Original Meaning
Original Meaning
THE EPIC STORY OF the book of Joshua has taken its namesake hero from a war camp east of the Jordan to the peaceful settlement of his fellow Israelites on their own lands. As it began “after” the death of the great Moses (1:1a), so it now ends “after these things,” that is, sometime after the climactic covenant ceremony (vv. 1–28).1 Two key words, “to die” (mut) and “to bury” (qabar), weave together three burial reports and sound the key themes of death and burial. Literarily, verses 29–33 compare to reports that signal the end of an important historical era (Gen. 35:28–29; Deut. 34:5). Within the DH they bring the curtain down on the era of conquest and settlement in Canaan and prepare the reader for the next phase (Judg. 2:10).
Two reports record the passing of Joshua and Eleazar, the two leaders who had guided Israel during the last two decades (vv. 29–30, 33). Their passing marks the end of the Exodus generation. The middle report features the fulfillment of a promise made at the death of Joseph that his bones be buried in the Promised Land (v. 32). His burial renders special honor to the hero responsible for Israel’s survival and prosperity in Egypt during the centuries preceding the Exodus. His efforts kept Jacob’s family from dying out from starvation in Canaan; without him, there would have been no Moses, no Joshua, and no Israel to fulfill the Abrahamic promise.
In remembering important gravesites, this short text compares to other Old Testament reports and reflects a common feature of Israel’s religious life in Canaan.2 By including the burial of Joseph, the book again thematically links the Exodus and settlement events, interpreting them as the bookends of a single grand plan (cf. 4:21–24). Each burial also links the deceased with his family’s land, adding a sense of permanence to the theme of land inheritance.3 Most important, the burial report of Joshua occasions a final authorial tribute to the great leader and, thus, draws to a fitting close one of the book’s main themes—the effectiveness of Joshua’s faithful leadership.4
Structurally, the verb that opens verse 31 ties it to the long preceding narrative of Joshua’s life (i.e., 1:1–24:31), while the initial syntax in verses 32 and 33 marks those two reports as footnotes to the main storyline.5 The book ends with the high priest Eleazar, thus bracketing 14:1–24:33 as a major structural subunit. The ending may also suggest that the narrator regards the high priestly line as the leadership thread responsible for Israel after Joshua’s death. If so, that assumption probably rests on their key role as the teachers of Moses’ Instruction (torah) and a cooperative relationship with the elders who survive Joshua. These possibilities would explain why neither Yahweh nor Joshua names some individual to lead the next generation.6
Joshua’s Death and Burial (24:29–31)
Joshua’s death and burial (24:29–31). This small section reports the simple fact that “Joshua son of Nun … died” (v. 29) and that “they buried him” (v. 30a). The Bible says nothing about Joshua having a wife or children, so the indefinite “they” probably refers to more distant relatives. Alternatively, it may designate a kind of “state funeral” at which all Israel publicly honored their heroic leader. The narrator carefully locates his final resting place “in the land [lit., border] of his inheritance.” Specifically, Joshua’s remains lie at the town of Timnath Serah just north of Mount Gaash (site unknown) in the hilly terrain of south central Ephraim.7 At his request, the Israelites themselves had allotted him that land as the final act of the land distribution process (19:49–50). Joshua, thus, received a special inheritance portion in Ephraim just as his onetime spy partner, Caleb, did at Hebron (14:6–15).
Today a rock-hewn cave and half-oval stone just northwest of Ariel and near the Arab village of Kifl Hares purport to mark the gravesite of both Joshua and Caleb. Modern Israelis gather to pray at the spot on May 5, the date tradition assigns to Joshua’s death. Besides recording the facts for posterity, the biblical report also lends the narrative the solemn formality and finality typical of burial reports.8
The contrast between Moses’ unknown gravesite outside the land (Deut. 34:4–5) and Joshua’s known gravesite inside it is striking. The difference highlights “the momentous changes in Israel’s circumstances that Joshua has brought about.”9 Abraham had to buy from the Hittites a small burial site for Sarah (Gen. 23), and Jacob purchased the small land parcel on which his tent stood (Gen. 33:19; see below). But now the once-wandering, landless nation has land of their own in which to bury their dead and to live their lives.
