Original Meaning

The Report of the Jordan Crossing (3:1–17)

Preparations for Crossing (3:1–8)

PREPARATIONS FOR CROSSING (3:1–8). To open, the narrative reports Israel’s preparations for the upcoming exciting events (vv. 1–8). The morning after the spies’ return, Joshua and Israel shift their camp from Shittim, about six miles west, to the Jordan itself (v. 1). The early morning start may imply corporate eagerness energized by the spies’ debriefing finally to “get moving.” Three days later, the officers pass through the camp a second time to instruct Israel about the crossing (vv. 2–3; cf. 1:10–11). As noted above, the narrator specifically quotes their words without explaining how they came by them (vv. 3–4). They order the people to watch for the ark with its priestly bearers and follow it (v. 3b). This comment marks the book’s first mention of the ark of the covenant, the well-known golden box that will also figure prominently in the ritual conquest of Jericho (6:6, 12–13; cf. 7:6) and the covenant renewal ceremony at Shechem (8:33). Israel understood the space between the winged cherubim to be the royal throne over which Yahweh invisibly reigns (1 Sam. 4:4; 2 Sam. 6:2; Ps. 99:1).11

Here it symbolizes Yahweh’s royal presence with Israel and his sovereign leadership of the coming invasion.12 The ark (i.e., Yahweh) led Israel out of Egypt and through the wilderness (Num. 10:35), and now it will lead them across into Canaan.13 But, surprisingly, Israel is to follow the ark at a distance of about two thousand cubits (over half a mile).14 Keeping this distance serves a practical purpose: It enables Israel to know the proper entry route since this event will mark their first time in Canaan (v. 4). Theologically, the stipulation presupposes divine familiarity with Canaan, as if, unlike Israel, Yahweh has been on this road before. But it is one thing for Yahweh to lead, quite another for Israel to follow. Thus, the command sets a pattern for subsequent events—that Israel, indeed, must always follow Yahweh and fully depend on his presence. Such consistent obedience will set this generation apart from the prior one now buried in the desert sands along the road behind them.

Specific instructions follow in three brief narrative snapshots (vv. 5–8). Literarily, their brevity creates a sense of forward motion and momentum. Their quick succession and the lack of reported execution may also portray how helter-skelter were the camp’s preparations for departure. (1) Joshua commands the people (v. 5) to prepare themselves personally—to “consecrate yourselves” (Heb. qadaš, hithp., lit. “make yourselves holy”). This self-consecration is necessary because “tomorrow the LORD will do amazing things among you.” “Amazing things” (niplaʾot) are stunning feats that only God can do, deeds so incredible as to leave their witnesses gasping, “How’d you do that, LORD?”15 Biblical writers know Yahweh as the Wonder Worker par excellence (Judg. 13:19; 1 Chron. 16:9; Ps. 86:10). As examples, they often cite the Exodus from Egypt (Ex. 3:20; Judg. 6:13; Ps. 78:11; 106:7, 22; Mic. 7:15) and his mysterious work in creation and history (Job 5:9; 9:10; 37:5, 14; Isa. 28:29). But that Yahweh will soon do marvels “among you” promises the close proximity of his holy presence, and that puts sinful Israel at great risk. The threat is that “the LORD will break out against them” (Ex. 19:22)—that his holiness will ravage them.16

To avoid that catastrophe, Israel must become ritually clean (“consecrate yourselves!”), a ritual washing that commonly precedes biblical theophanies (Num. 11:18; Josh. 7:13; 1 Sam. 16:5; 1 Chron. 15:12; 2 Chron. 29:5; 35:6). Presumably, Israel will also abstain from sexual relations and don clean clothes the next day (Ex. 19:10). The requirement for ritual purity signals that this river crossing is a solemn religious ritual, not an ordinary military invasion.

(2) Joshua’s next command, this one to the priests (v. 6), confirms this—and invokes a thematic wordplay. They are to pick up the ark and “cross” (Heb. ʿabar) to the head of the line with the people behind them. This “crossing” positions them to lead the river “crossing” (or, better, to act out Yahweh’s leadership).

(3) In the final snapshot, Yahweh addresses Joshua with a personal promise (v. 7). “Today” will mark a momentous new beginning for Joshua, too. By doing “amazing things,” Yahweh will “exalt you in the eyes of all Israel.” The Lord will enhance Joshua’s stature in Israel to confirm that he enjoys the same close relationship with Yahweh as Moses did.17 With their own eyes Israel will recognize Joshua as their new Moses, the divinely appointed leader to trust and to obey. Shortly—and in dramatic fashion—they will demonstrate their willingness to follow him.

Yahweh concludes the final snapshot with a terse instruction through Joshua for the priests carrying the ark. At first glance, it makes little sense (v. 8). Rather than stop at the water’s edge, the priests are to stand (Heb. ʿamad) in the middle of the Jordan. But how can they possibly do that, given the river’s current flow at flood stage (v. 15)? Will they have to lift the ark above their heads to keep it dry? Will they have the strength to prevent the water from sweeping it from their hands downstream? The vague, curious instruction anticipates what follows, especially the stunning event soon to ensue.

