Original Meaning

Ai Attack I (Joshua 7:1–26)

A Deadly Secret (7:1–15)

A DEADLY SECRET (7:1–15). Without preface or fanfare, the narrator reveals a shocking, deadly secret (v. 1): “Israel acted unfaithfully in regard to the devoted things [ḥerem]” (v. 1). At Jericho, someone apparently kept them as spoils of war rather than hand them over to Yahweh as he commanded.7 The language is blunt, emphatic, and fraught with terrible consequences; it casts an “atmosphere of foreboding” over the chapter.8 The priestly theological term maʿal (“to act faithlessly”) describes a highly serious, treacherous breach of trust between Yahweh and Israel (cf. 22:16, 22).9 In this case, maʿal (“disloyalty, infidelity”) amounts to stealing Yahweh’s money right out of the offering plate.10

The culprit, the one who took items from Jericho, is a man named Achan with an impressive, prestigious pedigree (“son of Carmi, the son of Zimri, the son of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah”; cf. v. 18). His tribe will soon produce Israel’s royal dynasty, so he is “as Israelite as Rahab is Canaanite, which makes his violation … even more egregious.”11 For the first time in the book, God is furious with the Israelites. In Butler’s words, “Israel has become the enemy rather than the people of God.”12 Readers know about the crime, the criminal, and God’s fury (v. 1), but Joshua and Israel remain in the dark, oblivious to the readers’ sense of foreboding.13 They only learn about them when—to their great surprise!—the foreboding becomes an unhappy reality in unexpected events at Ai.

As with Jericho, Joshua acts on his own, dispatching another reconnaissance team to spy out the region around Ai (Heb. haʿay, lit., “the ruin”; v. 2). Thus far such initiative has been rare in Joshua: Yahweh has orchestrated virtually all the events of chapters 1–6.14 The reader wonders how the outcome of this spy mission will compare to that of the last one (Josh. 2). The selection of Ai, a town in the central mountains just east of better-known Bethel, makes good military sense.15 A victory there will drive an Israelite wedge into the very heart of the land and give Israel access to the main roads in all directions.

Again, as at Jericho (2:24), the spies’ report on Ai is positive (7:3): no need to march the whole army up there; a force of two or three thousand will easily overwhelm Ai’s small garrison (“only a few men”). Of course, physically this attack is far more demanding than that against Jericho. A few miles across flat terrain hardly compares to an uphill trek thirteen miles inland to three thousand feet elevation. On the spies’ advice, Joshua sends “about three thousand” soldiers (actually about five hundred) to Ai but with shocking results: Ai’s “few” defenders send the group of soldiers packing (v. 4).16

The author drops a few details to highlight the irony. The greatly outnumbered “few” kill about thirty-six Israelites, then go on the offensive, chasing the invaders from their front gate. They overtake the Israelites at the nearby town quarries and clobber them as they retreat downhill (v. 5a).17 Worse, enemy hearts had melted in fear of Israel (2:11; 5:1), but now wishy-washy courage haunts Israel (“hearts … melted and became like water”; v. 5b). So much for the Israelite invasion juggernaut! Grave doubts suddenly plague Israel: Will God enable them to take even one more city, much less the whole land? Right before the reader’s eyes, frightened Israel is looking more and more like the Canaanites.18

Joshua himself acts out his own bitter grief over the crisis (and perhaps over his personal responsibility for it). He tears his clothes and joins the tribal leadership (“the elders”) in tossing dust on their heads and in laying face down before the ark until the evening (v. 6). (Presumably, they also wail loudly or keep deathly quiet the whole time.) These gestures typically express great sorrow over a death or a grievous setback (Gen. 37:34; 44:13; Lam. 2:14; Ezek. 27:30). The dramatic prostration of Israel’s leadership before the ark probably aims to enlist God’s attention to the tragedy—the mourners (unlike the reader) oblivious to its root cause. Defeat in only the second battle of the campaign bodes ill for Israel and certainly marks the scene as the saddest thus far in the book.

About nightfall, Joshua finally speaks (v. 7), addressing God with a typical formula of deference, “Ah, Sovereign LORD” (cf. Judg. 6:22; Jer. 1:6; 4:10; Ezek. 4:14; 9:8). He then asks an accusatory question: Why did Yahweh bring “this people” across the Jordan only to hand “us” over to the Amorites for destruction? The question echoes questions Moses also raised when his obedience resulted in a crisis rather than success (i.e., Ex. 5:22; 32:11; cf. Num. 11:11).19 In wishing (“If only …”) “we” had “been content” to stay on the Jordan’s other side (v. 7b), Joshua also sounds like Israel’s grumbling against God and Moses in the wilderness (Num. 14:2; 20:3; cf. Job 6:2).20 His preference for Transjordan over Canaan equates to the earlier generation’s hankering for Egypt over the desert (Num. 14:2; cf. 20:3).

Given Joshua’s ignorance of Achan’s perfidy, one may forgive him the frustration and indignation with which his words ring. Indeed, unlike his ancestors whose grumbling voiced rebellion, Joshua here simply invokes the hyperbole of lament and regret. Besides, he still addresses Yahweh with a formula of respect (“O Lord” [Heb. bi ʾadonay, “by your leave”]), bowing to Yahweh’s authority as a preface to his next cry of frustration (v. 8).21 He does not know what to say after Israel has turned tail (Heb. ʿorep, “back of the neck”) and fled from their enemies. What command or pep talk can he possibly give to drive the invasion forward?

Worse, the retreat has damaged Israel’s psychological advantage over the peoples of Canaan (v. 9). Israel’s self-confidence and popular perception of invincibility are gone. One imagines them fearfully huddled in their tent camp at Gilgal with no fortified cities to run to. Joshua himself fears the camp’s vulnerability to easy encirclement and annihilation by the enemy (“wipe out [lit., cut] our name”). Rhetorically, the subtext of Joshua’s lament argues that Yahweh has a huge stake in Israel’s survival and, hence, that God should consider—perhaps even feel obliged to—intervene. Here Joshua sounds like Moses, who twice interceded to win Yahweh’s forgiveness and end his threatened judgment—once at Sinai after the golden calf episode (Ex. 32:11–14), and once at Kadesh Barnea after the spies’ report (Num. 14:13–19). The irony is that, unlike Moses, Joshua argues for Israel’s survival without knowing the real threat to Israel—Yahweh’s anger over Achan’s sin.