A deft, subtle narrative touch also bestows on Joshua a telling posthumous award. His previous title had simply been “Moses’ aide” (mešaret mošeh; Num. 11:28; Josh. 1:1), but here the writer honors him with the title “the servant of the LORD” (ʿebed yhwh). This is the same posthumous title awarded Moses at his death (Deut. 34:5), and the honor shows the author’s extremely high regard for Joshua. He and Moses are the only two leaders to ever receive the award.10 As noted above, the remark also culminates the theme of Joshua’s rise in popular stature as a worthy successor to Moses. To receive the same posthumous title ranks Joshua’s eminence as on par with that of Moses—an incredible achievement indeed.
The writer also details that Joshua lived to be “a hundred and ten,” the same age as Joseph but ten years younger than Moses (Gen. 50:26; Deut. 34:7). Finally, a brief narrative eulogy lauds Joshua for the fact that “Israel served the LORD” during his entire lifetime (v. 31). Through it the writer reasserts the connection made earlier in the chapter between Yahweh’s acts and the demand to “serve” him (see comments on 24:1–28).11 The comment further redounds to the glory of Joshua as a great leader.
To Joshua’s credit also, Israel’s faithful service continued under “the elders who outlived him and who had experienced everything the LORD had done for Israel” (i.e., the conquest and settlement; v. 31).12 Indirectly, the comment also anticipates Israel’s recurring disobedience in the post-Joshua era, the time of the judges.13 As death takes the elders from the scene, memory of Yahweh’s mighty deeds fade and Israel would lose one of its spiritual anchors. As noted above, neither God nor Joshua had named a successor, so the text may imply that the priests or elders succeeded Joshua in leadership. As I have noted elsewhere, the Instruction of Moses so prominent in the book may have filled that role (Josh. 1:7–8; 8:31, 34; 23:6; cf. 22:5). In any case, Joshua proves to be “the last of those foundational figures whose piety and significance are symbolized by extraordinary life spans.”14 With courage and conviction, he had lived up to Yahweh’s opening demands (Josh. 1:7–8). He found Yahweh to be a keeper of promises: wherever he went, God had indeed been “with [him] as he was with Moses” (1:5; 3:7).15
The Burial of Joseph (24:32)
The burial of Joseph (24:32). Above I mentioned that syntax sets this and the following report apart from the narrative flow of verses 29–31. Verse 32 details Israel’s burial of the bones of Joseph, which the people had carried with them since leaving Egypt (v. 32; cf. Ex. 13:19). It bears no chronological indicator, but the incident probably took place earlier, when the tribes settled in their newly received land (21:43). The narrator purposely points out that Joseph’s burial site was the very property outside Shechem that his father Jacob purchased from Hamor’s sons (Gen. 33:19).16 He even cites the original purchase price (“a hundred pieces of silver”).
The explicit mention of both seller and price amounts to a kind of deed (cf. Gen. 23:15–16; 2 Sam. 24:24)—confirmation of land ownership through purchase.17 In retrospect, the original land deal over a small parcel near Shechem proves to foreshadow Israel’s possession of all of Canaan.18 The safely settled Israelites fulfilled the promise of their ancestors to the man whose wise leadership had kept them alive in famine (Gen 50:24–25; cf. Heb 11:22).
The report’s inclusion at the end of the book serves the narrator’s thematic purposes, confirming, for example, the prior assignment of that terrain to the inheritance of Joseph’s descendants (17:2, 7). Strikingly, through object-first word order the Hebrew throws the syntactical spotlight on the bones, not the burial. The generations between Jacob and the first settlers were buried either in Egypt or in the wilderness,19 so to highlight the bones underscores their symbolic significance. They tangibly link the Israelite generation that realized the long-awaited promise of land with the patriarchal generations who first received it. The box of long-carried and now-buried bones tucked into the earth symbolizes the long epic journey from Genesis to Joshua. Implicitly, those bones echo the last sound of one of the book’s central themes, God’s fulfillment of his promise to the patriarchs.
The Burial of Eleazar (24:33)
The burial of Eleazar (24:33). Subject-first syntax sets this last report of death and burial apart from what precedes. It details the death and burial of Aaron’s son, Eleazar, the high priest who presided (with Joshua and the elders) over the distribution of inheritance land among the Israelites (14:1; 17:4; 19:51; 21:1; 22:13, 31–32). The people buried him at (lit.) “the hill [gibʿat] of Phinehas his son,” apparently an Ephraimite town called “Gibeah of Phineas” to distinguish it from the better-known “Gibeah of Benjamin,” the hometown of Saul (18:28; 1 Sam. 13:2, 14:16; cf. Judg. 19:14; 20:4).20 As noted above, the work of priestly hands also evident earlier in the book may account for its inclusion here.