The Crossing (vv. 9–17)

The crossing (vv. 9–17). The crossing event forms the heart of chapter 3. Joshua assembles the Israelites (“come here”) to hear “the words of the LORD your God” (v. 9). Apparently, we are not to understand his short speech (vv. 10–13) as a prophetic oracle since it lacks the messenger formula (“Thus says the LORD”; cf. 24:2). He also refers to Yahweh in the third (rather than first) person. But Joshua still claims that his words are Yahweh’s words. For the first time Joshua speaks as the mouthpiece of Yahweh just as Moses did (Ex. 4:28; 24:3, 4; Num. 11:24).18 If Israel believes him, this speech significantly elevates him as leader in their eyes. It confirms that Yahweh is indeed “with [Joshua] as [he] was with Moses” (v. 7).

After Israel has assembled, Joshua addresses them (vv. 9–13), immediately driving home the key point: “The living God … among you” is, indeed, about to drive out the seven peoples inhabiting Canaan (v. 10).19 As evidence Joshua simply points (Heb. hinneh, lit., “Look!”) to the ark of the covenant, at that moment standing before them borne by priests.20 Earlier references introduced the ark’s prominence in the crossing (vv. 3, 6, 8), but here Joshua underscores its singular role as symbol of God’s presence (v. 11; cf. v. 12).

The unusual, relatively rare title “the Lord of all the earth” (cf. also v. 13) highlights Yahweh’s sovereign lordship over a geographic sphere—the whole earth.21 Contextually, this is not an unimportant theological qualifier. It affirms that Israel’s covenant God—the one whose portable throne “will go into the Jordan ahead of you” (v. 11b)—is no local divine despot but the world’s only sovereign. Implicitly, it offers theological justification for his expulsion of the seven peoples and his gift of their land to Israel. His dominion over the whole earth means that he owns everything in it and, hence, has the authority to distribute any particular piece—Canaan, in this case—as he wishes. The title also creates the expectation that whatever happens when the ark enters the Jordan derives from that dominion. Next, Joshua commands Israel to select one man from each tribe for a purpose unstated here (v. 12) but probably clarified by 4:1–9.22 He ends his speech climactically with an astounding announcement: The Jordan is to stop flowing past the waiting Israelites (v. 13)!

Three wordplays in v. 13 underscore the significance of the amazing event. (1) According to Joshua, the event’s trigger is the entry of the (lit.) “soles of the feet” of the priests into the river, a key phrase in both vv. 8 and 13. The Old Testament often associates that term (NIV “set foot”) with the conquest of enemies (Deut. 2:5; 11:24; 1 Kings 5:3; Mal 4:3). The motif here may stamp the present story with a similar sense of conquest (cf. Josh. 1:3; 4:18): Yahweh asserts his authority over the Jordan River and all land westward.

(2) A second wordplay connects the “standing” (ʿamad [v. 8b]) of the priests with the ark mid-river as the actual cause of the “standing (still)” (ʿamad) of the Jordan’s flow (v. 13; cf. vv. 15–16).23

(3) A third wordplay makes an even wider, more important connection. The waters are to stand in a “heap (of water)” (ned), a term that elsewhere only describes what Yahweh did at the Red Sea (Ex. 15:8; Ps. 78:13). The pun hints that Yahweh is about to perform at the Jordan as stunning a miracle as he did at the Exodus. It also implies that the Jordan and Red Sea crossings are somehow connected, a point made explicit later (see 4:23). In short, the river’s waters are to be “cut off” and “stand up in a heap” upstream—an incredibly stunning way for the sovereign “LORD of all the earth” to open the gates of Canaan for Israel to enter!

Suddenly, the speech ends and the narrator steps forward to report that the crossing proper takes place exactly as expected (vv. 14–17). His literary style gives the report of the “amazing things” (cf. v. 5)—the stoppage of the Jordan’s flow—a slow, majestic, dramatic feel.24 A single, complex sentence rich with thematically important, repeated words opens the scene (vv. 14–16).25 The priests and ark lead the procession to the Jordan once Israel breaks camp (v. 14). At the river, a dramatic confrontation of the priests and ark (and Yahweh) versus the mighty river occurs (v. 15). The Jordan is at its mightiest—at flood stage (cf. 1 Chron. 12:15), angrily swollen by melting snow and spring rains. That makes a transit via known fords (2:7, 23) out of the question. It is almost as if the river defiantly dares Israel to attempt a crossing! But the trigger that ignites the miracle is the moment that the priests’ “soles” wade into (lit., “are dipped in”) the water’s edge.26 That instant marks the clash for sovereignty between ark and river, a conflict that the ark easily wins (“the water from upstream stopped flowing” [lit., “stood still”]; v. 16).

