the present case the visitors accuse their Transjordanian kin of two of the severest of crimes against Yahweh, treachery (breach of trust) and rebellion (breach of promise).

With a second question (“Was not the sin of Peor enough for us?”), the speech moves from blunt accusation to an appeal to spare everyone terrible consequences (vv. 17–20). For added rhetorical firepower, it invokes memories of two recent, shameful episodes in which all present had sorrowfully shared. “Peor” recalls the place just east of the Jordan where Yahweh sent a terrible plague to punish Israel for worshiping an idol, the Baal of Peor—“the sin [ʿawon] of Peor” in Numbers 25. The plague took 24,000 lives, but the speakers stress that Israel still has not “cleansed [itself] from that sin” (v. 17). Here as elsewhere, ʿawon refers both to the original act (idolatry) and to the resulting “guilt” from which Israel (they claim) needs cleansing.

Behind the present argument stands the Old Testament’s view that ʿawon guilt is more than a simple black mark in Israel’s account book with God. It actually constitutes a “trigger for disaster” (i.e., disaster inevitably follows it), disaster that cleansing seeks to ward off.29 So, the speakers rhetorically juxtapose the Transjordanians’ action “today” with the consequences to follow “tomorrow.” Their point is: To add “today” more “disaster-causing guilt” (“now turning away from the LORD”) to the already primed “trigger” of Peor really risks setting off Yahweh’s fury against everyone “tomorrow” (v. 18).

To avert this disaster, the visitors propose that the two-and-a-half tribes leave “defiled” (ṭameʾ [“unclean”]) Transjordan and settle among the other tribes in Canaan, “in the LORD’s land,” near the tabernacle (v. 19). This comment shares the same Israel/non-Israel distinction seen earlier. It assumes—perhaps hyperbolically for sake of argument—that Transjordan is not “the LORD’s land” but land belonging to some other deity. It voices the Cisjordanian perspective that east-bank land is not “holy” as Canaan is. It implies that the distance of the Transjordanians from Yahweh’s center of gravity leaves them vulnerable to the gravitational pull of local defiling forces. More important, as Polzin notes, it seems to imply that

their land is not Israel [they have not “crossed over” (Heb. ʿabar) into “Israel”; cf. Josh. 3:1–4:15], that they are not “Israel” in the full sense, and that they have not yet entered into the LORD’s possession.30

The second shameful episode (v. 20) is the more recent one, the horrid treachery (maʿal) of Achan (ch. 7).31 If the scandal at Peor marks the classic case of apostasy, Achan denotes the classic case of “treachery.” He secretly kept for himself goods captured at Jericho (ḥerem) that, in fact, belonged to Yahweh. But the delegation’s concern is not with the act of altar-building itself but with its consequences. Their climactic (perhaps even melodramatic!) cry that “[Achan] was not the only one who died for his sin” (v. 20) powerfully drives home their message. The dignitaries remind their audience that, while Achan acted alone, divine wrath struck the entire community. That pattern, they argue, now seems likely to recur: The altar-building by a few tribes now threatens to bring down God’s wrath on all twelve tribes of Israel, not just on the Transjordanians.32 With that, the message of the west-bank tribes ends.

The East-Bank View (vv. 21–29)

The east-bank view (vv. 21–29). The east-bank reply to the visiting VIPs is equally blunt and passionate—and (perhaps of necessity) longer (vv. 21–29). As noted above, structurally (and perhaps thematically) it probably comprises the key section of the entire chapter. Twice it references past internal deliberations (“We said …”; vv. 26, 28), a hint that a solid tribal consensus supports their actions. That they speak as a group, not through a spokesperson, also reinforces the impression of tribal solidarity. Their sophisticated rebuttal effectively weaves in language from the original accusation (e.g., maʿal and marad).33

The opening rhetorical flourish, a string of orthodox names for Israel’s God (“Mighty One, God, the LORD …”) aims immediately to dispel the visitors’ doubts about their orthodoxy (v. 22).34 There is, they claim, another side to this story. They strongly affirm that Israel’s God understands the real situation (“He knows!”) and voice the passionate wish that Israel (and especially the present delegation!) might, too. To prove their innocence, they make their visitors a bold offer phrased as a kind of self-curse. If the accusations of “rebellion” (mered) and “disobedience” (maʿal) against Yahweh be true, they ask Phinehas not to hold back proper punishment.35 If their altar announces rejection of Yahweh (and, by implication, his altar in Canaan) and pledges loyalty to another god through sacrifices, they ask Yahweh himself to “call us to account” (v. 23). Thus, they deny the accusations; they claim to have nothing to hide. They share the visitors’ conviction that Israel performs sacrifices to Yahweh only at Shiloh.

But now comes a surprising revelation. The Cisjordanians assume that an altar serves only one purpose, as a place for sacrificing. But the Transjordanians reveal something new—that fear, not rebellion, drove them to act as they did. They fear that future descendants of the present accusers will deny their own descendants to have access to Yahweh (v. 24a). They worry that descendants of the delegation will invoke the Jordan as a God-given boundary—an ancient Rio Grande—to bar east-bank descendants from the community worship (vv. 24, 28). They also quote a possible objection that future Cisjordanians might raise to exclude their descendants (vv. 24b–25a). In modern paraphrase it says:

You are foreigners from Transjordan, this is Canaan. You have no legitimate relationship with Yahweh, the God of Israel. The Jordan River proves it: Yahweh made it to keep you out, you Gadites and Reubenites! You’ve got no connection with him.36

This statement clearly implies that the Cisjordanian tribes do not truly recognize their east-bank relatives as full members of God’s people. But what really makes them shudder—their worst fear—is the frightening result of their exclusion: The Transjordanians’ descendants will “stop fearing the LORD.”

