The toppling of Jericho’s walls in Joshua 6 isn’t merely a faith-based military climax—it’s the dramatic punctuation to a narrative that stretches back to Genesis. You’re not alone if you still get a kick out of recalling VeggieTales’s pea smoothie-antics whenever Jericho comes up. But behind the Sunday School flannel graphs lies a raw and uncompromising story of a people and a leader invited to become something entirely set up apart. In this story, the past and future are violently cut away to make room for a divine presence.
In Joshua 5, right before the Israelites prepare to take on Jericho, we encounter a moment of intense ritual renewal, communal ceremonies, and divine confrontation. This isn’t your average motivational tale; it’s a call to shed everything that held back a people “wandering” for over 400 years. It’s a moment where history, faith, and personal transformation collide, demanding that readers of it ask: What must be severed so that something more in the divine image can emerge?
Rewinding to Exodus: A Divine Reset
First, there is a rewinding of Exodus that happens. Picture it: the calling in chapter one, the stopping of the Jordan River (a deliberate echo of the Red Sea’s parting), Passover, the new leader’s holy-ground encounter, and now the confrontation of an imposing empire. There are hints and allusions (c.f. remezes1)—connecting this story back through both Exodus and Genesis:
- Crossing the Jordan with the Ark of the Covenant (Joshua 3:14-17; 4:1-7)
- Entering the Promised Land with Memorial Stones (Joshua 4:21-24)
- Covenant Renewal – Second circumcision and the cessation of manna (Joshua 5:2-4, 10)
- Divine Encounter – Meeting with the Commander of the Army of the Lord on holy ground and removal of sandals (Joshua 5:13-15)
It’s the culmination of more than 400 years for these people. An entire 40 years of people have died off. After crossing the Jordan River, leaving behind the only desert they’ve ever known, they step into a brave new world. Joshua 5 opens with this grand setup:
“As soon as all the kings of the Amorites who were beyond the Jordan to the west, and all the kings of the Canaanites who were by the sea, heard that the Lord had dried up the waters of the Jordan for the people of Israel until they had crossed over, their hearts melted and there was no longer any spirit in them because of the people of Israel.” (Joshua 5:1)
This is not just geography or military strategy—it’s a divine blessing. The same divine power that parted the Red Sea in Exodus and now dried up the Jordan also dries up the spirit of gentile kings.
The Bombshell Before Passover: Redefining Identity
It’s here, and before Passover, that God decides to drop the bombshell of x: what every male was looking forward to right before taking on Jericho (and before they even knew what their “brilliant” plan was going to be). Joshua 5 is about reminding Israel what kind of nation they were destined to be. They were not meant to emulate Egypt or adopt an “every man for himself” mentality of Judges (Judges 17:6; 21:25). Israel was called to be a blessing to all nations (Genesis 12:2)—not a curse, not an empire built on human ambition, and certainly not the self-appointed judges of their own fate. They were to be a kingdom of priests (see Exodus 19:6; Hebrews 7)2, a people whose identity was defined by a covenant far greater than any territorial conquest.
The dramatic command comes abruptly from the Lord in Joshua 5:2: “Make flint knives and circumcise the sons of Israel a second time.”
This isn’t a mundane act of hygiene or a simple nod to tradition. It’s a covenantal reset—a ritual meant to cut away the old and shape a new identity. There’s also a reason it’s associated with a sexual organ. Circumcision was not new for Moses. It dated back to Abraham and wasn’t uniquely Jewish. Many ancient Near Eastern cultures used bodily modification as a marker of sacred belonging. In gentile contexts, practices like circumcision and castration served similar functions—a blunt but symbolically potent practice intended to excise what was impure, preparing an individual for a sacred role, be it as priest or to serve royalty. What was unique about this circumcision was the covenant, or worldview, behind it, and that it was intended to create a “kingdom of priests.“
“When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
For Israel, this “second” circumcision was a radical call to remember who they were meant to be. It severed the lingering vestiges of the desert wanderings and Egyptian bondage, ensuring that they would not become just another nation defined by self-serving power or fear. It reactivated the covenant that began with Abraham (Genesis 17) and Sarah and set them apart as a people destined to be a blessing to all families and nations. This wasn’t about preserving a static identity—it was about cutting away the old self to make room for a reborn community, a kingdom of priests ready to embody God’s radical promise.
From Abraham to Moses: The Legacy of a Radical Calling
To truly grasp the significance of Joshua 5, we must trace its lineage back to Abraham. Abraham’s call was never about building an exclusive empire founded on brute power; it was about being a blessing to all nations. The sign of that covenant—circumcision—was intended to mark a transformative relationship with God, one that extended far beyond the confines of any one nation or tribe.
Moses, too, carried this legacy into the wilderness. The mention of “flint knives” occurs also in Exodus 4:5: Moses’ non-Jewish wife, Ziporah, was sick of Moses’ indecision and identity issues as a father and leader. Those weren’t random details; they were symbolic tools connecting Moses’ household to a divine commission. Despite his great leadership—and despite his failings, like that stubborn pride that cost him entry into the Promised Land—Moses set the stage for a people whose identity was continually reshaped by direct encounters with God. His life reminds us that transformation comes at a price; the journey toward divine promise is paved with moments of painful letting go.
For the Israelites, the moment in Joshua 5 was not a mere echo of past deliverances. It was a deliberate reactivation of the covenant—a decisive act to cut away the inertia and fear of other generations, which had clung to the familiarity of Egyptian and the desert’s desolation. They were being prepared to step into a new identity, one that rejected the self-reliance of empires and instead embraced the vulnerability and radical hope of a kingdom of priests.