Up river “a great distance,” the water “piled up in a heap” (or dam) at the city of Adam near Zarethan (see 1 Kings 4:12; 7:46). Adam is probably Tell ed-Damiyeh (modern Damiya, Jordan), in antiquity a strategic city forty-five miles north of Jericho and just south of the Jabbok River. Important trade routes intersected there, and landslides there were known to dam the Jordan.27 Its association here with Zarethan, another important ancient city about thirty miles farther north, is curious. First Kings 4:12 invokes a similar phrase to locate Beth Shean, so perhaps—and for reasons unknown to us—Zarethan served as a common ancient reference point (cf. 1 Kings 7:46).

Whatever the case, the geographical comment assumes authorial knowledge gained after the fact, probably from local tradition around that area. The water upstream “stood (still)” (ʿamad), causing the Jordan’s flow downstream toward “the Sea of the Arabah (the Salt Sea)”—today, the Dead Sea—(lit.) to “cease” and “be cut off.”28 The gigantic disruption enables “the people [to cross] over opposite Jericho.” As the decamping of the people opens this stunning scene (v. 14), so their crossing here concludes it. After all, the people are the ultimate beneficiaries of the entire episode.

Finally, the narrator repeats a word to underscore the single astounding result of the stoppage (v. 17). The priests holding the ark “stood” mid-river and all Israel crossed “on dry ground” (beḥorabah; cf. 4:18). Elsewhere, “dry ground” (ḥorabah) designates nonwatery terrain—the opposite of “flood” or “sea” (Gen. 7:22; Hag. 2:6). Thus, for the writer, the “amazing thing” here is that the events transform naturally watery (and normally impassible) terrain into its dry opposite. The simple physical fact of dry soil underfoot confirms the reality of the miracle and symbolizes the victory of the ark (and its resident king, Yahweh) over the waters.

The “dry ground” motif also echoes another mighty, salvific act of Yahweh, his stunning parting of the Red Sea at the Exodus (Ex. 14:21).29 Further, the crossing apparently transforms “the whole nation” of Israel itself. Verse 17 marks the first time that the book calls Israel a “nation” (goy) rather than “people” (ʿam), perhaps a signal that “crossing the Jordan to become a landed people has meant a change in national status.”30

Strikingly, however, the author omits direct mention of Yahweh’s role. The priests’ feet and the ark are the stars—as it were, his stand-ins. Literarily, the omission casts the spotlight on the spectacular event itself—the breathtaking, dramatic scene Israel witnesses—rather than its divine source. But that, too, redounds to the glory of Yahweh: He need not be visible to wield overwhelming power. The reality of his powerful, invisible presence with Israel will prove to be a prominent theme in Joshua.

Yahweh’s Two Commissions of Joshua (4:1–24)

Bridging Contexts

THE ARK OF THE covenant. The ark of the covenant stands at the center of this dramatic story and is clearly the key to everything happening around it. The ark serves as a kind of “divine crossing guard,” stopping the Jordan’s flow until all Israel, including the priests, have safely crossed into Canaan. Basically a gilded wooden box, the ark represents the footstool to God’s throne and symbolizes the presence of Yahweh, otherwise invisible to human sight, amid Israel. The Old Testament narrates the ark’s long, storied history: its construction at Mount Sinai by the artisan Bezalel (Ex. 25:10; 37:1); its placement within the tabernacle’s Most Holy Place (26:33); its role as the place where God spoke to Israel through Moses (25:22; Num. 7:89) and repository of the law tablets (Deut. 10:2, 5; 1 Kings 8:9; cf. Heb. 9:4); its guidance of Israel through the wilderness (Num. 10:33–36; 14:44); its long residence in Solomon’s temple (1 Kings 8:6); and its apparent role in cultic rituals (Ps. 132:8).

The ark is often called “the most sacred object in ancient Israel,” a statement that several later episodes confirm.49 The first is 1 Samuel 5–6, the somewhat humorous account of how, while in Philistine hands, the ark so disrupted Philistine life that they gladly returned it to Israel (see below). Three minor incidents illustrate the overwhelming power associated with the ark. For failing to pay it due respect, Yahweh killed seventy members of one family (1 Sam. 6:19), as he did a man named Uzzah, who touched it without authorization (2 Sam. 6:6–7). Small wonder that the dangers of possessing such a holy object terrified Israel, David included (1 Sam. 6:20; 2 Sam. 6:9).