Finally, Joshua ends his soliloquy the way he began it—with a question (but a more personal and pointed one than before) to drive home what he sees as ultimately at stake here for Yahweh. He plays on the word “name” (šem): If “our name” is gone, he asks, “what then will you [Yahweh] do for your own great name?” (italics mine) A “great name” is what people today call a “good reputation.” It connotes the positive standing or reputation that friends, coworkers, and even total strangers who have “heard something” accord someone they respect (e.g., Gen. 12:2; Deut. 26:19; 2 Sam. 7:9; 8:13).

Obviously, Yahweh’s reputation in Israel (Ps. 76:1; cf. 1 Sam. 12:22) and among the nations is solid (1 Kings 8:42; 2 Chron. 6:42; Mal. 1:11, 14). The Gibeonites will shortly cite that fame as their reason for proposing a peace treaty with Israel (Josh. 9:9–10). It is the respect (lit., “name”) that Yahweh won in Egypt and east of the Jordan. But, as Moses once argued, that reputation may suffer if the nations (esp. Egyptians and Canaanites) hear about Israel’s misfortunes and interpret them as signs of Yahweh’s weakness or even malevolence (Ex. 32:12; Num. 14:13–16).

So Joshua makes the same pitch. If we grant Yahweh’s absolute sovereignty, Joshua’s subtext implies that the loss of Israel will tarnish the greatness of Yahweh in the nations’ eyes. Unflattering, cynical rumors of his catastrophic failures will spread. He will become the laughingstock of his enemies. Like it or not, his reputation hangs on Israel’s quality of character and historical success, so with Israel gone, Joshua asks, “What then will you do for your own great name?” For a human addressing God, the argument is amazingly bold and personal—very much like those of Moses. As Boling puts it, “Here at the climax of his complaint Joshua means to hit where it will hurt the most. And it brings a response.”22

Response, indeed! “Stand up! What are you doing down on your face?” Yahweh barks with obvious irritation (v. 10). In God’s eyes, Joshua’s posture and procedure are totally out of line—in modern terms, he “just doesn’t get it.” This is not about divine inattention but about Israel’s sin (“Israel has sinned”; v. 11). In highly provocative words, Yahweh rapidly ticks off what has him so ticked off:23 Israel’s “sin” involves covenant breach (i.e., the keeping of “devoted things”)—in other words, theft, trickery, and presumed ownership of things that belong to him.24 To put “holy” things (i.e., items set aside for God’s use alone) to “profane” use particularly offends God’s holiness.

This outrage explains the disaster at Ai (v. 12)—why Israel lacks the courage to take on their enemies, turning tail and running instead (cf. v. 8). In short, Israel itself has now become what it stole—ḥerem (“destined for destruction”)—and unless they do what they should have in the first place (i.e., destroy the hidden ḥerem) Yahweh refuses to be with them. They can go wherever they like, but they do so without his powerful, protective presence (“I will not be with you anymore”)—the ultimate vulnerability! They have “a serious and malignant presence”—a virtual Canaanite—within their ranks (i.e., Achan). Their annihilation as a people hangs in the balance!25

But Yahweh spells out the conditions to be met to satisfy the divine “unless” (vv. 13–15). Joshua must “consecrate (qadaš pi.) the people,” ordering them to “consecrate yourselves” (qadaš hith.) for a ceremony the next day (v. 13a). To underscore its absolute importance, its rationale comes in a prophetic-like oracle (“this is what the LORD … says”). Yahweh addresses the people directly, as if throwing his full weight behind it. He bluntly confronts Israel with two painful facts of life: There is ḥerem somewhere in the camp right now, and they will not win another victory until they completely “remove” it (v. 13b). As Hess writes, “Either Israel must destroy the devoted things … or it will be destroyed as devoted things.”26

The oracle also details the removal procedure (vv. 14–15). Tomorrow morning, Israel is to present themselves before God by tribes so that Yahweh may sift out (lit. “take” [lakad, “capture, trap”]) the mystery man’s tribe, clan, and family step by step. Then, each man in the family is to pass until the lot “takes” the one hiding ḥerem. Probably, Yahweh “takes” through the casting of lots, although the text does not so specify.27

An interesting ancient Near Eastern parallel suggests what the process may have been like.28 The lots would have been two stones, one white and one black, respectively signifying a “yes” or “no” answer to the question, “Is this tribe/clan/family/individual the one?” As Joshua presided, someone (perhaps a priest) would draw out one stone hidden in his clothing to evaluate each candidate. A “no” would exclude the party from further consideration, while a “yes” would lead to further winnowing until the individual was “taken.” Theologically, the procedure assumes that Yahweh’s hand invisibly guides the lot drawing to flush out the secret crook. The officiant might even repeat the process three times with each candidate to verify that divine guidance rather than mere chance lay behind the result.29 Elsewhere lakad describes the capture of cities, so the text may also portray this “capture” as a unique act of Yahweh’s war against an internal enemy.30

The penalty is severe: the individual and everything he has will be burned—and for two reasons: He has violated the covenant (cf. v. 11) and “did a disgraceful thing [nebalah] in Israel” (v. 15b).31 Elsewhere, nebalah (“folly, outrage”) describes sexual immorality (e.g., Deut. 22:21) and more general foolish acts that violate accepted norms of fairness. Phrases like “such a thing is not done (in Israel)” often further explain the word, showing that nebalah-action transgresses a commonly accepted standard of conduct. The act here amounts to an egregious intrusion into Yahweh’s sacral sphere, one worthy of execution by fire.

In short, this is not a petty crime but deadly serious business, and the direst of consequences follow. Singlehandedly, the man has returned Israel to their precrossing state of uncleanness (see 3:5) and driven Yahweh from their midst.32 They are no longer “holy” enough to wage Yahweh’s war. Worse, without Yahweh fighting for them, they are doomed to disastrous defeat (cf. vv. 7–9). The only antidote is to unmask the mystery man whose disgraceful, secret theft of Yahweh’s ḥerem now imperils Israel’s very survival.

Joshua’s Discovery (7:16–26)

Joshua’s discovery (7:16–26). Early the next morning, Joshua executes the plan. Strikingly, impersonal, passive verbs (“was taken”) replace the active verbs (“Yahweh takes”) of the instruction. The scene is high drama, the atmosphere tense. Huge numbers of nonwar veterans—women, children, and nonmilitary males—probably turn out to witness it. One can imagine nervous glances of suspicion among the groups “taken” and sighs of relief by those not.