With Eleazar’s burial, a generation of Israelite leadership—the two successors of Moses and Aaron, respectively—passes from the scene and the momentous book of Joshua ends. But even in death they share a piece of the inheritance allotted their family; they still reside in the warm bosom of their kin. The book remembers the enormous legacy they leave behind—the conquest of Canaan and the assignment to the tribes of their precious inheritances.
For the narrator, the ending is not sad but satisfying. It provides an appropriate moment to draw one of the book’s key themes to a close—the exemplary, successful leadership of Joshua (cf. 3:7; 4:14; 8:30–35; 10:14; 10:40–42; 11:22). More important, the burials mark the closing bookend of the long epic from a promise received in Genesis to a promise realized in Joshua.21 Even gravesites celebrate the triumph of God’s historic plan in the nation called Israel.
On the surface, the whole scene seems peaceful and serene compared to the earlier battles and Joshua’s “grim admonitions” (chs. 6–12; 23).22 But in reality a dark cloud of uncertainty now hangs ominously over Israel, a threatening portent of things soon to come.23 The rest of the DH narrates the story of Israel’s gradual, downward, spiritual spiral (Judges) that eventuates in the Babylonian exile (1-2 Kings). Eventually, of course, a new Joshua—also a “servant of Yahweh”—would come to fulfill God’s plan for history and to inaugurate “a new kingdom unlimited by physical boundaries or human death.”24
Bridging Contexts
Bridging Contexts
THE BRIDGE FROM THE burial reports to life today may seem difficult, but it starts with an understanding of the burial practices in ancient Israel.25 Given the reality of physical decay that follows death, all cultures develop a way to dispose of the remains of their dead. Most also create ceremonial ways to honor them in doing so. Archaeological excavations in the ancient Near East commonly unearth a necropolis or cemetery area near cities, towns, or hamlets. Some, like the famous pyramids and rock-hewn tombs of ancient Egypt, attest the royal treatment that kings provided themselves in death, while others reveal the graves of less illustrious, mainly anonymous people across the social spectrum of wealth and poverty, of obscurity and prominence. Surprisingly, the Bible’s first recorded burial is Abraham’s burial of Sarah near Hebron (Gen. 23:19), an incident recorded and remembered because of its great importance for Israel’s history. It marks the first portion of the Promised Land owned by God’s people.
What motivated burials in Israel? In the garden of Eden God told Adam that “dust you are and to dust you will return” (Gen. 3:19), the first biblical declaration that humans are mortal and destined for physical decay at death. It alludes to the fact that humans (haʾadam) are made from the ground (haʾadamah), but the comment seems more to declare a sad consequence of Adam and Eve’s rebellion than to mandate that burials be done.
Instead, the association of corpses with ritual uncleanness apparently motivated Israel’s practice of burial. The law declares those who touch them to be unclean for a week (Num. 19:11; cf. Hag. 2:13), a condition that prohibits their participation in Israel’s public worship life. If they did, their presence would defile the sanctuary (v. 13; cf. Lev. 15:31) and render it temporarily unusable by everyone.26 Unclean persons pose a pollution threat to the purity of the whole community since everything they touch becomes unclean until sunset on that day (Lev. 15:22). To restore the defiled to ritual purity, the law requires a week-long ritual process administered by someone in a state of ritual purity sprinkling specially prepared water. The procedure includes the ritual washing of the affected persons and their clothes (15:17–19). This is deadly serious business: Failure to remedy uncleanness results in the exclusion of the person from Israel’s worship life. The risk they pose to the purity of the entire community must be dealt with (15:13, 20).
Archaeological evidence in Canaan shows that local terrain apparently dictated the specific mode of burial employed.27 In major urban centers like Megiddo and Hazor remains were first placed in earthen jars and then interred in pits within the city limits. By contrast, in low-lying terrain along the coastal plain, burials in individual pits within a larger cemetery complex are the rule, a practice that presumes prior preparation of the site by gravediggers. Finally, in the central mountains and foothills, burial in caves predominates and for obvious reasons. Such tombs come ready-made, offer easy access to those living nearby, and can accommodate multiple burials. Since Timnath Serah, Joshua’s final resting place, lay in the mountains of Ephraim, the Israelites probably buried him in such a cave. Certainly, modern Israeli pilgrims who occasionally visit the cave thought to be Joshua’s gravesite assume so, although the Bible is silent on the matter.