By contrast, when treated properly, the Lord’s blessing comes to those who treat it properly, as did Obed-Edom (2 Sam. 6:11). David retrieved the ark from its twenty-year exile at Kiriath Jearim and brought it to Jerusalem with great ceremony, installing it in a tent until its move into the temple (2 Sam. 6:16–19; 1 Kings 8:4). Interestingly, once there it apparently vanishes from history except for its mention by King Josiah three centuries later (2 Chron. 35:3). Jeremiah’s prophecy that after Israel returns from exile the ark will not be remembered, missed, or remade (3:16) seems to have come true.50 But Hebrews 9:4 remembers it, and John sees it in the heavenly temple (Rev. 11:19). Of course, it becomes the prized object in the motion picture Raiders of the Lost Ark, and some Ethiopian Christians claim that during Solomon’s reign an Israelite priest secretly brought it to Ethiopia where it still resides today.51

As fascinating as the ark is, modern Bible readers find the idea strange that a gilded wooden box would command such wonder and exude such power. Intrepid searches for the ark or the holy grail may make great movies but have little to do with daily life today. Since the Protestant Reformation (sixteenth cent. A.D.), many Christians (especially evangelical ones) no longer hold religious objects in special awe. Granted, they may wear lapel pins or necklaces with a cross, fish, or dove; or they may treat the church’s altar or communion table with more respect than, say, a folding table for church suppers. But they are not afraid to approach, touch, or handle the altar or communion table lest they die on the spot. And at the end of the day they probably store the pin or necklace with their other jewelry. Though symbolic of sacred themes, these objects enjoy no direct touch of God’s holiness or endowment of his frightening power. They are mere symbols—physical objects whose shape or associations point to events or meanings elsewhere.

Israel associated the ark with both the presence and the “hand (i.e., the power) of Yahweh” (e.g. Josh. 4:24).52 Because of this, some readers may wonder how the ark differs from an idol. The key issue with idols is that ancient rituals made them into a repository for the divine essence. A deity’s image was thought to actualize the deity himself or herself—to make it real or actual in a physical object. That is why ancient peoples treated them with such careful respect, for they thought that the image before them was a god. That is why idols formed the center of ancient worship. Through various cultic means, non-Israelites sought the intervention of treasured idols in their troubled lives. At the same time, they also felt free to carry the images around and to have them in their homes.

On one occasion Israel came close to treating the ark as if it were at least a magical good-luck charm, if not an actual idol. The Philistines had just inflicted a shattering defeat and great loss of life on Israel (1 Sam. 4). After the debacle, the response of Israel’s leaders was to ask why Yahweh had done this to them and to order that the ark be sent to the next battle. That way, “it [the ark] will save us … from … our enemies” (4:3). The implication of their words is telling: Their reliance was not on the presence of Yahweh with the ark but on “it” (the ark itself). Like their idolatrous neighbors, they felt free to move it around as they wished—in this case, to a battlefield. They seemed close to believing that the ark somehow actualized Yahweh and his mysterious powers—surely, perceptions akin to idolatry.

But the example from 1 Samuel 4 represents Israel’s distorted view of the ark, not the biblical view of it. Their error was to equate the invisible Yahweh with the physical ark and to presume upon his powerful presence with it. It was their sincere perception of things, but a perception woefully out of touch with reality nonetheless. Subsequent events plainly show it as illusory. In the next battle, with the ark on scene, the Philistines again routed Israel and—worse—actually captured the ark and took it home (vv. 10–11). Its capture gave the lie to Israel’s distorted perception. Apparently, the ark possessed no (or, at least, not enough) inherent power to defend itself against humans.

The biblical truth, by contrast, is that its powerful influence so evident on other occasions always derives from Yahweh’s presence with it. Thus, the first key way in which the ark differs from idols is this: The ark may be in God’s presence but it does not directly mediate God’s presence as idols were thought to do. The ark also differs from idols in a second key way: As a physical object, the ark does not offer a physical representation of Yahweh—that is, what Yahweh actually looks like. In the ancient world, bulls might visually present other gods (Baal, for example), but a gilded box in no way presents a visible image of who Yahweh is. On the contrary, the Bible stresses that Yahweh is completely invisible, unavailable to human sight, and hence impossible to represent.

Indeed, behind the prohibition against idols (Ex. 20:4; Deut. 5:8) stands an assumption: Yahweh’s majesty so defies physical representation by humans as to make all such attempts both futile and blasphemous. That was the error of the golden calves promoted by Aaron and King Jeroboam as representations of Yahweh (Ex. 32; 1 Kings 12:28; 2 Kings 10:29). They horribly misrepresented him! They were nothing but ugly, grotesque, silly forgeries—insults to God himself—and earned both promoters just punishment.

One should also remember another related, important biblical idea. People who attempt to “look at God” himself run the risk of instant death simply for doing so (Judg. 13:22; cf. John 1:18). Two thoughts may underlie this. (1) To look on God means for sinful eyes to look starkly at divine holiness, and that clash accounts for the death feared. (2) To look on God may imply human control, however limited, over him. In the ancient world, to “look on” something was, in a sense, to exercise some control over it. Our expression to “keep (something) in our sights” offers a helpful analogy. To keep a danger or a foe in our sights is to deprive it of the element of surprise, to subject it to our intimidating counterlook, and to give us time to sort out our options. In other words, it gives us more control over the situation than we would have otherwise.

By the same token, our human experience may mislead us into thinking that to look on God somehow shifts some sovereignty into our hands. That, of course, is a blasphemous thought, one also worthy of sudden death. Humans exercise not even one scanty scintilla of sovereignty over God. To even entertain such a thought offends God’s majesty and rightly earns his wrath. The whole idea of eyes connecting physically with God is out of the question. Thus, to look on the physical ark is not to look on God himself.