Quickly, the process identifies the tribe (Judah; v. 16), the clan (the Zerahites), and the family (Zabdi; v. 17). Finally, the lot nabs the traitor from among Zabdi’s males, Achan, and the narrator ticks off his illustrious lineage (v. 18). Subdued comments probably ripple through the crowd at the shocking revelation, and a mini-trial ensues. Joshua addresses Achan as “my son” (v. 19), the way superiors speak to subordinates (1 Sam. 3:16; 4:16; 2 Sam. 18:22). He commands him to “give glory to the LORD … and … praise” (cf. 1 Sam. 6:5). The command assumes that Achan’s crime somehow violates Yahweh’s honor and praiseworthiness, so now Achan must offset that offense by repaying Yahweh the proper respect. In short, Achan must make a full confession (“Tell me what you have done …”).33

Achan does so (v. 20), invoking a typical confession declaration formula (“I sinned against Yahweh”; cf. Ex. 10:16; 2 Sam. 12:13) and then fully confessing his crime (v. 21). For the first time, and from the now-unmasked traitor’s own lips, all Israel and Bible readers hear a full accounting of his secret crime (cf. v. 1). Roaming Jericho’s ruins, he spotted three things: “a beautiful robe from Babylonia, two hundred shekels of silver and a wedge of gold weighing fifty shekels.”34 He “coveted them”—clearly, a violation of the Decalogue (Ex. 20:17; Deut. 5:21)—and took them to his tent and hid them underground (notice the details concerning quantities and storage). Achan’s greed simply got the better of him.

Joshua dispatches messengers, who “run” to Achan’s tent and—yes, indeed!—they find the stuff hidden there just as he had said (v. 22).35 They bring them to Joshua and all the Israelites and “spread [lit., poured] them out before the LORD” (v. 23). “Before the LORD” is appropriate in two respects. First, the goods really belong to him, so in essence the action returns them to their rightful owner. Second, Yahweh is the judicial authority sponsoring the trial, so the gesture also presents him with the incriminating evidence that confirms Achan’s admission of guilt.

Quickly, the legal conversation ends and the scene changes. All Israel joins Joshua as he leads Achan, the stolen goods, his children, animals, tent, and everything he owns from Jericho to the Valley of Achor (v. 24), a short walk away.36 The full list of people and items creates an impression of totality (i.e., everything associated with Achan) and pictures a lengthy procession strung along the road. At Achor, Joshua pronounces the death sentence, rhetorically punning on the root behind the place name (ʿakar “to bring trouble,” v. 25a). He declares: “Why have you brought this trouble on us? The LORD will bring trouble on you today.” The wordplay affirms the justice of the sentence. “Trouble” (the crime) is repaid by “trouble” (the punishment), with the offended party (Yahweh) the executioner. Appropriately, Achan’s innocent victim, the entire community, stones him to death, burns him with fire, and then stones everything else (25b).37 Thus, Israel meets Yahweh’s demands (cf. v. 13): They remove the ḥerem, source of their current troubles, and in so doing, restore the community to its pre-Achan ritual cleanness.

Finally, they “heap up” over Achan’s charred remains a great pile of stones, “which remains to this day” (v. 26a). Stones still visible “to this day” mark the locales of several key events in the larger narrative of Joshua (cf. 4:7–8; 10:27).38 In this case, they mark the gravesite of Achan, by ancient standards a humiliating form of burial. Apparently, Israel reserved such burials for prominent rebels (2 Sam. 18:17 [Absalom]) and enemies (Josh. 8:29 [the king of Ai]; cf. Job 8:17).39 Such burial mounds were common in ancient times and alerted passersby to the proximity of death and defilement.

Fittingly, Yahweh turns “from his fierce anger,” the driving force behind the catastrophe (cf. v. 1b), a divine signal of Israel’s safe return to his good graces. To draw down the curtain, the narrator notes that the name “trouble” (ʿakor) stuck, presumably because popular memory associated the site with the infamous Achan episode (v. 26b). Even at the time the author wrote (“to this day”), people still called the spot “Trouble Valley.” But Joshua’s wordplay (v. 25) makes this particular heap a monument to “double trouble”—the trouble that Achan caused Israel (i.e., defeat at Ai), and the trouble that Yahweh caused him (i.e., his execution).

Achan’s simple greed has pushed Israel to the brink of disaster, sullying their holiness and souring their relationship with Yahweh. Its secrecy makes it particularly fiendish: There is no protection against a secret crime whose existence only comes to light through unexpected disaster. Thus, the stones also remind Israel that they are by nature not a collection of individuals but a community—a fragile, carefully woven fabric in which disobedience by one thread strains or tears at the integrity of the whole.

Literarily, the Achan episode anticipates the later altar episode (ch. 22), where maʿal (“to break faith”) and Achan reappear (cf. comments on ch. 22). By then the Achan affair has become a cautionary tale about the deadly seriousness of apostasy, holiness, and corporate culpability.40 In sum, the stone heap at Trouble Valley forewarns “potential Achans”41 within Israel’s ranks to practice the fear of God by doing what he commands. The theme echoes in the pleas of obedience in Joshua’s farewell speech (ch. 23) and his speech at the covenant ceremony (ch. 24).

Finally, unlike Joshua 3–4, chapter 7 establishes no institution or formal process to interpret these stones to future generations. They may or may not recognize them as a burial mound of someone notorious. Only the narrative links the grave to the evocative name (“Trouble Valley”), Joshua’s explanatory wordplay on ʿakar (“to bring trouble”), and possibly the name Achan.42 The still-visible stones confirm the authenticity of the old story, but only the story itself interprets their meaning.

Ai Attack II (Joshua 8:1–29)

Bridging Contexts

TWO ASPECTS OF THIS passage merit further comment here—the archaeology of the city of Ai, and the question of justice that arises when apparently innocent or uninvolved people suffer for Achan’s crime. Two further comments concerning ḥerem will also be helpful.