The three burial reports share one feature that suggests another aspect of Israel’s understanding of burial: Each locates the gravesite within the inheritance either of the individual or his tribe. Recall that in the Old Testament “inheritance” (Heb. naḥalah) is a technical word that designates land that Yahweh promised Israel, a promise whose final, happy fulfillment the book of Joshua narrates and in which every Israelite household shared (Josh. 13–19).28 Ownership of family parcels was inalienable; the family was to own it in perpetuity down through the generations (Lev. 25:23). This rock-bottom principle explains the terrible punishment that Elijah decreed on Ahab and Jezebel for their malicious scheme to get the vineyard of Naboth (1 Kings 21). They not only unjustly took his life—in essence, murder—but they also violated his inheritance rights in disobedience of Moses’ Instruction.
Joshua 24 takes pains to locate the burial of Joshua “in the land of his inheritance” (v. 30) and that of Joseph on land purchased by Jacob that came to belong to his descendants (v. 32). In place of tribal land, as a Levite Phinehas, Eleazar’s son, receives a city and its pasturelands somewhere in the central mountains of Ephraim (Josh. 21:5, 20–22). Somewhere near there Israel also buried Eleazar.
More than mere geography may underlie the above three notices, however. As Alexander observes, “The existence of a family tomb appears to have indicated permanent ownership of the surrounding land.”29 In other words, a gravesite symbolically enhanced a family’s claim to possession of property around it. This principle seems at work in the burial of Sarah by Abraham on land bought from Ephron the Hittite (Gen. 23). By selling the land for a burial place, the Hittites of Hebron apparently ceded its perpetual possession to Abraham and his descendants. If so, this may account for Jacob’s insistence that his sons also bury him there: It reasserts his family’s continuing ownership of the land and the rights of inheritance inherent in such ownership (Gen. 49:29, 31; 50:13).
In Genesis, that small parcel—at the time a mere toehold of possession in a vast land—thematically anticipated the full ownership that would fall to Israel when the divine promise came to realization. In the words of von Rad, “In death [the patriarchs] were heirs and no longer ‘strangers.’ A very small part of the Promised Land—the grave—belonged to them.”30 In short, the presence of ancestral graves apparently strengthened a family’s claim to ownership of the land surrounding them. Potential claimants may have interpreted such land as “occupied” and, hence, already owned, as if by the dead themselves. Such a view would certainly have ensured continuity of possession even when the tragic vicissitudes of famine and war forced families to flee their ancestral lands for extended periods of time (cf. Ruth 1:1–2).
More important, several biblical comments suggest that Israel sensed a mystical connection between living and dead family members. The thought underlies the simple report about the Exodus in Joshua 24:6: “I [the LORD] brought your ancestors out of Egypt, and you [pl.] came to the sea …” (my translation and italics). Now, only a few members of the audience in addition to Joshua and Caleb had experienced that event; their ancestors had all died in the wilderness, yet Yahweh says that “you came.…” The statement implies that his audience somehow participated in that event—an indication of a mystical connection across generations living and dead.
In another example, Naomi wishes that Yahweh may treat her daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah, with the same “kindness” (Heb. ḥesed) they have shown toward the living and the dead (Ruth 1:8; cf. 2:20). The statement’s precise sense defies firm definition, but it at least understands the dead as in some way recipients of the women’s kindness as was Naomi. Similarly, Boaz underscores the twofold purpose for his redemption of the inheritance of Naomi’s late husband, Elimelech: to “maintain the dead man’s name on his inheritance” (4:5) and to prevent his being “cut off from his kindred and from the gate of his native place” (v. 10 NRSV). Again, the precise meaning is unclear, but these comments imply a continuing existence of the dead as well as a connection between the dead and their inheritance, surviving clan, and hometown.31 Apparently, Israel thought that to have no heir possessing one’s inheritance adversely affected the dead in some undefined way.
Similarly, in exile Nehemiah laments the ruins of Jerusalem, twice calling it “the city where my ancestors are buried” (Neh. 2:3, 5 NRSV). Interestingly, it is the connection of Jerusalem with those graves that drives his passion to rebuild the city, not a concern for the temple, as one might expect (v. 5).32
The above cultural background sheds light on the present case of Joseph’s bones. Recall that Jacob chose burial with his ancestors (and wife, Leah), but Israel buried Joseph with his descendants. Since the latter had already received their inheritance, his burial implies less a concern for confirming inheritance rights than for a desire by his descendants to have him among them. The matter was of such importance to Joseph that he compelled his brothers to take an oath, promising to bring his bones from Egypt to Canaan with them. It was also of such importance to Moses that he took pains to execute the oath by bearing Joseph’s bones with him as he left Egypt (Ex. 13:19). It was of such importance to Israel that they carried the bones through the forty-year wilderness wanderings and through the conquest of Canaan under Joshua. And it was of such importance to settled Israel that they ensured their burial within the tribal territory of Ephraim, Joseph’s son.
