You Have Not Passed This Way Before

Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost, Year A – Joshua 3: 4-17

“You have not passed this way before” [Joshua 3:4].

I’m showing my age, but I have a vivid recollection of the classic 1956 Cecil B. DeMille film, “The Ten Commandments,” starring Charlton Heston, as Moses and Yul Brynner, as Pharaoh. I didn’t encounter it in the theatre — I saw it on TV. I suspect you’ve seen it at some point.

Produced long before computerized film generation, the movie crew built a massive water tank on the Paramount lot and filmed hundreds of thousands of gallons of water rushing and cascading down. In the movie, the recorded film was played in reverse to make the wall of water look like it was parting and rising up instead of crashing down. The scene is powerful.

This Sunday’s OT reading, Joshua 3: 4-17, brings us to another river crossing. The Israelites stand before the Jordan, and the river is at flood stage.

You’d think that forty years of wandering would have taught the Israelites how to find their way. For years, they had packed and unpacked their belongings. They had followed instructions, endured food and water shortages, and learned something about the difficult task of traveling together. The danger ahead is real. At the beginning of this week’s lesson, they’re told:

“You have not passed this way before” [Joshua 3:4].

Their lives have changed since the hasty departure from Egypt. Moses is dead. Many of those who followed him out of captivity have died as well. There are some standing at the river’s edge who remember Egypt through a child’s eyes. Others would have been born since that first Passover. For them, stories of the Exodus and the collective passage through the Red Sea [Exodus 15:8] had been told each year by people whom they loved.

YHWH has appointed a new leader: Joshua. YHWH promises to be with him as He was with Moses. Along with the hope of what lay on the other side of the river was the divine promise that the death of their leader had not left them abandoned.

Their redemption from bondage in Egypt had begun a long, difficult transformation. Along with freedom came hunger. Also came frequent thirst and infighting. At Sinai, they had received the Holy Covenant through which their common life would be molded.

In their journeys, they had learned to eat food that they never could have provided for themselves. They received water when they were sure none existed. YHWH had shown His faithfulness by entering the ordinary activity of keeping people alive through another day.

But when Moses went up upon Mt. Sinai, their fears had returned. Finding the absence of Moses unbearable, they had caused Aaron to fashion a physical object — a golden calf — to which they could attribute their deliverance. Moses had been required to argue their case before YHWH. And, through Moses’ words, YHWH had relented.

Here at the water’s edge, they are given unusual instructions. They are to keep their eyes on the Ark, the holy chest containing the Commandments, that accompanies them. They are to keep a distance of about two thousand cubits from it — about half a mile. They’re told that they need to keep their distance so that they can see which way they are to go. I suspect that I would have wanted something sacred I could hold in my hands.

“You have not passed this way before.”

The priests step into the water. Upstream, near Adam, the waters gather into a “mound” or “heap” [3:16], while the water downstream drains away. The Hebrew word for that mound also describes the waters in the Exodus song [Exodus 15:8]. YHWH, whose divine deliverance shaped evening fireside stories for decades, is still present to offer new generations additional deliverance stories for a new land.

We must remember that the land on the other side is already inhabited by others. For those peoples, the arrival of Israel means warfare and loss. That prospect should cause us to be reluctant to call whatever future we desire “the Promised Land.”

But, for now, the priests stand in the middle of the riverbed. Once again, the people pass through safely. The chapter ends only when the entire nation has crossed. As readers, we are allowed to linger briefly as YHWH’s presence remains the center of the story.

I’m reminded of a friend who had followed after YHWH her entire life. She knew the hymns, much of the scripture, many of the prayers. She had married, been a devoted wife and a loving mother. But then, she found herself facing unfamiliar country. The one with whom she had shared her very soul, the one for whom she had worried, the one whom she had emotionally supported while he sought and achieved great success, told her that he’d found someone new. Someone new? She thought:

“You have not passed this way before.”

A parishioner from another church found himself a stranger in a strange and uncomfortable world. The one who had taught him how to tie his shoes, how to drive a car, and how to mow the lawn now depended upon him to remember the medications, interpret the instructions, and answer the questions that neither had ever expected would need to be asked. The elderly father turns to his son and with almost unrecognizing eyes asks, “When are we going home?” The son wonders to himself:

“You have not passed this way before.”

To acknowledge that unfamiliarity is not a failure of faith. Whether you’ve been wandering for forty years or facing an unwelcome future, you need guidance. At seventy-five years old, with so much behind me, and yet so much still ahead, I am learning to look for God’s presence even while danger and uncertainty hold my attention. His Holy Presence is sometimes found in an ordinary room. Sometimes it comes during the discomfort of an interrupted night. Often it is deeply felt as I sit beside someone whose hand I know better than my own.

The river is before us, and we are still learning where to look.