The archaeology of Ai. As noted above, Ai means “the Ruin,” probably a nickname given the site later in retrospect rather than what its occupants would have called it. The huge site at et-Tell (27.5 acres) is commonly identified as biblical Ai. But the fact that extensive excavations there have found no evidence of its occupation at the time of this episode creates a historical problem.56 For that reason, some scholars regard the biblical narrative as either fictional—a legend told to explain the enormous ruins familiar to the audience—or a simple error (i.e., the author confuses the destruction of nearby Bethel with that of Ai). The topographical details of Joshua 7–8, however seem to fit the terrain of et-Tell better than that of Bethel, a blow to the simple-error proposal. Further, the Bible commonly pairs Ai with Bethel, so the latter’s mention (7:2) may in fact imply the conquest of both cities.57

Finally, some details in Joshua 7–8 suggest that the then-extant ruins of Ai may actually have served as a temporary defensive outpost for Bethel. Joshua 8:17, for example, implies that defenders from Bethel joined Ai’s forces against Israel. That might explain why the spies initially found “so few” at Ai (7:3) and that only twelve “units” (not “thousands”) of Ai perished (8:25). Further, if “his land” (8:1) alludes to royal farmland around Ai, the town may also have been the base for summer workers tending the fields. Such seasonal work would require only temporary shelters rather than permanent stone homes.58 If so, the lack of evidence of occupation makes sense, in that such a small, ad-hoc defensive detail or seasonal work force would require few permanent structures and, thus, probably leave few, if any, archaeological traces. Over two millennia of erosion may also have simply washed away some evidence of occupations at Ai. Thus, as elsewhere, so with Ai: The absence of evidence is not necessarily the evidence of absence.

To die with Achan. So what about the justice of apparently innocent people suffering Achan’s punishment? This question arises right in the first verse. Joshua 7:1 first blames the Israelites for the crime, but then identifies Achan as the culprit. Worse, the context makes clear that Joshua and Israel know nothing about it, yet all Israel suffers the defeat and loss of life of Ai I while Achan escapes unscathed. Further, in his confession Achan names no accomplices or co-conspirators, yet his children, livestock, and personal property share his punishment.

Some readers may view this as unfair (the punishment does not fit the crime) and mystifying. The problem is that in Joshua 7 our modern, individualistic worldview bumps into the more corporate worldview of the Bible. The former says that individuals benefit from or suffer for what they themselves do (or do not do). Usually, they are exempt from the benefits or deficits of what others do (or do not do). For it to be otherwise, individualism says, would be unjust. (American culture particularly prizes a strong variety of this worldview called “rugged individualism.”) In the Bible’s world, however, whole groups benefit or suffer because of the actions of an individual, and no one reckons this unjust.

It is crucial that we understand the contrast between these two perspectives; otherwise we will not understand Joshua 7–8 and much of the Bible.59 More important, we moderns finally need to catch up with the Bible and see things as God sees them. Only then will his transformation of us approach his vision for us as Christian people. As a first step, we need to retool our perspective by reviewing other indicators of God’s corporate perspective at work.

To begin, recall that in the beginning God created not individuals but collective humanity personified by an individual (Heb. haʾadam, “the Human”; Gen. 2:7, 15). Even when God introduced the gender distinction “man” and “woman” (ʾiš and ʾiššah; Gen. 2:21–23), “the Human” still comprises “male” and “female” (zakar and neqebah; Gen. 1:27). We rightly recognize ethnic diversity today, but theologically God still regards humanity as a single group. Yes, the Bible reports—and we experience—his relationship with individuals. But those experiences do not deny the prior fact of God’s corporate viewpoint. Several well-known Scriptures illustrate the persistence of this thought.

For example, Paul urges Christian husbands to love their wives “just as Christ loved the church [not individuals] and gave himself up for her [as a whole]” (Eph. 5:26). Similarly, John 3:16 affirms God’s love for “the world” (corporate perspective) but also envisions that everlasting life may be claimed by “whoever believes in him [the Son]” (individualistic perspective). Consider, further, Paul’s explanation of humanity’s sin problem and its solution in Christ:

For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.… For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous. (Rom. 5:17, 19 TNIV, my italics)

Paul contrasts the acts and outcomes of two men, each “(the) one man.” The sinful act of the first (Adam) introduced sin, death, and condemnation to “many” (all humanity). But the righteous act of “one man” (Jesus Christ) brings abundant grace, justification, and righteousness to “many” (all believers in him). In both cases, the action of “the one” produces results for the “many.”

A key assumption underlies these claims: Each “man” acts as a representative of the whole group. All humanity sinned when Adam (or “the Human”) did, and all humanity benefits when Christ (“the last Adam,” 1 Cor. 15:45) died and rose again. The act of each determines the destiny of their kind: God imputes Adam’s sin to every human and Jesus’ righteousness to everyone who confesses Jesus as Lord. The collective worldview clearly undergirds Paul’s theology, and that perspective also explains the troubling elements in Joshua 7–8.

Ḥerem: two further thoughts. The concept of ḥerem in Joshua 7–8 leads me to add two further comments. (1) An important theological assumption behind the concept challenges contemporary readers to catch up with the Bible in one respect. Recall that Yahweh applied ḥerem to Jericho and Ai differently. He decreed all of Jericho to be ḥerem (“devoted to destruction”) and off-limits to Israel as plunder. He also exempted silver and gold and objects of bronze and iron from destruction (they went into Yahweh’s treasury; 6:19, 26). Recall, further, that at Ai Yahweh also exempted from destruction any objects or animals the Israelites desired to keep for themselves. The latter surely marks an act of God’s grace intended to benefit his people.

But behind his varied applications of ḥerem stands the important theological truth that God owns everything. That presumed ownership gives him the authority to decide whether and to what extent humans may enjoy the use of his property. Psalm 24:1–2 almost sounds like a deed of ownership when it acclaims:

The earth is the LORD’s, and everything in it,

the world, and all who live in it;

for he founded it upon the seas

and established it upon the waters.

The “earth” refers to all its oceans and dry lands—what we call “property” today—and “everything in it” designates … well, everything. This includes everything that humans have created using the raw materials of creation since the latter all belong to God. “All who live in it” refers to all earth’s inhabitants, including humans and animals.60 In short, there are no areas marked “Property of X” or “Belonging to Y”; everything is marked “Property of God,” and no footnotes or exception clauses complicate that simple fact. He owns everything, and we humans own nothing.