In short, while a precise understanding of the details eludes us, the above texts suggest that Israel presumed an ongoing existence of the dead, in whatever form, that also connected them with their living family and their land. Indeed, the quality of existence they enjoyed in death seemed to depend on the quality of life enjoyed by their survivors.33
Contemporary Significance
Contemporary Significance
IN THE CLOSING ACT of Our Town by Thornton Wilder, the citizens of Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, huddle sadly under dripping umbrellas in the village’s windswept, hilltop cemetery. They are there for the funeral of Emily Webb, who died in childbirth at age twenty-four. Nearby, unseen and unheard by the mourners, several of the dead stoically reminisce about familiar names on the markers and about happier times. Unexpectedly, Emily herself emerges from the mourners, an invisible attendee at her own funeral, and updates her mother-in-law, Mrs. Gibbs, on what she and her husband, George, have recently done to their farm. Suddenly, she pauses, looks directly at Mrs. Gibbs, and says: “Live people don’t understand, do they?”
Her mother-in-law replies, “No, dear—not very much.”34
This scene voices one major theme of Our Town, the transience of human life—how quickly time passes and how important it is to make the most of the present. The burial reports in Joshua 24, speaking in the context of death, likewise sound several key themes for us to understand today: the reality of death, the importance of having and being good models, and the power of the resurrection at work in us. Hebrews 12:1–3 provides a kind of a midrash on Joshua 24 to guide our study:35
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Death: face it! Death is a topic that most people avoid because, quite frankly, it comes too close to home. Death is, we think, something that happens to other people. Indeed, “denial” is how psychologists describe the prevalent modern attitude toward it. The only time one hears it discussed is either in academia (they discuss everything!) or at funerals, where its reality is inescapable. A well-known cemetery in California shows one ironic cultural attempt to keep the reality of death at a safe distance despite the tombstones everywhere. Its stately, manicured grounds incorporate museums of beautiful art and outdoor displays of classic statuary that actually intend to attract tourists. Someone once called it the “Disneyland of Death”—a place to go for fun at the expense of death.
Like the rest of the Bible, however, the three burial reports in Joshua 24 accept death as an inevitable reality, but they also suggest that death, though extremely saddening, does not divide the people of God. The text pictures the union of living and dead on ancestral land in Canaan, and Hebrews 12 also speaks of a similar mystical unity that binds Christians, living and dead. Both texts point us toward an often-overlooked Christian reality that trumps the reality of death, the unity that the Apostles’ Creed calls “the communion of the saints.”
Contextually, Hebrews 12 follows up the so-called “Hall of Faith” (Heb. 11), the lengthy retrospective on famous Old Testament characters of faith. The initial “therefore” signals that chapter 12 draws the implications of those exemplary lives for the lives of the readers, the “we” whom the writer addresses. The latter includes Christian readers in any generation; the Hebrews writer addresses “us,” too.
Imagine the striking scene he surveys: an Olympic-like race course “marked out,” a course apparently of great distance since it requires runners to run “with endurance” (my translation) and to abandon unneeded weight. But the startling insight concerns the spectators who “witness” the event; they comprise not a “crowd” lining the course but a “cloud” enveloping both course and runners.36 They themselves are all former runners who know the course well, having completed it themselves. Also, they are completely nonpartisan: They cheer on all the runners, not just certain favorites.
At the end of the course, clearly visible to everyone, a solitary figure sits on the victor’s throne of honor awaiting the racers’ arrivals. During the grueling race, their eyes rivet on him, their hero and inspiration—the one in whose honor they devote themselves to run. The seated figure, of course, is Jesus, the greatest runner of all, conqueror of the cruelest race course ever run. To win the victory he endured jeering crowds and a shameful public crucifixion before rising again to occupy the honored victor’s throne beside his heavenly Father.
This is the scene in which every Christian’s life plays itself out today, much as Joshua, Joseph, and Eleazar did in theirs: We are all runners traversing a life course in honor of our Lord. But we are not alone: As Yahweh was with Joshua (Josh. 1:5; 3:7), so our beloved Lord Jesus is there watching us, as are all the ancient heroes who have finished their own races with great faith and endurance.