Now, if Assis is right, the highly structured rebuttal by the east-bank tribes implies that the altar-building was more than just something done on the spur-of-the-moment. Quite the contrary, Assis plausibly proposes that the returning soldiers preplanned the event for a purpose—to provoke a harsh response from the west bank in order to surface the thorny, underlying issue.37 That assumption helps explain their claim that they built the altar in question not for sacrifices—that would imply disloyalty to Yahweh—but as “a witness” (Heb. ʿed) of the connection between all tribes astride the Jordan. The altar offers tangible testimony of the Transjordanian commitment to sacrifice only at Yahweh’s west-bank sanctuary, not to fall into rebellion and apostasy.

This perspective rules out of bounds any west-bank attempt to deny them access to their “share in the LORD” in Canaan (vv. 26–27).38 Coming generations of Transjordanian pilgrims can point to it, “a replica of the LORD’s altar,” as silent evidence of their connection to Yahweh at his official site, not at the riverside one (v. 28).39 As a final, dramatic gesture, the Transjordanians voice a negative oath: “Far be it from us” to “rebel” (marad) against Yahweh by sacrificing at any spot other than at the altar in front of the tabernacle.40

In short, the two-and-a-half tribes deny the delegation’s accusation of apostasy, explain their actions, and strongly affirm their loyalty to Yahweh. They surface their deep fears and implicitly indict the west-bank tribes for the way the latter have dealt with them. They have in mind the Cisjordanians’ not-so-subtle superior attitude, their shabby treatment of them as second-class Israelites, and their thinking the worst (rather than the best) of them. They betray great awareness of the dangers of distance from the Israelite heartland: fear of treatment as second-class Israelite citizens, if not outright outcasts. What worries them most is not rebellion by their descendants but the dampening of their devotion to Yahweh by west-bank exclusionary policy. The altar, thus, marks a symbolic preemptive strike against exclusion—a witness that binds Israelites on both banks to loyal devotion to Yahweh alone and to his tabernacle. Against appearances, the altar aims to attest their unwavering devotion, not their apostasy.41

Resolution (vv. 30–31)

Resolution (vv. 30–31). Suddenly, the Cisjordanians find the tables turned on them; the would-be accusers now find themselves the accused!42 The fact that the Transjordanians mount a defense longer than the original accusation implies that the sympathies of the biblical author also lie with them.43 The scene concludes somewhat formally with lists of the names of the two-and-a-half tribes (twice in vv. 30–31!) and of Phinehas and his important companions (an abbreviation of vv. 13b–14). The lengthy explanation by the Transjordanians pleases (lit., “was good in the eyes of”) the entire delegation (v. 30).

It falls to Phinehas the priest, the delegation’s leader, to respond officially on their behalf (v. 31). (1) He acknowledges the rhetorical success of the Transjordanian statement: They had wished, “Let Israel know!” (v. 22), and he says, “Today we know.…” The visitors know that “the LORD is with [lit., amidst] us”—as opposed to being against us in anger—since the alleged “breach of trust” (maʿal) against Yahweh has proven to be untrue. The easterners have given him no reason to abandon Israel, and here Phinehas may have past history in mind. Remember that Achan’s secret sin caused Yahweh secretly to abandon Israel, a fact later revealed by Israel’s catastrophic defeat at Ai. The alleged apostasy in Joshua 22 threatened a painful replay of that catastrophe. But Israel need not worry: There has been no crime and, hence, no reason for Yahweh to abandon Israel. The key word in his statement, however, may be “us.” It implies that Phinehas accepts the heart of the Transjordanian concern—they are full members of Israel.44

(2) Phinehas acknowledges emphatically that “now”—because of your persuasive explanation—the east-bank tribes “have rescued the Israelites from the LORD’s hand.” A nice Hebrew sound play knits together both of Phinehas’s acknowledgments: instead of “breaking faith” (meʿaltem) with Yahweh, the Transjordanians have in fact “rescued” (hiṣṣaltem) the Israelites from his hand. At first glance, the remark seems to highlight the happy result of their nontreachery—that, unlike the case of Achan, no angry divine judgment will befall all twelve tribes (cf. vv. 18, 20). In my view, however, the claim of rescue probably describes the result, not of the eastern tribes’ nontreachery, but of their persuasive answer.

Remember that at Peor it was Phinehas’s killing of an apostate couple that satisfied Yahweh and ended the horrible plague. In Joshua 22, Phinehas may mean that Transjordanian cooperation has headed off a doubly tragic Cisjordanian mistake. It has prevented an unjustified military attack that would have decimated the two-and-a-half tribes and possibly earned harsh divine retribution (i.e., “the LORD’s hand”) against the other nine-and-a-half. It has averted a disastrous civil war not unlike the near-annihilation of the Benjaminites a generation or so later (Judg. 19–21). And with that, Phinehas’s reply ends.

It is important, however, to underscore the implications of the decision his delegation made. It both acquits the Transjordanian tribes of the charge of violating the Instruction of Moses (e.g., Josh. 22:29) and asserts their right “to be considered full-fledged members of the community of Israel.”45 At least for the time being.

Scene 3 (Shiloh): No Problem! (22:32–34)