The reason is that God created everything. At the same time, however, God has entrusted the care of the earth and its inhabitants to the descendants of haʾadam. The Old Testament calls that care “rule” or “dominion” (Gen. 1:26, 28; Ps. 8:6–8). Ultimately, humans are not owners but stewards of God’s property, including birds, animals, and fish. As stewards, our responsibility is to manage divine property wisely and, above all, in line with their owner’s wishes. Given our culture’s promotion of ownership, the Bible here challenges us to view what we call “our property” from a different perspective—God’s. We will return to this theme below in discussing the Contemporary Significance.

(2) Let us reflect briefly on the attitude toward property implicit in Achan’s explanation of his actions. In his confession, he weaves together three verbs to summarize the process that led to them: “I saw … I coveted … and [I] took …” (cf. Gen. 3:6). This captures biblical coveteousness in a nutshell. It begins with human eyes seeing something the viewer would really like to have, either for its appearance or value (cf. Gen. 3:6; Matt. 5:28). What caught Achan’s eye at Jericho were the special beauty of an imported robe and the high value that silver and gold carry. As the sun outshines all lesser lights, their beauty and value blinded him to lesser things (cf. 2 Chron. 21:20). As Wallis notes, the verb ḥamad (“to covet”) “reflects the suggestive power of observation, which takes possession of someone and incorporates the deed within itself, despite the best will and intentions.”61 The seeing quickly stirs up the covetous desire to possess the object and thus to perpetuate the pleasure, to impress friends by its display, and to enjoy the enhanced security of wealth (cf. Mic. 2:2). The inflamed desire causes temporary memory loss, blocking recollection of the divine prohibition against possession (cf. Gen. 3:2). The fateful step soon follows—the “taking” and hiding of the goods.

But besides the psycho-spiritual process just described, there is something more profound theologically going on. First, Achan’s desire seduces him into a subtle arrogance of which he is probably consciously unaware. He thinks that he is smarter than God! He thinks that he can possess things and resist the danger of them possessing him. Second, he assumes himself justified in taking possession, as if he were a peer of “god” in authority, if only for the moment. As with Adam and Eve, ultimately his covetous act reveals that he simply does not trust God’s goodness. He suspects that by denying him something obviously good (in his eyes), God is self-centered and petty, not generous and beneficent. He thinks that God is untrustworthy because he refuses to share and because he never explains himself.

In the end, Achan’s conduct protests that God should be accountable to him in the present matter—the truth is perfectly obvious to Achan!—and, in essence, elevates himself above God. Such is the theology that underlies human covetousness. It introduces us to a theme that we will pursue below, the dark side of human nature, a side even Christians experience. Achan’s tragic fate attests that this is no unimportant matter.

The stunning reversal of the fates of the Israelite Achan and the Canaanite Rahab brings into sharp focus exactly what is at stake in Achan’s actions. Achan—heir to a renowned Israelite family line—suffers the fate of Canaanite Jericho, while Rahab—as Canaanite as they come—escapes it. Rahab, the ultimate “outsider,” becomes an “insider” in Israel by submitting to Yahweh’s authority, while Achan, “the exemplary insider,” makes himself an “outsider” by rejecting it.62 In effect, Achan’s rebellion trumps his ethnic membership in Israel. His fate implies that Yahweh prizes obedience far more than ethnicity.63 Put differently, in Yahweh’s eyes to be “true Israel” is to fear God; to not fear God is, in effect, to renounce membership in true Israel. The identity of a true Israelite derives from a serious, ongoing commitment to divine lordship, not simply from birth into an Israelite family.

Contemporary Significance

Contemporary Significance

IT IS TIME FOR Christians today to catch up with the Bible. That is the challenge for today that emerges from Joshua 7–8, and the important themes in the Achan and Ai episodes point the way.

The dark side: human sin. Achan confronts us with the dark side of human nature—sin. People today avoid talking about sin, perhaps because to do so seems harsh and judgmental. Since “guilt” goes along with “sin,” and guilt is thought to reflect psychological immaturity, the word “sin” seems irrelevant. When street preachers passionately invoke it, passersby usually respond with silence or (occasionally) amusement. In my view, contemporary culture seems highly aware of the reality of evil but in deep denial about the reality of personal and corporate sin.

But God calls Achan’s actions “sin” (7:11), and so does Achan himself in his confession (7:20). Sin is a central biblical theme, and the Achan-Ai episode confronts us with it eyeball to eyeball. To catch up with the Bible is to face our sin squarely, for only then can we truly appreciate the marvelous grace that God has given through his Son, Jesus. To minimize the wretchedness of our sin is to devalue the huge sacrifices that God the Father and Jesus made to deal with it.

A full reckoning with sin rightly begins with hearing some sobering biblical voices that illumine this ugly side of our humanity. The Bible diagnoses the problem as, at root, a deadly heart ailment. Jeremiah says, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” (Jer. 17:9). In his view, nothing exceeds the human heart in capacity for deception (or, conversely, its incapacity for truth and justice). He regards the heart’s disease as both incurable and even beyond understanding.

Elsewhere, Jeremiah asks, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard its spots?” The answer, of course, is obviously “No.” Neither vigorous washing nor the strongest soap can in any way change the Ethiopian’s skin color or make the leopard spotless. By the same token, Jeremiah concludes, “Neither can you (pl.) do good who are accustomed to doing evil” (Jer. 13:23). Ethiopians and leopards have a better chance of changing their looks than people and societies do of loosening the vise grip of the sin habit. No chance at all! Jesus also traces all human sinful acts—“evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander”—to that same heart malady (Matt. 15:19–20). In short, what makes sin so deadly is that it is hidden and secretive, as Achan’s was.

An important question to ask at this point is this: What sins today might compare to Achan’s? As we saw, Achan sinned by keeping to himself things that Yahweh had declared to be his own exclusive property (ḥerem). The answer to our question, thus, lies in identifying things that God today claims to be his own. Certainly, God’s claim that the taking of revenge against enemies belongs exclusively to him (Rom. 12:19) comes to mind. For us to do so, thus, is tantamount to taking something that belongs to God—to make the mistake that Achan made—rather than trusting God to take care of us. For us to transgress this truth is seriously to breach our relationship with God.