And they are not alone either. Elsewhere the New Testament informs us that another group—the “saints”—also comprises the witnessing crowd. “Saints” (hoi hagioi, lit., “the holy ones”) is the New Testament’s favorite term for Christian believers (e.g., Acts 9:13, 32; Rom. 8:27; 1 Cor. 14:33; Jude 3). The term implies that believers are “holy,” meaning “set apart” for God alone (i.e., his elect people), and, unlike sinners, enjoy unique, ongoing, intimate access to him. That same access enabled Joshua to petition Yahweh for cosmic help at Gibeon (Josh. 10:12–14).37 More important, the term “saints” also includes Christians who have died and gone to be with Christ. Death does not disqualify them from the title “saints” or remove them from membership in the body of Christ.
On the contrary, they share in God’s glorious inheritance along with living believers (Eph. 1:18; Col. 1:11–12) and are the “dead in Christ” who will accompany him at his return to earth (1 Thess. 3:13; 4:16; 2 Thess. 1:10). They are the martyrs whose firm faith in the face of death God will vindicate in future judgment on their executioners (Rev. 11:18–19; 16:5–6; 18:20, 24). Even in death they remain “in Christ” along with believers on earth. The Anglican Church’s Christmas service of Nine Lessons and Carols rightly calls them
those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light; that multitude which no man can number, whose hope was in the word made flesh, and with whom, in the Lord Jesus, we are one forevermore.
To speak more personally, these are Christians we know and love—dear family and close friends whose loss we grieve deeply and who now enjoy the very presence of our Lord Jesus. They comprise the so-called church triumphant—those who in death conquered death. We Christians on earth make up the church militant—those who still faithfully contend for the cause of Christ against oppression and injustice, against scoffing and ridicule, and in the face of ever-present temptations. It is that holy heavenly host of victorious runners that eagerly watches as we navigate our courses of discipleship in this life. In Christ we share a mysterious spiritual solidarity with all God’s people, both living and dead. The body of Christ remains united.
Having a hero. Joshua 24 remembers Joshua, Joseph, and Eleazar as heroes of faith, much as Hebrews 11 does its list. What makes them all heroic is their perseverance over the long haul, an indispensable trait their lives commend to us. Life in Egypt was no picnic for Joseph—he certainly did not want to be there! But his faithfulness in hardship enabled Israel to survive famine, and his burial at Shechem rightly honors him.38 Joshua similarly hung in with Yahweh through slavery in Egypt, the debacle in the wilderness, Israel’s defeat at Ai I, and the long era of conquest and settlement.
Similarly, it is the endurance through the entire race course of life that gives the cheering crowd of witnesses in Hebrews 12 credibility. Their perseverance challenges us to do likewise, and their example inspires us, too. At the same time, we should regard their heroism with a sober realism, lest we idolize them too highly and set for ourselves a standard impossible to meet. We need not think of them as super-Christians who achieved victory on their own. On the contrary, their races easily resemble ours: They sometimes strayed from the course marked out, stumbled, and fell. They sometimes sat down by the road in despair or shook angry, frustrated fists at God. (Remember Joshua’s bitter lament in 7:6–9?) They sometimes lusted with relish or harbored cynical desires for cruel revenge. And they sometimes spoke words that hurt others or turned a deaf ear to pleas for mercy.
Like us, they gained the victory because God’s grace worked to keep them persevering and because his mercy forgave all their sinful failures. Besides the trio in Joshua 24 stands Moses, who faithfully led Israel—but also grieved God enough to deny him entrance to Canaan. Among them stands David, who faithfully “served God’s purpose in his generation” (Acts 10:36)—but also committed adultery and murder (2 Sam. 12). Among them stand people whom we know—fumbling, weak, proud, and self-deluded folks just like us for whom God’s grace abounds.
But one clarification is necessary concerning the cloud of believers in Hebrews 12. According to the Bible they are merely encouraging witnesses, not advocates on our behalf. We need not venerate them, pray to them, or expect ongoing contacts or visitations. Nor can they intervene in our earthly affairs or in heaven with God on our behalf. Rather, in Christ we simply share, in the words of one hymn writer, “on earth … union with God the Three in One // and mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won.” Instead, the Hebrews writer stresses that they are our inspiration for perseverance.
