I’m reading a book about a man I’ve never met. But, deep down, I feel like I know him, you know? I keep reading his story and parsing it for meaning. There’s definitely something there. He led a nation after their first real leader died. And this nation he led? Nomadic. No country of their own yet. He had some mighty big shoes to fill—their last leader, after all, was integral in freeing them from national slavery.
His name was Joshua. And he had a monumental task ahead of him: pick up where Moses left off. Moses. The man who commanded the water turn to blood and for frogs to rain down from the sky. The one who parted the Red Sea with his staff and talked to God on top of a mountain. Though Israel had a long history of complaining, they did revere Moses to some extent. He had the ear of the Almighty. He walked right up to Pharaoh on more than one occasion and demanded the Israelites’ release from slavery. He led them out of Egypt and through a severed sea, following a pillar of cloud and fire, around and around a desert for forty years where food never ran short and clothes never wore out. This is the man Joshua was to replace.
I love how the Lord tells Joshua to “be strong and very courageous” when it’s time to take over after Moses’ death. Just straight up, three times: “be strong and courageous.” Be strong, Joshua. Be full of courage, Joshua. How do you conjure up that kind of strength and courage after the Lord tells you to do it? What’s more, God tells him to be careful to keep the law exactly as He gave it to Moses. It seems like too much to ask, especially considering Israel’s penchant for not being careful to keep God’s law. But there’s one driving promise that makes all of this possible. The Lord says to Joshua, “The Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” That was the secret to Moses’ success, if you want to call it that. What made Moses tick, what made him go and do and lead an entire nation of people was the promise that God would always go with him.
Though we’re talking about Joshua, if you flip back to Exodus 33, you’ll find an exasperated Moses who just can’t deal with these grumbling, obstinate, idolatrous Israelites anymore. The Lord’s reply is so simple and succinct, it stops the reader after Moses’ long litany of ranting. “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest” (Ex. 33:14).
There it is. The promise that Moses needed in order to persevere. The Lord would go with him. It’s important to note that Joshua was Moses’ right hand man. He went as far as he was permitted when Moses spoke with the Lord. So years later, when Joshua is standing at the edge of the Jordan River listening to the same God tell him to be strong and courageous, he had to know what was coming. There’s no way to lead a nomadic group of a people numbering upwards of a million across a river and into a land that does not yet belong to them without the powerful presence of the Almighty. This is how you take the next step. This is how you obey the Lord’s commands. You remember that He is always with you. That’s what separates you and these people from the rest of the world. God is with you.
I like to think of Joshua standing at the edge of the Jordan River, sandaled feet sinking in a little where he stood. Though the river wasn’t as big as the Red Sea, the Israelites came to the Jordan during the time of year when it overflowed its banks, swollen with snow melt from the region at its head. More than that, the land was known to be thick with brush, making whatever was under the water difficult to traverse even in shallow depths. The river could have reached far deeper than ten feet in the middle and as much as one hundred feet in width at that time of year. Crossing it would have been every bit as daunting as Moses’ Red Sea.
So there stands Joshua, tasked with leading a nation across such a swollen river, and I wonder if he had déjà vu. I’ve been here before. They haven’t, but I have. Because, save one other, the generation that crossed the sea with him had all died off. But Joshua—he would have remembered that first footstep into the torn sea outside of Pharoah’s Egypt. He would have remembered the ground dry beneath his feet, the piles of water on either side. He would have remembered that the Lord was with Moses. And supposedly, He was with Joshua, too. When the waters of the Jordan piled up and his foot hit the dry river bottom, was he remembering the Red Sea? Did he feel strong and courageous? Did the promise of the presence of Yahweh send his foot into the river’s dry bed with confidence?
Joshua had twelve stones setup as a memorial for God’s faithfulness after Israel’s safe, dry passage across the Jordan. They were to remember what had happened there and tell the story to their children because forgetfulness would plague God’s people as it had done for the past forty years. Forgetfulness would always be Israel’s undoing.
That forgetfulness continues today. God’s people are a different lot, being grafted into His family from nearly every tribe, tongue, and nation through faith in Jesus. But the forgetfulness runs as deep as the roots of the tree in the garden where the serpent made us question what was really true. I can forget the promises of God as quickly as the Israelites could complain about water or their vegetarian diet. I can lose sight of my identity in Christ faster than you can say, “manna.”
I need Joshua’s story. I need to picture him standing by the swollen Jordan River, remembering that God was with him just like He was with Moses at the edge of the Red Sea. I need the psalms so I know where to go when my heart is broken or overwhelmed by sin. I need the prophets to help me see that sin merits judgment, but Hope was on His way. I need the Gospels to show me my Savior, and Acts so I know that the Spirit is always, always with me. I need the epistles to know what obedience and faithfulness look like and why my forever home in heaven is absolutely secure.
I need every story. I need every story of the Bible to help me remember who God is and what He has done. Here are my twelve stones laid out in sixty-six God-breathed books. I need every word of every story to help me remember that God is faithful. Joshua may not have known that that first step into the Jordan was the next step in God’s redemptive story. He would lead Israel, conquer the Promised Land, settle God’s people, and then he would die. But his chapter propelled redemptive history towards its climax—the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Every little story mattered in its own context and setting. Joshua was a real person with real hopes and dreams and struggles and fears. But his story reached farther than his last breath.
Sometimes when I read Scripture, I forget that the people were real flesh and blood people. Not characters. Not protagonists. Not heroes crafted by creative thinkers. They were people like you and me who lived and loved and lost and sinned and forgot and repented and hoped and cried out for mercy. I need their stories to remember the story. Their stories help us to be faithful in ours.
I need every story of the Bible to help me remember who God is and what He has done. Here are my twelve stones laid out in sixty-six God-breathed books. Share on X
Photo by Mike Erskine on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.