Also, the church and other Christians ultimately belong to only God and not to us. The church is the bride of Christ himself (Rev. 19:7), a spiritual union based on Jesus’ loving sacrificial death on the cross on behalf of the church (Eph. 5:25, 29). Jesus deeply cares for his bride, so it would be Achanesque to do anything to harm the church, as Achan’s sin did grave harm to Israel. Therefore, the example of Achan warns against doing anything that sullies the public reputation of the church, puts a strain on its relationship with God himself, or brings disunity to the body. What applies to the church as a whole likewise applies to our treatment of fellow believers. Woe to us if we lead them astray, confuse their minds, harm their walk with Christ, or disillusion them about the gospel.

Finally, I suggest that poor stewardship—the selfish hoarding of our time, abilities, resources, and the like—similarly robs God of things that belong to him. Poor stewardship diverts to our own selfish ends things that belong to God, things that he has entrusted to us to use for the sake of the kingdom, not just for ourselves. To squander what God has given us is to commit a sin comparable to Achan’s.

The poet Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Like cuttlefish we conceal ourselves, we darken the atmosphere in which we move; we are not transparent.”64 Thoreau compares humans to a common marine animal, the cuttlefish. The cuttlefish lacks the defenses of other fish—speed, size, shells, or poisonous spines—so as it moves, it pours out a dark, inky liquid to protect itself. The murky camouflage hides the cuttlefish from the view of dangerous predators. Thoreau puts his finger on our human avoidance of transparency, and that is especially true of sin. Rarely does someone stand up in church and say publicly, “I confess that I sinned this week. I did such-and-such, and I need forgiveness.” Some sins carry less of a stigma and are easier to confess (e.g., “I lost my temper at work,” “I broke a promise to my spouse,” “I took the Lord’s name in vain,” etc.). But the more shameful sins remain—as in Achan’s case—hidden, unconfessed, and perhaps even unacknowledged.

Who openly says, for example, “I cheated my employer,” “I’m addicted to … ,” “I committed adultery”? In ancient Israel, pilgrim groups recited an entrance liturgy before entering the temple to affirm their worthiness to approach God.65 Were the technology available, one wonders what hidden sins a spiritual X-ray machine might detect among entering worshipers. Church attendance would probably go down!

Some years ago, I knew a dynamic pastor of a growing church in a major American city. The larger Christian community greatly admired his passion for the lost, inspiring vision for the church, and the deep impact of his ministry. The pastor was in great demand as a speaker nationwide and had published a highly popular and widely read book on church growth. But one day a sad, secret truth came to light: That enormously effective pastor had carried on, undetected, a ten-year affair with a church member. The revelation of the secret shocked the community, and the pastor is no longer in ministry today. Sins can be kept secret, but instead of a spiritual X-ray machine, Scripture outlines the detection process that God prefers.

(1) Trust enough to confess to each other. The apostle James commands us to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16). This is easier said than done, of course. Pride prevents us from readily risking our reputations by confessing our faults, especially really bad ones. But participation in a caring, trustworthy small group often frees people to stop being cuttlefish and to start showing what is really going on inside. (A candid confession need not be made before the whole church unless, as with Achan, the sin affects the entire body.) The telling of one’s struggles brings a huge sense of relief, and it also empowers other believers to unburden themselves. More important, James stresses, confession allows others to unleash the powerful medium of prayer for us that God will “heal” us—that is, permanently rid us of the sin and its effects.

(2) Tell each other the truth. Beside the need for confession, another biblical antidote to sin is for Christians to “[speak] the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15). Unfortunately, weasel words and pleasant diplomacy govern many of our serious conversations with each other. Afraid of rejection, we pull our punches or hem and haw rather than call something what it is. Paul calls for conversation in which fellow Christians tell each other the truth—that they truly engage in honest conversation about things that really matter. He urges that the truth-telling be done “in love” (i.e., gently and with the other person’s best interests at heart). Again, this straight talk about our lives is probably best experienced in a small group of trusted friends. The important thing is that it should happen—and happen as often as needed.

(3) Hold each other accountable. One particular highlight of the Achan incident concerns the dramatic process of lot-casting. Imagine again the huge gathering before Joshua, with all Israel probably silent and sober in tribal groups because of the grave matter at hand. Feel the mixture of tension and relief that sweeps the crowd with each lot drawn. Those eliminated from consideration instantly relax, as those still on the hook tense ever more nervously.

For us, several observations are pertinent. (a) Recall that Israel as a whole suffered because of the sin of one Israelite, Achan. God held the entire nation accountable for Achan’s sin; according to Yahweh, “the Israelites acted unfaithfully” (Josh. 7:1). This implies that what Achan did was a corporate concern, not an individual one.

(b) That assumption explains the second observation: This is an all-Israelite occasion. Israel as a whole people meets to do serious business—to remove the ḥerem secretly hidden somewhere in the camp—in order to restore their collective relationship with Yahweh. That restoration is the key to the future success Israel hopes to achieve in its attempt to conquer Canaan. In short, the people of Israel meet to hold someone—Achan, it turns out—accountable for his actions. In so doing, Joshua 7–8 commends to Christian communities the importance of similar mutual accountability.

(c) The process for doing that need not, however, involve lot drawing, execution, and burning as with Achan. Each community should prayerfully consider what process best fits its situation. Israel had its unique way of handling this particular matter, and many churches have written procedures for handling sins in the congregation.66 Joshua 7 suggests that such procedures focus on sins that greatly affect the entire church body—sins that justifiably offend mature people or disturb congregational unity. Sins that damage the public reputation of the church in the larger community also merit corporate attention. I hasten to add that they need not concern only sexual immorality; other issues with roots in sin also call for community accountability (e.g., ethical lapses, severe family problems, financial malfeasance, abuses of power, etc.).

(d) Each community also will need to decide how corporate the process is to be. The example of Joshua 7 need not require a public airing of every such sin before the whole church. The incremental process outlined by Jesus for handling a sin against a fellow believer (Matt. 18:15–17) offers a wise, helpful model for problems touching the larger body. Issues of confidentiality may deem some situations too sensitive for open discussion. In such cases, the matter may be assigned to a small group of individuals in whose wisdom, integrity, and compassion the congregation has great trust. The point that Joshua 7 forces on us is that our communities practice some carefully thought-out mutual accountability when sin harms (or threatens to harm) the body of Christ.

The big picture: the mystical unity. The earlier discussions have brought to the surface the corporate understanding of the people of God that undergirds aspects of the Achan narrative. That understanding explains why Yahweh charged Israel with treachery because of Achan and why the entire nation participated in the legal process of discovery and execution. It also explains why Achan had to be executed and burned: The community needed to rid itself of his sinful contamination. The narrative assumes that a mystical unity binds individuals like Achan within the larger community of Israel.