Jesus, however, is our supreme inspiration. His endurance of hateful opposition, the writer says, will help us “not grow weary and lose heart.” We look to him, “the author and perfecter of our faith,” and his example of perseverance driven by his unwavering focus on “the joy set before him.” The demands of the Christian life are indeed often fatiguing and dispiriting, but the author suggests that moments of contemplation of Jesus will revive sagging spirits and renew flagging zeal.
At the same time, it is also beneficial to select an ordinary human hero—some lesser-known biblical character, revered family member, or famous Christian—whose devotion to Christ we highly admire and desire to emulate. Their exemplary life gives us a human model to follow, good human traits to cultivate in ourselves, and spiritual goals for which to aim. Each October around Halloween, the seminary where I teach celebrates “All Saints Day,” a special chapel service to remember believers related to our extended community who have joined the church triumphant. The chapel displays pictures of loved ones warmly remembered by someone among our faculty, staff, and students. A prayer celebrating their lives and remaining influence invites those present to say aloud the names of “saints” for whom they have special gratitude.
The service marks a simple way to connect with the heavenly church and to draw encouragement from their victory over death for our ongoing race. To remember the saints is to grab hold afresh of Christ’s triumph over death, as if to say, “I miss them, but what joy to know that in Christ we’re still closely connected!” I personally find it deeply satisfying to say, “Mom,” “Dad,” “Uncle David,” “Phil,” or “Sid and Nicey”—a few of my own heroes.
The whole experience seems to leave two powerful after-effects. (1) It lifts my eyes above the all-too-frequent doldrums of preoccupation with that day’s urgent demands so that I may see the race in eternal perspective. That helps me to sort out the really important from the less important. (2) My gratitude for them (and others) nudges me to live a life worthy of their memory, just as remembrance of our Lord Jesus does. So, who are your heroes of the faith? Besides Jesus and Joshua, to whom do you look for inspiration to persevere as you run your own course? Keep their memory before you at every turn in the long, difficult run.
Being a hero. Someone has said that most people spend their early years building up their resumé and their later years working on their obituary. As one passes the halfway point in life, it is, in fact, not uncommon for people to change their priorities from the pursuit of future success to the preparation of a legacy to leave behind. It finally dawns on them that they are soon to die and are running out of time if they want to leave one. They understand why Joshua in his old age summoned Israel twice to prepare them for the future (chs. 23, 24).
Having heroes also challenges us to be heroes to others watching us. By this I mean to live with an eye on leaving a legacy in the next generation—to prepare them for life with Christ after we are gone. Joshua 24:31 lauds Joshua for the fact that, during his lifetime, “Israel served the LORD,” a legacy that also persisted during the years “of the elders who outlived him.” He models what I am talking about. To be a hero would require us to make relationships with people a top priority—to follow the guiding principle that people are more important than anything else. But what would such a legacy look like? I suggest that a hero’s life should center around several important themes.
(1) We would model faithfulness to God throughout our lifetime. Of course, such modeling does not require perfection. On the contrary, in my view, the evidence of occasional imperfections, if not failures—and particularly how we handle them—enhances the impact our lives have on others. But the point is for our witnesses to see that we continue our walk with Jesus despite all that life may throw at us. It is crucial for them to see us persevere through adversity—unexpected unemployment, serious illness, great disappointment, severe loss, extreme fatigue.
(2) Another theme for our legacy would be honesty and integrity, both character traits in short supply these days. This means that we avoid underhanded or shady dealings of any kind. It means that we keep our word even when to do so may be inconvenient, undesirable, or costly. It also means that we treat people fairly, gently, and with low-key directness and transparency.
