“It’s my father!”
“Your father is dead, Vaheb. A pity his head wasn’t buried with him.”
“Rahab!” her father said. “You’ve said enough!”
“I will have said and done enough when these things are thrown out that window!” Her brothers and sisters protested, but she outshouted them. “Should I have your deaths upon my conscience? Listen to me! All of you! That skull filled with dirt is nothing but a filthy idol and an insult to the God of the Hebrews. Get rid of it! Get it out of my house!”
“Abiasaph!” Vaheb appealed to Rahab’s father. “Do you agree with her?”
Rahab felt the heat rush into her face as they turned away from her leadership. She pointed to the window. “Look out there! How many thousands do you see? And they all walked across the Jordan River, which is now flooded again. Do you wish to trust the God who brought them to the plains of Jericho, or do you want to trust a dead man’s skull?”
No one said anything for a moment. Then her father spoke. “Do as Rahab says.”
Vaheb pleaded, “What if I hide it among my things and keep it out of sight? Then it won’t offend you.”
“You and that idol you cling to can get out of my house.”
“You’d put us out?” He looked up, stricken and angry. “Your own sister and our children? You are a hard woman!”
Her eyes burned with tears. “They can follow you and your dead ancestors out that door, or they can trust almighty God to save them and stay here with me.” She looked around at the others. “And that goes for the rest of you, too. You must decide. Our people sacrifice day and night in the hope that their gods can protect them if the walls cannot. Clay idols cannot fight a living God.”
She pointed at the skull in Vaheb’s hands. “Look into those shell eyes, my brother. Can they look back at you? Has that jaw ever opened and spoken words of wisdom? Can that skull think? It’s a dead thing! Three days ago, we saw a true miracle. Put your hope in the God who brought the Israelites across the Jordan, the God who dwells in their camp. That God is going to give them Jericho.”
“I’m afraid!” Gerah wept against her husband, Zebach.
“We’re all afraid,” Rahab said more gently. “But fear the Lord who has the power to destroy us rather than these things. We’ve clung to useless, lifeless idols for too long. Do you think the God of heaven and earth will show mercy if we dishonor Him by having these things in our midst? We’ve separated ourselves from everyone in the city, and now we must remove all the unclean things from among us. Get rid of your false gods, Mama. Look to the God of Israel for salvation, Vaheb!”
Rahab’s father rose slowly and came to her mother. “We must do likewise, Dardah. Give the idols to me.”
“But, Abiasaph . . .”
“They almost cost us our lives getting into the city. Rahab is right.” When he held his hands out, she opened the bundle she had dragged into the city, displaying an idol case and six round objects carefully wrapped in sheepskin. Rahab shuddered. As a child, she’d been afraid of the skulls of her ancestors with their dead eyes. They’d always held a place of prominence in her father’s house, gruesome reminders of the past generations.
“Surely we could keep the box,” her mother said.
“Why?” Rahab said.
“It’s costly and beautiful. This is ivory and these stones are—”
Rahab wasn’t willing to compromise. “It will only serve as a reminder of the unclean thing it held.”
Her father dropped it out the window. The box cracked open and the stone statue bounced out and rolled down the slope. Next, her father dropped the skulls. One by one, they were smashed on the rocky ground below.
Rahab looked around again. “Remove the talismans from the children, Gerah.”
Gerah did so and handed them to her to toss out the window. Rahab’s spirit lifted and warmth filled her. Her relatives searched the room for anything that might be offensive to the God of the Hebrews. She turned away, overcome with emotion. If only she could throw away all the experiences of her life, leaving them behind like those broken idols on the hard ground outside the window. Her life was fraught with idols—her quest for money and security, her ability to mentally stand outside herself as she allowed her body to be used by countless men, her willingness to serve a king who saw his people as possessions meant to serve him. Oh, if only she could start afresh, be a new creation before this living God. If only she could be cleansed of all unrighteousness so that she could bow down before Him in thanksgiving instead of shame.