According to the New Testament, a similar mystical bonding binds members of the body of Christ today. Alas, treacherous Achans also populate Christian communities and openly or secretly disturb their unity and impede their forward momentum. The Achan episode, thus, marks a good moment briefly to review the features of that mystical unity and to reaffirm our commitment to the corporate ideal of God’s people. In Joshua 8 the Israelite community—no longer dragging Achan’s secret, sinful baggage—successfully conquered Ai, a testimony to its full restoration by Yahweh (see below). A review of our unity in Christ will also remind us of what our communities are to look like when free of Achanesque baggage.

This review will yield two important benefits. (1) It will encourage us to work hard at maintaining that unity and corporate identity. After all, according to Jesus, what will catch the world’s eye—the unique identification mark that sets off Jesus’ followers from nonfollowers—is our love for each other (John 13:34–35). The present brief review will make us watchful for signs of an Achan among us whose public or private actions are harming the body’s wholeness. It will keep us alert to ways in which to strengthen our unity in Christ.

(2) As a second benefit, to understand our mystical unity will help to build a bridge to the upcoming generation. One of the characteristics of the so-called Generation X is the high premium it places on community, so a church whose common life centers around community will catch their attention.

The terms for Israel in Joshua 7 are (lit.) “the children of Israel” (vv. 1, 12, 23) and “the people” (vv. 5, 7, 13). In this context, the latter describes either the “people” of Israel as a whole (v. 5, 7) or “people” as opposed to Joshua as leader (v. 13). The former describes the people genealogically as the descendants of “Israel” (i.e., Jacob)—in other words, as members of his extended family household.

Paul also invokes the ancient metaphor of the household for the church (Eph. 2:19), but perhaps his best-known metaphor for the nature of the church is as a “body” (1 Cor. 12:12–27). Several of his general points flesh out a Christian understanding of the mystical union of believers in the people of God and add further illumination to the comments on Joshua 7 above. (1) He stresses that, like any body, the church combines unity and diversity. A human body has many parts (e.g., eyes, ears, hands, feet, etc.), each with its unique function, yet remains a single, unified whole. In the book of Joshua, Israel as a body included descendants of Jacob as well as several other groups that had joined them along the way. Among them were resident aliens from other countries (Josh. 8:33, 35), Rahab and her family, and the Gibeonites from Canaan (for the latter, see ch. 9). Descendants of the so-called “mixed multitude” (Ex. 12:38 KJV) that had escaped Egypt with the Israelites may also have been among them. As we will soon learn, the Gibeonites worked at the sanctuary of Yahweh, and the other non-Israelites presumably had their places in Israel, although we know no details. Together they comprised “all Israel.”

By the same token, the church has many members, each with his or her own history prior to salvation. Each plays at least one role essential to the corporate life of the church, yet the church retains its unity (1 Cor. 12:12, 14, 20). God has simply planned it to be that way (v. 18), and it marks one of the strengths of the church of Christ. If a body had only eyes, Paul writes, it would be unable to hear sounds or smell smells (v. 17). What a sadly impoverished sensory experience! Similarly, the diverse membership of the church enhances its effectiveness as God’s vehicle for showing his love to the world. If everyone were a pastor, who would teach children, counsel hurt people, pray for the sick, bring the gospel to neighbors, stand up for justice, or manage the money? (And imagine the intense competition for time in the pulpit!)

(2) Paul affirms that, regardless of its function, every part of the body of Christ enjoys the same full membership as the others. In this regard, the church differs from the Israel in the book of Joshua, for Rahab, the resident aliens, and the Gibeonites probably did not enjoy “full membership” in it. At least, the Old Testament provides no information from which one might infer that they ever became “Israelites” in an ethnic sense.67 In the church, the reality of full membership for everyone means that no one can say, “Because my role’s not important, I’m not really an integral part of the church” (cf. 1 Cor. 12:16). There are no longer any Rahabs, resident aliens, Gibeonites, or “mixed multitudes” (cf. Gal. 3:28). Nor can any member tell another member, “I don’t need you” (1 Cor. 12:21). On the contrary, Paul says, all parts are indispensable since God himself has joined them together. Rather than have a “division” disrupt the body’s unity, God intends that “its parts should have equal concern for each other” (vv. 22–25). Indeed, the body’s parts are so integral to the whole that Paul can write, “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it” (v. 26).

(3) Now, Paul’s body metaphor is so well known that one may easily miss some of its important implications for modern church life. Paul understands the church’s unity to be something organic, not merely associational. An “association” comprises a group of individuals who voluntarily join it—for example, a club or society. Such groups are bound by a common interest (e.g., music or the arts, hobbies, civic concerns, etc.) and the continuing commitment of its individual members. When changes occur—such as when a member no longer has time, moves away, or loses interest—his or her “unity” with that entity ends. That is why such associations are not organic; rather, they are based on shared interest and voluntarism.

By contrast, birth, blood, or adoption bind an organic unity—for example, family kinship. The organic connection is what guarantees admission to family events and activities. A connection with that “body” persists whether one attends them, feels estrangement, or moves away. Similarly, the church comprises an organic unity because one gains membership in the body of Christ by new birth and baptism into God’s family. Membership in the universal church is a key prerequisite for membership in a local church body. The choice not to attend or to join a local church in no way alters one’s membership in the church of Jesus Christ.

(4) Further, Paul’s body metaphor means that Christians have to make the church work, otherwise, God is dishonored. We must deal seriously and wisely with the Achans among us, although, of course, not in the way that Israel did with the son of Carmi. One may “take or leave” a choral society or bird watchers’ club, but a Christian is stuck with the church of Jesus, like it or not. “Now you are the body of Christ,” writes Paul, “and each one of you is a part of it” (v. 27). End of discussion!

In addition, fierce competition may drive contemporary culture, but one-upmanship has no place in the church of Jesus Christ, the one who gave himself for others. Our challenge is to avoid being an Achan—a greedy, self-centered “troubler” of the church whose thoughtless actions or negative attitudes may injure the health of the body’s corporate life. On the contrary, our task is to work hard at maintaining unity in God’s people. After all, as Jesus taught us, our love for each other is what displays that we are truly his followers for all to see.