In other words, the ark is not an idol from the Bible’s viewpoint. It is a symbol of Yahweh’s invisible presence, not an actual physical representation of him. Neither individually nor as a whole do its physical properties (i.e., wood, gilding, adhesives, nails, cherubim, etc.) have any inherent powers. They are just inert physical objects. In short, as a symbol, the ark is like an arrow pointing away from itself to the invisible God hovering unseen above it. Despite the suggested similarities, it is not in fact an idol.

Remembrance of historic past events. Joshua 3–4 also stresses the remembrance of historic past events by God’s people. Indeed, though dimly glimpsed, the text seems to reflect some ancient Israelite practice, perhaps at Gilgal, as the occasion for the question-and-answer dialogue (4:6–7, 21–22). Deuteronomy 16:16 requires that all Israelite men meet at the temple in Jerusalem three times each year—at the annual Feasts of Unleavened Bread (i.e., Passover), Weeks (or Pentecost), and Booths (cf. Ex. 34:23; 2 Chron. 8:13). Each festival remembers some important event in Israel’s past, an event foundational to their national identity. In my view, such annual celebrations serve three purposes: (1) They ensure that Israel remembers the basic history; (2) they remind Israel of the unique identity and sovereignty of their God; and (3) they reaffirm the kind of conduct that pleases Yahweh and through which they are to live out their unique covenant identity.

For example, Moses commands Israel to “commemorate this day [the Exodus], the day you came out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery” (Ex. 13:3). The Passover reviews what happened at the Red Sea, reminds Israel of the overwhelming might of her covenant God, and reaffirms the availability of that power on any day. It also recalls Israel’s hardship as oppressed slaves and, thus, cultivates an attitude of Yahweh-like compassion toward fellow Israelites suffering hardship (see, e.g., Lev. 25:25–28, 35–38, 39–43).

Consider also the brief liturgy that Israelites recite in bringing their offering of firstfruits during the Festival of Weeks (Deut. 26:3–11). Each sets his basket of grain before the altar at the temple and goes through a liturgical summary of Israel’s early history. The summary runs from the patriarchs (“my father was a wandering Aramean …”), through the Egyptian oppression, the miraculous Exodus, and the settlement in Canaan (vv. 5–9). The offerer affirms that his grain gift acknowledges that the whole harvest is Yahweh’s gift to Israel (v. 10).

Once again the ritual recalls the long historical scenario that led to this moment. It reaffirms Yahweh’s identity and sovereignty—specifically, his “mighty hand and … outstretched arm” (Deut. 27:8) and generosity—and reasserts Israel’s unique identity in practical terms. By confessing his slave background and his presence in Canaan, the Israelite confesses his dependence on Yahweh’s goodness and, through his gift, acknowledges Yahweh’s sovereign sway over his own life. In sum, this liturgy links the individual’s personal story and faith with Israel’s national story and identity.

The fear of God. Finally, Joshua stresses the purpose of the twelve stones for Israel—to cultivate the fear of God in Israel (4:24b). At first glance, modern readers squirm uncomfortably at the idea of having to “fear” God. Such a thought seems to set up a theological clash between the angry God of the Old Testament and the loving God of the New. It seems to clash with our image of Jesus as loving and compassionate. To speak of fearing God also conflicts with the values of our contemporary “feel-good” culture.

I offer three comments to help us engage this concept realistically. (1) The cold, hard reality is that the “fear of God” is a central biblical teaching. God deems it so fundamental that he even put Abraham through a severe test—the sacrifice of his only son, Isaac—to find out whether Abraham truly feared God (Gen. 22:12). To fear God is one of God’s basic expectations of Israel (Deut. 10:12, 20; 1 Sam. 12:24; Prov. 24:21), and Peter also commands Christians to “fear God” (1 Peter 2:17). Thus, like it or not, Christians must “fear God”—whatever that means.

(2) That leads to my second comment—to define what “fear” means. In the Old Testament, the word “fear” means to treat with the highest respect or to hold in awe. In “fear” one responds to the greatness, majesty, and mystery of God. One squarely faces the gaping gap that divides Almighty God from puny humans. Biblical “fear” includes an element of “dread” or “alarm” at the thought of God. One senses a slight quickening of the pulse, a little sweating, a minor tensing of muscles, a feeling of being ill-at-ease. But such feelings derive from the awe that God’s wondrous nature inspires in us, not from a dread of divine irritability. They reflect visceral recognition that God truly is awesome! In sum, to fear God is simply to take him very, very seriously—and to live accordingly.