Blinking back tears, Rahab gazed out the window again. She stretched out her hands toward the tent in which the golden box had been placed. O God of Israel, how I long to kneel before You. Whatever offering You require of me, I will give it, even my life. I have opened the gates of my heart and soul, for only You are worthy of praise, only You.
Mizraim caught her around the waist and drew her back inside. “The guards might see—”
“Let them see.” Shoving his hands away, Rahab stepped up again and stretched out her hands. Let Him see.
* * *
After the solemn rite of circumcision, the children of Israel celebrated the Passover—a feast marking the anniversary of their exodus from Egypt.
Salmon girded his loins, donned his sandals, and joined his older brothers, their wives and young children. His unmarried sister, Leah, would complete their family circle. Amminadab, the eldest, killed the Passover lamb at twilight. His wife prepared the bitter herbs and unleavened bread. As the lamb roasted over the fire, the family gathered close for the traditional retelling of the events leading up to the deliverance from slavery.
“Why is this night different from all others?” the youngest boy said, leaning against his father, Salmon’s second brother.
“Forty years ago, our fathers and mothers were instructed by God to paint the blood of a lamb on their door lintels.” Amminadab spoke carefully so the children would understand. “That way, when the angel of death came to strike down all the firstborn of Egypt, he would pass over the people of Israel.”
Another child settled into the lap of her mother. “Were we always slaves?”
“Our father, Jacob, was a wandering Aramean long before our people went to Egypt. Jacob had two wives and two concubines, who bore him twelve sons, the patriarchs of the tribes who are gathered here now. Ten of these sons, including our father, Judah, were jealous of their younger brother, Joseph, so they sold him to a band of Ishmaelites traveling to Egypt. Joseph became the slave of Potiphar, captain of the palace guard, but the Lord blessed him in all he did. Even when Potiphar’s wife falsely accused Joseph of a terrible crime and Potiphar sentenced him to prison, God continued to bless Joseph. And during the time of his slavery and imprisonment, God was preparing Joseph to deliver his father and brothers from death.”
The children came and sat closer around Amminadab, drawn into the story of their history.
“After a time, Pharaoh was plagued by bad dreams. One of his servants told him Joseph could explain them, so Pharaoh had Joseph brought to him. The Lord revealed to Joseph the meaning of the dreams: a great famine would come upon Egypt and all the surrounding nations. The Lord also told Joseph how to save Egypt from starvation. When Pharaoh saw that Joseph was the wisest man in all the land, he made him overseer of all Egypt.”
Amminadab’s wife turned the spitted lamb slowly as he continued.
“It was during the famine that the sons of Jacob came to Egypt to buy grain. Joseph forgave their sins against him and told them to come to Egypt to live. Pharaoh gave them the land of Goshen, the most fertile land in all Egypt.”
He sat the youngest boy on his knee. “In time, Joseph and his brothers died, but their descendants had many children and grandchildren until Israel became a strong nation. A new pharaoh arose who didn’t remember how Joseph had saved Egypt. This pharaoh saw our people as a threat and made them slaves. He put brutal slave drivers over us because he wanted to destroy our people
by heavy work. But the Lord blessed us even in our oppression, and we thrived. The Egyptians became afraid and made our slavery even more bitter. They forced us to make bricks and mortar and work long hours in the fields. Even this didn’t satisfy Pharaoh. So he gave the Hebrew midwives orders to kill all the baby boys as soon as they were born. But these women feared God more than Pharaoh, and they refused to do it. Then Pharaoh gave orders that all the young Israelite boys be killed.”
Amminadab put his hand on one of the boys close to him. “Thousands of children were thrown into the Nile River. Little babies like your brother Samuel. But there was a brave woman named Jochebed who hid her son for three months. When she couldn’t hide him any longer, she covered a wicker basket with tar and pitch, and placed him in it. Then she set it afloat among the reeds. And that’s where the daughter of Pharaoh found him.”
“Moses!” the children all said at once, laughing and clapping their hands.
