Many months had passed since the men had left their families and belongings and marched into Canaan with their kinsmen. The good pasture land on the eastern side of the Jordan River had been given to them. Their end of the deal was that they would go with the rest of the people into the Promised Land until it had been conquered. So when Joshua led the Israelites across the river and into war, the men of the tribes of Gad, Reuben, and Manasseh kissed their families goodbye and marched in with them.
They carried swords and shields, and fought in each skirmish of every campaign Israel encountered in Canaan. Finally the day came that they had been anticipating. The men stood quietly and listened to Joshua’s directions as they had faithfully done before each battle that the nation had faced. But on that day, no plan of attack or strategy meeting happened. The conquest of Canaan was very nearly accomplished and Joshua was sending the men home. The vow was fulfilled. Their assignment was considered complete.
Home! I imagine that home was a beautiful word that day as it echoed through the troops like a sigh of relief. I am sure that laughter filled the camp as the men started gathering their supplies. Instead of battle plans, talk turned to gardens and fence building. Their families were waiting just on the other side of the Jordan, and with them the expectancy of a new life.
So what did the men do when they crossed the river? Their wives and children were within walking distance. The homes they had long dreamed of returning to were just down the road. They were standing on the verge of the lives of which they had dreamed. Instead of running ahead after crossing the Jordan, these men stopped and started gathering stones.They built an altar, a giant replica of the one that sat in the outer court of the tabernacle where the nation worshiped with offerings.
They didn’t hurry back to the walled cities where their wives and children waited. They didn’t go check out their livestock and how the grapevines were doing. The men decided that they were not willing to let go of the God whom they had seen do wonders on their behalf on the battlefields. They remembered Jericho’s walls falling flat before the shouting parade of Israelites. They recalled how great armies with glittering weapons had amassed to destroy them, but had been decimated by the smaller troops of Israel. They knew the secret to their success was the God Who watched over them and now that they were returning home, they were unwilling to relinquish their trust in Him.
The altar stood like a beacon beside the Jordan that could not be ignored. Before long, the envoy of the High Priest Phinehas arrived to deal with he thought was a national tragedy waiting to happen. He stood in front of the altar and spit out questions, “Don’t you remember what happened when the people turned away from serving God in the wilderness? Are you going to rebel against God and bring judgment on the nation again? Are you going to choose to worship rocks and devils instead of the living God? What in the world are you thinking?” (Mommy’s paraphrase)
Their answer changed the narrative and put his fears to rest. This giant altar would never be used for a burnt offering. No sacrificial blood would be spilled on it, neither would fires light up its surfaces. No one would call on a pagan god in that place. They were Israelites and they would only worship at Moses’ tabernacle with the rest of the nation. This altar was a signpost for all to see that they had the right to come to that sacred tent, to the one true God. This was their WITNESS.
The altar was their way of making a memorial that would declare to everyone who saw it, both in their day and the days to come, that they were connected with the tabernacle and the One Whose presence hallowed that tent. It was a declaration of their intention to worship God alone and certified their identity as part of God’s chosen people. Building that replica of the altar was these men staking their claim to the blessing that would come throughout the generations as atonement for sin was made on the true altar sitting just inside the curtains of the tabernacle of Moses. When the men walked near the river and saw the altar, they would be reminded how God took care of them and fulfilled His promises. When their children asked about it, they would tell them about the God Who delivered them from Egyptian bondage and gave them the good land in which they lived. The altar was their witness.
I think these men had an insight about how easily the everyday tasks of living can eat our memories and undermine our faith if we are not intentional. Ask any Christian who sits in a pew on Sunday mornings if God has blessed them and they will quickly affirm that He has. The problem is that Mondays don’t start with a praise team singing just the right song. Tuesday afternoons don’t necessarily fit neatly into a three points and a poem sermon outline. Car repairs, work pressures, school schedules, electricity bills, and a hundred other every day, mundane issues cause us to lose sight of the goodness, the grandeur, the wonder of our relationship with God.
Can I be transparent? Life is busy and I am so easily distracted. I can slide into the mundane activities of life, day after day, and forget that I have been brought out, brought up, and brought through some things by the hand of God. Sometimes, I just need to remind myself of the battles I have faced in life and how the presence of the Lord has always been the secret to my victory. I just need to intentionally remember what Jesus has done for me.
I remember that I once lived in the chokehold of depression and darkness, but the Lord delivered me. He didn’t do it in one swipe of His hand. He did it one day at a time, one prayer, one scripture, one song at a time. I may have a bad day or hard season, but I am never hopeless because the God of Hope walks with me.
I remember the searing pain of rejection after a nasty divorce that was once a constant ache in my chest, but the Lord healed me. He didn’t do it by slapping a bandage over my gaping wound and painting a smile on my face. Instead, Jesus poured Himself out for me over and over in my prayer closet until my heart was whole again.
I remember times when sickness and injury laid me low, but Jesus the Healer had other plans. I remember when my income was less than the bills I owed, but Jesus my Provider made a way for all my needs to be met in unexpected ways. He has wiped my tears with gentle mercy, corrected my missteps with loving rebuke, kept me when I should have perished. And in this season of telling my son goodbye as he moved nearly a thousand miles away, He is still doing what He does best–being my Shepherd.
If it takes a daily trip to look at a cross in order for me to remember all that the Lord has done for me, then let that cross be my WITNESS! I am born again, and the cross of Jesus is my birth certificate in the kingdom of God. I am a child of God, not because of some moral excellence or spiritual gymnastics on my part. It is because the shadow of the cross lies heavy on my life. I have a bright future full of promise because Jesus’ blood was shed for me to have it. The cross is always going to be a big deal in my life. It is my WITNESS of the goodness of God.
Child of God, can I be bold enough to ask you if this has been your testimony too? Has the Lord delivered you from something? Has He pulled you out of darkness and given you a life flooded with golden light? Has He broken the heavy chains of sin that were pulling you to an early grave? What would you add to my list? I think it is time for us to slow down and choose to remember where we have been and Who has brought us out. We need our memorial, a witness of the kindness of God that has been lavished on us. We need to lift up the cross.
Pray with me?
Lord, we pause in Your presence tonight to thank you for all that You have done for us. You light up every dark place in our lives, and we worship you. Thank You for Your suffering on the cross of Calvary. It is the witness of our victory.
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
the emblem of suffering and shame;
and I love that old cross where the dearest and best
for a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
and exchange it some day for a crown.