(3) My final comment concerns how we do that. According to the Bible, the fear of God is more than just an abstract idea. On the contrary, believers demonstrate that they fear God in specific actions. Consider a few selected biblical examples of such practical actions. Like Pharaoh’s officials, to fear God is to take his word seriously (Ex. 9:20); like Israel’s ancestors, it means to believe in him personally (Ex. 14:31; Ps. 40:3). To fear him compels one neither to insult the deaf verbally nor to trip up the blind (Lev. 19:14); it drives one to pay respect to old people (19:32) and to refrain from cheating others (25:17). It requires one to serve only him (1 Sam. 12:24) and to back up oaths by his name alone (Deut. 6:13), even when to do so hurts (Ps. 15:4). It is to affirm that

the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribe. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien, giving him food and clothing. (Deut. 10:17–18)

It means to put away other gods, to devote oneself exclusively to Yahweh (Josh. 24:14; Judg. 6:10), and to affirm, despite life’s ups and downs, that Yahweh’s “love endures forever” (Ps. 118:4). In short, we demonstrate that we fear God by doing specific things because we know that they please him.

Contemporary Significance

Contemporary Significance

MEMORY. “THERE ARE THREE things I can’t remember,” the old professor said. “I can’t remember names, I can’t remember faces, and … hmm, let’s see … , well, I guess I can’t remember the other thing I can’t remember!” The human mind is a truly remarkable organ. The longer I live, the more amazed I am at the surprising things that my brain recalls. Even more amazing, scientists say that we only use a small percentage of our brain’s total capacity.

We all face the problem of remembering—or, put differently, our tendency to forget. Part of the problem is that we have so much to remember these days. Modern media bombard our brains with all kinds of facts and claims, some of which ideally one ought to store away in memory. We must recall our social security number for official forms, our PIN number to retrieve cash from the ATM, and both our regular and cell phone numbers to tell others. Important dates also beckon for recall. The larger our family, the more birthdates and anniversaries require remembering, and the larger our circle of friends and coworkers, the more data about them we store away for recollection at the right moment. Many a spouse has paid a heavy price for forgetting an anniversary! Many an employee has suffered embarrassment for failing to match the right information with the right client!

Worse yet, we all live enslaved under a modern pharaoh known as “the tyranny of the urgent.” Besides the media bombardment, “urgent” matters constantly crowd our consciousness jockeying for attention. We spend our days like a firefighter answering one alarm bell after another, leaving some of life’s really important matters undone. The constant data bombardment and tyranny of the urgent leaves us with an uneasy feeling that our minds are hopelessly cluttered. Sadly, we recognize ourselves in Hazel, a character novelist John Steinbeck describes:

… casting about in Hazel’s mind was like wandering alone in a deserted museum. Hazel’s mind was choked with uncatalogued exhibits. He never forgot anything but he never bothered to arrange his memories. Everything was thrown together like fishing tackle in the bottom of a rowboat, hooks and sinkers and line and lures and gaffs all snarled up.53

The cluttered mind poses a unique danger to our lives. It makes us forget things which matter most, including our walk with Christ.

Joshua erected twelve stones at Gilgal so that future Israelite generations would remember what had happened there. He wanted Israel not to forget an astounding miracle (i.e., an “amazing thing”)—that Israel had entered Canaan on dry ground because the ark stopped the Jordan’s flow. Remembering that miracle would remind Israel of the unstoppable might of their warrior God and challenge them to reaffirm his sovereignty over their lives. It would drive them back to a firm, steady, convinced, life-altering fear of him. But we might ask, what miracles should we remember? And how should we remember them so that our fear of God remains high?

Of prime importance for Christians is the atoning death of Jesus Christ. The cross marks the crucial event, the historical watershed, that brought humanity salvation. It comprises the Christian counterpart of the Red Sea-Jordan crossing sequence for the Israelites. Further, like Joshua, Jesus took pains to ensure that his followers remember his death. At the Last Supper, he declared, “This is my body given for you” (Luke 22:19), in retrospect an allusion to his willing submission to crucifixion. But he adds, “Do this in remembrance of me,” thereby instituting what we now practice as communion or the Eucharist.

Early Christians took his command literally, including the “breaking of bread” (i.e., communion) among their several acts of devotion (Acts 2:42). The apostle Paul quotes the above words of Jesus in his instructions concerning the LORD’s Supper (1 Cor. 11:24). He even extends them to apply to the cup of wine; we are to drink it in remembrance of him, too (v. 25). In short, the observance of the Lord’s Supper is the prime way in which we remember “amazing things” God has done. They include the fact that Jesus voluntarily died so that, in the mysterious workings of God’s plan, his followers might enjoy release from their slavery to sin. They include the close relationship with their Creator and loving Heavenly Father that faith in Christ restores. More important, Paul adds, our times of remembrance in reality constitute times of proclamation: “… whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (v. 26).

How can we make our communion observances both remembrance and proclamation? Joshua 3–4 and the Old Testament’s practice of remembering suggest several things. (1) They remind us to include a review of the historical event(s) behind communion as part of our observance of it. Without the events of Passion Week, there is no crucifixion, and without the crucifixion there is no point to the Lord’s Supper. In planning communion occasions, church leaders would do well to include Scriptures that narrate the events. I suggest that each occasion focus on one or two scenes from the gospel accounts of Jesus’ final two days, thus reviewing the entire story over several months. In part, observances should feature the reading of those scriptural accounts.