“Yes, the child was Moses,” Amminadab said quietly. His solemnity made the children go quiet again. “Moses was the chosen servant of the Lord, the one who brought Israel the Law God wrote upon the stone tablets with His own finger on Mount Sinai, the Law for which the Ark of the Covenant was made.” He ran his hand gently over the hair of his daughter and looked at the other boys and girls. “It is because our fathers and mothers broke faith with God that we’ve wandered almost forty years in the wilderness. It is because they refused to believe and obey that they all died in the wilderness. The Law is written so that we can study it and know how to live to please God.”
“The Law is meant to be written upon our hearts as well,” Salmon said.
His brother glanced up at him. “If such a thing is possible.”
Salmon thought of Rahab. She didn’t know the Law, and yet she was exhibiting the heart of it. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind, and all your strength. How could Rahab have such faith unless God Himself had given it to her as a gift? Could anyone grasp the ways of God with human understanding? Could anyone account for His great mercy? Rahab was a pagan, marked for death, and yet the Lord was seeing to it that death would pass over her.
“The Lord sent Moses to Pharaoh. Moses told Pharaoh to let our people go,” Amminadab went on, “but Pharaoh wouldn’t listen.”
Another brother, Nahshon, stepped forward with a glass of wine. He hunkered down and began to pour the wine slowly onto the ground. “The Lord God poured out His wrath upon Egypt in ten plagues: water became blood; frogs and lice came; beasts of the field died; disease, boils, hail, locusts descended; darkness came when it should have been day; and finally came the slaying of all the firstborn of Egypt.” The last of the wine stained the ground.
“Before each plague,” Amminadab said, “the Lord gave Pharaoh another opportunity to repent and let our people go, but each time his heart grew harder and more arrogant, more defiant. When the last plague was coming upon Egypt, the Lord instructed us through Moses to kill a perfect lamb and paint our door lintels with its blood. That night when the angel of death came, he saw the blood and passed over all Israel.”
“Why do you cry, Mama?”
“I cry over the suffering of our fathers and mothers under slavery, but I cry, too, for all those who died because Pharaoh held power over them.”
“All Egypt was laid waste because Pharaoh’s heart was hard,” Amminadab said. “He had no mercy upon Israel, nor did he have mercy upon his own people.”
“Some of them came with us,” Nahshon said.
Amminadab’s eyes flashed. “And most died in the desert because they couldn’t give up worshiping their idols.” He looked at Salmon. “They led our people astray!”
Heat poured into Salmon’s face. Everyone had heard about Rahab. “Our own nature leads us astray,” he said gently. “The Lord says, ‘Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your strength. And you must commit yourselves wholeheartedly.’”
“I know the Law.”
“She doesn’t know the letter of the Law, but she obeys the heart of it. She has repented and made God first in her life.”
“Who?” a child said, only to be ignored.
Amminadab was not mollified. “We shouldn’t have foreigners among us. They bring their foreign gods with them. They bring trouble!”
“I agree,” Salmon said quietly. “Foreigners do bring trouble. But they cease being foreigners when they cast off their false gods and worship the Lord God with all their heart, mind, and strength.”
Amminadab’s eyes flashed again. “And how do you know if they are sincere in what they say? How can you trust a woman who has prostituted herself to other gods—not to mention other men?”
“Who?” another child piped in.
“As our fathers and mothers prostituted themselves to the golden calf?” Salmon said, restraining his own rising anger. “How quick you are to forget our own weaknesses and see those of others who have not had the blessing of God’s very Presence.”
Setting his nephew aside, Amminadab rose. “You risk us all by saving this woman and her relatives!”
The children looked back and forth, confused and frightened. Salmon looked from them to his older brother. “God has given us Jericho, Brother. I don’t know how He’ll do it, but He will hand it to us. If Rahab and her relatives survive what is to come, it’s because death passed over them just as it passed over us. The red cord hanging—”
“Red is the color of a harlot,” Nahshon said.