The bright side: God holds no grudges. Joshua 7–8 speaks not only about sin but about God’s magnificent grace. Once the stone pile over the late Achan ben Carmi is complete, the narrator remarks that Yahweh’s anger, initially stirred by the crime, also ends (7:26; cf. v. 1). God immediately reassures Joshua: “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.… For I have delivered into your hands the king of Ai, his people, his city and his land” (8:1). What a relief to Israel and Joshua! The legal process of ch. 7 has satisfied Yahweh, and Israel is no longer ḥerem (“devoted to destruction”). There are no grudges to overcome, no probationary period to serve. Israel again enjoys full standing with Yahweh, and his commitment to give them the land still stands, too. In short, God had again extended his gracious mercy to Israel.

The victory of Ai II confirms that Yahweh means what he says. Biblically, this is no surprise. The popular impression is that the Old Testament’s God is a God of wrath. But here is a glimpse of that God, post-Achan, showing wonderful mercy and forgiveness. Similarly, after condemning Israel’s unfaithfulness at length, the book of Micah closes with beautiful reassurance:

Who is a God like you,

who pardons sin and forgives the transgression

of the remnant of his inheritance?

You do not stay angry forever

but delight to show mercy.

You will again have compassion on us;

you will tread our sins underfoot

and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea.

You will be true to Jacob,

and show mercy to Abraham,

as you pledged on oath to our fathers

in days long ago. (Mic. 7:18–20)

“Who is a God like you?” Micah asks. “No one”! is the answer. Yahweh has no peer, human or divine, when it comes to pardon and forgiveness. Other gods typically vent anger and nurse grudges, but Yahweh prefers to show mercy rather than anger. Micah promises his readers, no doubt in despair over their sin, that God will extend mercy to them as he did long ago to Abraham and Jacob. Most striking, however, is the metaphor Micah invokes to picture what God does with forgiven sin: He treads them into the ground (they cannot be recognized) and throws them to the bottom of the sea (they cannot return).

This image recalls a brief experience I had during my preteen years. My family was attending a summer family reunion in the Sierras of central California. One day several of us rented a rowboat to enjoy the beauty of the nearby lake. The boat came equipped with a crude anchor—a six-inch piece of railroad track attached to a thick rope with a loop tied at the other end. After rowing us out a ways, my dad told me to cast off the anchor, which I did. Oops! I forgot to attach the end-loop to the bow of the boat. To this day, I can still picture the anchor towing the waving, vertical rope to the bottom of the lake out of sight. I felt pretty stupid. The anchor was gone, lost in the depths of the lake with no way to recover it. I imagine it today—a rusting iron chunk still tethered to its fraying rope, both overgrown with algae, out of sight, lying on the lake bottom.

Imagine God throwing our sins into the far deeper depths of the sea. Imagine the fresh start that results for Israel post-Achan—and for us, too, after our sins. God’s forgiveness dumps them overboard; they are gone, buried, forgotten, unrecoverable. They cannot be thrown accusingly in our faces again. Good-bye, sins! Hello, forgiveness! Of course, it is one thing to know we are forgiven, and quite another to actually embrace that forgiveness. The challenge is to let God’s truth erase our memories of failure and silence our self-criticism. Great relief follows when we do so, the elated feeling of a newly freed prisoner throwing off tight handcuffs and heavy leg irons.

But perhaps the greatest challenge is to give our forgiveness to someone who has wronged us. We enjoy nursing our grievances, using them to our advantage, or plotting our revenge. That makes it imperative for us to remember Jesus’ teaching on forgiveness. (1) He directly links the forgiveness we receive from God with the forgiveness that we dispense to each other: “For if you forgive others when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins” (Matt. 6:14–15 TNIV). Clearly, our failure to forgive sin against us denies us God’s forgiveness of our sins against him. His teaching is: “Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Luke 6:37).

(2) God’s willingness to forgive us never stops, and neither should ours (Matt. 18:21–22). That is the point of the parable of the unforgiving servant (18:23–35). The master had forgiven the huge debt of his servant, graciously absorbing the financial loss himself. But the very next moment he finds the just-forgiven man angrily demanding the immediate repayment of a trivial sum owed him by another man. When the poor man refuses, the servant has him thrown in jail until he pays back every cent. No wonder that, learning of this, the master throws the servant in jail until he, too, pays everything owed—an impossible task.

Jesus goes on to say that that is exactly the way our heavenly Father will treat us “unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart” (Matt. 18:35 TNIV). To not forgive a fellow believer means that we really do not “get it.” We show ourselves clueless to the huge, impossible debt that God’s forgiveness has wiped out for us. Only the painful, humiliating defeat at Ai persuaded Israel that something was dreadfully wrong in the camp. And when we “get” how dreadfully wrong we have been—how much like Achan we really are!—the enormity of God’s forgiveness will grab us as never before. Our gratitude for that unbelievable grace will drive us to forgive each other of offenses that, beside our Achanesque treacheries against God, seem pitifully trivial.

In one of his novels about amateur detective Easy Rawlins, Walter Mosley recounts the funeral for Reese Corn, a murder victim in the small town of Pariah, Texas. Rev. Nathaniel Peters is the officiating pastor:

“Reese Corn was a solitary man in his last years. He didn’t come much to Ethiopia Baptist Church. And those of you who don’t have faith,” and Rev. Peters looked out over the congregation, “might say that he had lost the way of the Lord. But brother Reese didn’t lose his way. He knew death was comin’ an’ on his last Sunday in the world Reese came back to the Lord.” …

The minister looked up at the ceiling and shook his head as if he were arguing with the next words the Lord was putting in his mouth. Finally he returned his gaze to earth. “What is our lesson? That’s what you wanna know. What is God trying to say to me here today? Well … no one can truly understand the mind of God because the mind of God is what we call infinite. That means he’s everywhere. As far as you can go—God is there. He’s at the bottom of the ocean and he’s way out past the moon and stars. He’s in the room right now, sittin’ next to ya. Reese is with him now, and if Reese could pierce the veil I think he’d say the lesson is the infinite forgiveness of the Lord.”68

The “infinite forgiveness of the Lord” is one of the truths from ancient Ai that still speaks to us today. In receiving and dispensing it, we experience the thought of hymn writer Horatio Spafford:

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!

My sin, not in part but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more.

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!