But Scripture can be read in some creative ways. For example, Scripture may be read by groups on the model of a Greek chorus, by using a narrator and readers, by a minidrama acted out, by a leader and congregational response, and the like. Such creative, carefully thought-through readings can enhance communion times significantly. The participation each time of a few audience members or the whole congregation can deepen the experience for everyone.

The point is that the repetition of Scripture over time—and by “time,” I mean years—will go a long way toward firmly fixing the events of Jesus’ death in the minds of the congregation. Indeed, this practice may be more crucial than we might think in light of the pervasive influence of postmodern thought in the larger culture. In a world that has little interest in “the past,” especially the distant past, churches would do well to keep the past alive among its members. It is essential that believers remember how Jesus went to the cross—and that his passion is actual history, not to be equated with Star Wars or Beauty and the Beast.

(2) Communion observances could be more family-centered. In Joshua 4, the remembrance of the Jordan crossing centers around a child’s question and an adult’s answer. Practical necessity probably led to it. Unlike today, each Israelite family did not have their own copy of the narrative about the Jordan crossing. Understanding of it had to pass from one generation to the next through liturgies performed on site annually such as that (or those?) that I speculate underlie Joshua 3–4. Families had to pass it on by telling the story again and again over the years. Such family observances offer an obvious educational advantage: Everyone learns what happened and what it means, not just adults.

But an underlying theological assumption merits mention as well. To include children as participants in remembrance says that that remembrance has meaning for children as well as adults. Now, this suggestion to make communion occasions more family-centered may raise an unsettling ecclesiastical issue for some churches. Many bodies discourage, if not prohibit, children from taking communion before they complete confirmation or make their own personal profession of faith. But my point is not necessarily that childen take communion but that they somehow participate in its observance. With proper instruction, they can fully enjoy their role in the church’s remembrance while fully understanding the reason why they cannot take communion.

Further, I suggest the question-and-answer pattern of Joshua 4 as a pattern for a family communion reading. As an example, I offer the following:

Leader:	We meet at this table because Jesus passed on this practice to his disciples who passed it on to us. We meet to remember what happened on the night that he was betrayed.
Child:	(holding up the bread) This bread—what does it mean to you? Why do you eat it?
Parents:	(taking the bread) We eat it because Jesus said, “This is my body given for you.” We eat it to obey Jesus’ command, “Do this in remembrance of me.”
Child:	(holding up the cup) This cup—what does it mean to you? Why do you drink it?
Parents:	(taking the cup) We drink it because Jesus said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood.” We drink it to obey Jesus’ command, “Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”
Everyone:	And so let us remember the death of Jesus. Let us eat and drink in his memory and, in so doing, “proclaim his death until he comes.”

If done well and wisely, such simple ceremonies celebrate that Jesus died for everyone, young and old, even though only confirmed members or those of personal faith may actually take the elements. In addition, there are other ways to make the Lord’s Supper more family-centered. Traditionally, church elders and/or clergy serve communion, but churches whose ecclesiology so allows might enlist families to serve communion and create appropriate ways for them to do so. I suggest also the inclusion of single-parent families, single adults, and senior citizens in these creative observances, for example, by forming them into symbolic families. The point is that, as everyone participates, everyone comes to learn and relearn the fundamental fact that Jesus died so that everyone, whatever their age or status, might have the forgiveness of sins.

Author William Barton illustrates why we observe communion in a parable by his fictional teacher, Safed the Sage, entitled “Things Not to Be Forgotten.” One day Safed was traveling by train through Kansas when the train stopped for lunch. Disembarking, the wise man noticed a little park by the station in which stood a white post three feet high. Affixed on top Safed recognized an old-time draw-bar, coupling pin, and link used to couple train cars together. The post bore the inscription, “Lest We Forget.” The Sage surmised that this was a memorial to the man who had invented the safety coupler, but the station clerk said he could not confirm that—he had never seen the post. The station manager said that he had forgotten whom it honored. Later, aboard the departing train, Safed mused on his experience:

And I considered the days of my boyhood, when I played about the Cars, and I knew Railway men; and many of them lost fingers that were crushed in coupling cars; and many lost their hands, and others lost their lives.

And I said, Behold, there was a man who considered all these things, and sat up nights, and peradventure pawned his Shirt that he might invent a method of avoiding all this. And here is his memorial, marked, Lest We Forget, and some men pass it every day and never see it; and others once knew its meaning but they have forgotten.

And I looked out of the car window, and I beheld a Church, and upon the Church was a Spire, and upon the Spire was a Cross.