(3) A further theme would be a reputation for doing good for people. This, of course, was the reputation of Jesus (Acts 10:38) and also of the early Christian woman called Tabitha or Dorcas (Acts 9:36). The apostles often urged believers to make the doing of good a priority (Rom. 2:7; Gal. 6:9; Titus 2:7; 1 Peter 2:15). To do good is simply to treat people kindly, generously, and considerately. It means that we graciously give of our time, energy, and resources to help people in needs great and small. Also, doing good may require us, in a crisis or conflict, to stand up for what is right rather than to cave in to pragmatism. This means that when speaking, we always speak the truth, calling a spade a spade, albeit with gentleness. It also requires us to side with the weak against the strong, with the disadvantaged over the advantaged, and with the poor against the rich. In short, we model an appealing Christlikeness that represents Jesus well in our world and by example guides those watching us. Our tombstone epitaph would compare to that of the beloved, blind hymnwriter, Fanny Crosby (1820–1915): “She hath done what she could.”39
Two clarifications need to be made here. (1) To qualify as a hero does not require one to do something heroic. A steady, consistent, and caring simple life will do, as a poignant scene in Anthony Trollope’s novel The Last Chronicle of Barset illustrates. It offers a good summary of what it means to leave a legacy. The novelist narrates the burial of the Rev. Septimus Harding, a humble, relatively undistinguished clergyman associated with Trollope’s fictional cathedral at Barchester. Although before his death no one would have said that Harding was popular,
now that he was gone, men and women told each other how good he had been. They remembered the sweetness of his smile, and talked of loving little words which he had spoken to them, either years ago or the other day, for his words had always been loving.… And so they buried Mr. Septimus Harding, formerly Warden of Hiram’s Hospital in the city of Barchester, of whom the chronicler may say that that city never knew a sweeter gentleman or a better Christian.40
(2) It is important to see our heroic efforts from God’s perspective. Our ultimate goal—the motive that drives all the above heroic actions—is to honor God, to deepen our relationship with him, and to be used by him.
To pursue the traits of a hero is to please God, much as a child wants to make his or her parents proud. God highly values our honesty, kindness, generosity, and so on; they bring him great parental pleasure. To pursue the traits of a hero also serves to mirror the character traits of God himself so others may see him. Through us, God gives people brief glimpses of himself; that is one way that he draws people into relationship with himself. God uses people of godly character to bring the gospel and to advance the kingdom. As he valued and used the faithfulness of Joshua and Eleazar, so will he ours, too.
But such faithfulness is not an end in itself. Rather, the cultivation of godly character yields as its ultimate, lasting legacy a vibrant, wholesome relationship with God. For us it is not enough simply to follow the examples of biblical heroes, whatever their greatness. The lasting good that comes from that “following” is that, in so doing, we please and honor the God we love—that we enrich our relationship with him. As Joshua’s example fostered the faithfulness of an Israelite generation, so will our example foster faithfulness among those who may regard us as a hero.
The resurrection shadow. The three burial reports that conclude Joshua demarcate the end of one era and the dawn of another. Similarly, the resurrection of Jesus marks the crucial turning point in human history. That event distinguishes Jesus—someone dead and powerfully resurrected—from his namesake, Joshua—someone dead and honorably remembered. Besides defeating death, our bitterest enemy, Jesus injects a new power—resurrection power—into our lives to strengthen us to finish the race. That power keeps us running even when we feel like quitting.
The hope of the resurrection also gives great comfort when we grieve our lost loved ones. For Christians it sets an upbeat tone quite different from the frustration that Emily Gibbs faces as Our Town closes. She accompanies her mother home, hoping to teach the living what only the dead know, but the two realms cannot meet. Her mother neither sees nor hears her; the living simply do not “get it.” So, in the end, she bids Grover’s Corners goodbye and asks to return to the cemetery. At the last moment, she pauses and asks the stage manager, “Do any human beings ever realize life when they live it?—every, every minute?”
He replies, “No,” but after a pause adds, “The saints and poets, maybe—they do some.”41
Unlike Emily’s living survivors, Christian saints realize the importance of living each moment for Christ. They understand that they are in a race—not a rat race, but a distance race demanding endurance. Their eyes seek inspiration from the face of the victor, Jesus Christ, who eagerly awaits their arrival. Granted, at any given moment some runners may find themselves exhausted and unable to continue because of wounds suffered or blows absorbed. Some may feel themselves barely staying in the race because age has sapped them of the strength they once had. Others may feel themselves hitting their stride, having just brought someone to faith in Christ or entered new depths of relationship with him or finally conquered some long-standing addiction.
Wherever one is on the course, the challenge of Joshua 24—indeed, of the book of Joshua as a whole—is to lift our eyes to Jesus who waits to award us the victor’s crown and to present us the WDGFS Certificate (“Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant” [Matt. 25:21, 23]). The challenge today is to imagine the saints—our biblical and personal heroes—surrounding the course in spiritual solidarity with our faithful efforts. The task today is to feel the surge of resurrection power within us and to rededicate ourselves to continue the race, however slow our pace or unsteady our stride.
The race is on. The crowd of victorious saints watches and cheers. The victor’s crown and the Savior’s “Well done!” await us. Some of us are near the beginning, others somewhere along the course, and still others near its end. As we run, let us “fix our eyes on Jesus.…” Imagine his smiling face animatedly beaming approval. Hear his voice shouting to us, “Keep your eyes on me—and keep going!”