Feeling attacked from all sides, Salmon refused to withdraw. “Red is the color of blood, the blood of the Passover lamb.”
“You are so sure of her, Salmon?”
“Leave it to Leah to ask the gentle question,” Amminadab mocked when their sister quietly spoke up.
Salmon faced Amminadab again. “The heart of this woman belongs to the Lord; I’m sure of it. She declared her faith as strongly as Miriam, the sister of Moses, did. And do you not wonder? Of all the thousands in that city, the Lord singled out Rahab for our attention. Why would God do that unless He meant to rescue her?”
Salmon spoke to the children. “The Lord didn’t save our people because we were worthy. Look how our fathers and mothers turned away from God! They witnessed the ten plagues; they saw God open the Red Sea! They were still faithless and rebelled. And some of our own people turned away to bow down to the baals of Moab. No, we are not worthy. Only the Lord is righteous. No other but the Lord is worthy of praise.”
“And yet, God saved us,” Amminadab said firmly.
Salmon rose and faced the others. “Yes, God saved us. The Lord delivered us because of His great mercy. He plucked us out of Egypt just as He will pluck Rahab out of Jericho. This night we must remember the Lord our God freed us. The Lord delivered us. The Lord redeemed us. The Lord took us to be His people. Our salvation depends not on who we are but on who He is.”
“Who’s Rahab?” the children persisted.
“No one important, dear ones,” one of the women said softly.
“Just an Amorite woman in Jericho,” Nahshon said.
Salmon restrained his anger. “Rahab is a woman of faith. She hid Ephraim and me when the king of Jericho sent his soldiers to capture us. She told us that the Lord our God has given us the city.” He smiled at the children and at his sister. “And you’ll meet her soon.”
“God willing,” Amminadab said.
* * *
Rahab looked out at the plains of Jericho, where thousands of campfires flickered beneath the starry night. Jobab came and stood beside her. “What is that sound?”
“Singing.”
“They’re celebrating as though they’re already victorious.”
“They are victorious. Their God is on their side.” And soon, she hoped, soon, she and her relatives would be with them, aligned with the Lord God of heaven and earth.
“Why do you think they wait?”
“I don’t kn
ow. Perhaps their God told them to wait.”
“Why?”
“I can’t answer, Brother. I’m in the darkness as much as you.”
“Maybe they’ve changed their minds now that they’ve seen the height and breadth of the city walls,” Mizraim said from across the room, where he had been dozing against some cushions.
“They will do to Jericho what they’ve done to the other Amorite cities,” Rahab said, “but the men who came here will rescue us.”
“I’m hungry,” Bosem whined.
Smiling, Rahab stepped down from the block. “I’ll make bread.” She added small pieces of wood to the hot coals in the brazier and put the sheet of metal over the top. She and her sisters had ground flour that morning. She poured some into a bowl, added water and seasoning, and worked the dough.
“I hope it will be as you say, Rahab,” Mizraim said. “I hope we will be saved.”
“God will hold them to their oath.” She flattened a piece of dough and turned it round and round until it was thin. She laid it carefully on the hot metal. The dough bubbled and steamed. Using a pronged stick, she watched it briefly and then turned it over carefully. Her house filled with the aroma of roasting grain.
Awbeeb squatted beside her, watching her cook.
“The bread will be ready shortly, little one. Why don’t you ask your father to pour wine?”
By the time the first loaf of flat bread was made, she had prepared another to cook. She placed the first on a reed mat to cool and began a third. Her father broke off a piece and passed it to his eldest son. The men ate first, then the children. Rahab broke a round of flat bread into quarters for her sisters. There was enough dough left in the clay bowl to make one small portion of unleavened bread for herself.
Mizraim replenished his father’s cup of wine. “Maybe they’ll simply wait until we run out of food and water.”
“That will take months!” Jobab said. “They’re probably looking for a way to break through the gate or set fire to it.”
“They won’t be able to get close. The king has archers on the wall.”
A Lineage of Grace Page 20