And I thought of the multitudes who continually pass it by, and I was grieved in mine heart; for I said, Among them are those who say, I have never seen it; and others say, I have seen it, but what it meaneth, behold I know not. And others say, Behold I once knew, but I have forgotten.54

But I aver that, besides the cross of Christ, we remember our own personal “historic events.” By this I mean the stories of events that mark crucial turning points in our spiritual pilgrimage. Perhaps it is the story of how we came to personal faith in Christ, how God healed us of some grave disease, how God guided us to important decisions, how he shielded us from physical or spiritual dangers, or how he shepherded us through some deep, dark valley of despair. Granted, our stories do not have the saving significance of biblical events. They may also lack the miraculous element of biblical ones. But they have two important elements: They mark memorable life-changing events, and they are ours. They lead us to say, with young Pip in Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations:

That was a memorable day for me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.55

These memorable events confirm that the mighty God who parted the Red Sea and stopped the Jordan still does “amazing things” today. Furthermore, I advise us to find our own twelve stones—some tangible, symbolic object—to memorialize that event. Like Joshua’s twelve stones, such symbols should obviously reflect some design and intention and be publically displayed in our homes, workplaces, or churches. But they should be subtle, usually without any inscription (unless it be a vague one). They are not a billboard or bumper sticker that puts out a relatively clear message in words. No, their critical function is to cause those who see them, who do not know their meaning, to ask questions. The questions then give us the opportunity to tell the personal story to which the symbol points.

I am aware of two examples in which believers follow the example of Joshua 3–4. My wife’s mother has a friend who in his living room displays, in plain sight, a simple pile of stones. Their configuration reflects design and presupposes careful arrangement, which means that they are not there by accident. There is nothing written around them to explain their meaning. Nor does the man direct attention to them or prod his guests to pay the piled stones special notice. The stones sit silently, emitting a mute message that soon pricks the visitor’s curiosity. When the latter finally asks, “What do these stones mean?” the host picks them up, sets them down on the coffee table, and replies, “Please sit down. Whew, have I got a story to tell you!” He then tells his curious guest his personal testimony of how Christ rescued his life from self-destruction.

Also, a simple, pleasantly configured arrangement of large stones stands in front of Community Bible Church in Central Point, Oregon. It bears a bronze plaque that quotes the question-and-answer verses from Joshua 4, but it does not detail the “amazing thing” in the life of the church that occasioned it. At the time, significant numerical growth was straining the church’s facilities, so the congregation launched a building program that required the raising of a quarter-million dollars to meet a series of large, monthly financial obligations. The dollar amount needed stretched the church’s resources, but God faithfully provided it and the building program reached its goals. The simple stone monument remembers God’s faithful provision during those critical months and, according to Pastor Pete Slusher, reminds the congregation that “the God who could supply a quarter-million dollars can take care of us.”56

Both these examples model ways for us to bear witness to our experiences of God’s “amazing things.” By following their example, we ensure that our family and friends learn of God’s work in our lives, and we testify that God still opens up our impassable Red Seas and puts a stop to our Jordans so that we can move ahead for God. These symbols demonstrate in tangible form that we do, indeed, fear God. Just as Joshua wanted.

God’s presence among his people. Finally, the ark of the covenant plays such a prominent role in Joshua 3–4 that we might ask whether it might have a modern equivalent. In more liturgical churches, burning altar candles and incense symbolize God’s presence among his people, while Roman Catholics affirm the “real presence” of Christ—his actual body and blood—in the elements of the Eucharist. More informal churches associate the presence of God with the presence in one place of his gathered people.

Two theological truths undergird this assumption: (1) Jesus’ teaching that he is present whenever two or three believers meet together (Matt. 18:20); and (2) Paul’s idea that both the corporate church (1 Cor. 3:16–17; 2 Cor. 6:16; Eph. 2:21) and the individual Christian (1 Cor. 6:19) constitute the temple in which God lives. Thus, according to this view, the presence of God becomes evident when the church gathers for worship. Jesus joins the assembled group in a special way, and the gathering, as it were, forms a mystical temple in which God dwells and in whom his Spirit works.

More commonly, Christians associate God’s power with the Scripture and with the Holy Spirit. Both the Old and New Testaments acknowledge the power of God’s Word to cause its announced events to happen (Num. 11:23; Isa. 24:3; 55:11; Heb. 4:12). That assumed power undergirds the preaching of the prophets and the proclamation of the gospel, especially when empowered by the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 2:4–5; 1 Thess. 1:5; cf. Zech. 4:6). It also gives force to the gospel witnessing and Christian service that we do today. But one might argue that some Christian behaviors seem to treat the printed Bible itself as a sacred icon endowed with mysterious power. That assumption helps explain why some believers prominently enshrine it in their homes—and why they would not dare throw one away. They are too afraid that something akin to poor Uzzah’s fate might befall them if they do!

Despite such questionable conduct, the point to remember is that, even without ark-like holy objects in our possession, God remains a powerful presence in our lives. He channels that power through Scripture and empowers both the Word and God’s people through the Holy Spirit. It might be nice to have a spiritual magic wand that would, on command, release wonderful blessings or unleash terrible destruction. But Christians are not powerless. In Scripture they have the mighty Word of God, and in their midst moves the Spirit of God, both of which have power to work “amazing things” even today.