Generational Shifts: Breaking with the Past
The tension between generations is a theme that runs like a scar through the narrative of Joshua 5. The older generation, battered by the memories of oppression and the safety of what was known, grumbled at every turn—from the bitter waters of Marah to the uncertainty at the Jordan’s edge. Their collective voice, steeped in fear and nostalgia, was a heavy anchor that could have easily dragged the promise of renewal into the depths of despair.
But younger generations can (will?) be different. Hungry for change and desperate to break free from the old patterns, they were ready to embrace a future defined not by inherited limitations but by radical transformation. Their willingness to undergo the second circumcision, to let the flint knife cut away the dead weight of the past, was not an act of mere ritual compliance—it was a bold rejection of the complacency that had held their forefathers back. It’s a dramatic act to symbolize learning the lessons generations before us may not have.
“We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”
C.S. Lweis
In this tension lies a timeless truth: true renewal often requires a generational break, a willingness to sever the ties that bind us to a painful history. Forgiveness is one such painful example.
This dynamic isn’t confined to ancient Israel. In our own lives, we wrestle with similar generational struggles—the pull between clinging to outdated models of success and the daring leap into an unknown, transformative future. Paradigm shifts in science are a known phenomenon. The impact of parenting is not a foreign subject to any human.
The three tests Israel faced in the desert weren’t arbitrary obstacles, starting with the well of Marah; they were necessary threshold guardians, demanding that each person confront what must be cut away to step into a life of genuine blessing.
The Commander of the Army of the Lord: The Divine Interruption
After crossing the Jordan, reactivation of the covenant through circumcision, the memories of Exodus and the desert have been vividly reawakened through Passover, and Jericho awaits in fear: Joshua 5 delivers a sudden, stunning interruption. In verses 13–15, we read:
“When Joshua was by Jericho, he lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, a man was standing before him with his drawn sword in his hand. And Joshua went to him and said to him, ‘Are you for us, or for our adversaries?’ And he said, ‘No; but I am the commander of the army of the Lord. Now I have come.’ And Joshua fell on his face to the earth and worshiped, and said to him, ‘What does my lord say to his servant?’ And the commander of the Lord’s army said to Joshua, ‘Take off your sandals from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy.’ And Joshua did so.”
At first, we aren’t given a name or background for this figure—a man with a drawn sword simply appears, unannounced, in the midst of everything that has come before. With Jericho looming and a history of hard-fought deliverance fresh in memory, Joshua, the leader after Moses, doesn’t waste time on introductions. Instead, he blurts out, “Are you for us, or for our adversaries?” His question was a direct reflection of what was on his mind.
The commander’s answer—a single, paradoxical “No”—is as loaded as it is brief. It encapsulates the entire narrative of Joshua 5. It tells us that God’s plan isn’t about taking sides in a human contest of might but about redefining what it means to be His people (John 18:36). From the reactivation of the covenant through circumcision (an act with roots extending beyond Moses and echoing Abraham’s blessing) to the remembrance of Passover and Joshua being told to take off his sandals, every element points to a single truth: Israel was never meant to be a self-aggrandizing empire like Pharaoh’s, but a community called to be a blessing to all nations.
The drawn sword itself is a powerful, multifaceted symbol in Ancient Near Eastern literature and Old Testament scripture. In Numbers 22:31, when Balaam sees the angel of the Lord with his drawn sword blocking his path, it’s a clear sign of divine judgment for wrongdoing. In 1 Chronicles 21:16–17, David sees “the angel of the Lord standing between earth and heaven, with a drawn sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem,” a forewarning tied directly to his own failures. And in Ezekiel 21 (especially verses 3–5), the drawn sword becomes a metaphor for God’s judgment 3—a tool not merely for defense but for excising the sin and complacency that have taken root in human beings. It’s symbolic of “We have something to talk about, and I demand your full attention.”
In that brief encounter, Joshua is forced to confront a radical truth: the divine intervention before him is not about comforting reassurances but about cutting away his old self, about shattering his pride and inertia to pave the way for a transformed identity. The commander’s directive to remove Joshua’s sandals—echoing Moses’ encounter at the burning bush (Exodus 3:5)—is a call to recognize that the ground on which they stand is holy, that every step forward must be taken in humility and openness to change.
Then It Just Ends: The Unresolved Mystery
And then it just ends! The thing this Commander of the Lord wanted was for Joshua to take off his sandals, for the ground was holy. Notice there is no “Do not be afraid” like Joshua 1 or with other angelic encounters. Joshua better have been wearing his brown pants. The last time this happened, there was a litany of excuses Moses had to work through. With Joshua, we’re given nothing more—just a descriptive, “And Joshua did so.4”
The narrative of Joshua 5 doesn’t tie up neatly. The next verse finds the Israelites preparing to take on Jericho, but what exactly transpired in that enigmatic gap between Joshua 5:15 and 6:1? What was communicated in that divine silence? Did he fall to his knees? What was confronted in Joshua’s heart in that unrecorded moment? How long of a night was it? What did Joshua tell people the next day?
We aren’t told, and that’s precisely the point. The scene just dramatically cuts to black, and we’re left hanging. God speaks more often and most directly with silence (1 Kings 19:12). The abrupt ending is not an editorial oversight—it’s an invitation to us, the readers, to wonder and put ourselves in his sandals, or lack thereof. It challenges us to imagine what occurred in that liminal space to be fully exposed before the Divine without excuses—a moment where all the past, all the echoes of our own people before us, and the overwhelming presence of the divine converged to confront our perspectives, biases, and pride.
That gap asks us to wrestle with the mystery of transformation. If we can do the work of putting ourselves in Joshua’s shoes, standing before the Commander of the Army of the Lord with his drawn sword, we might begin to understand that transformation isn’t a neat, linear process. It’s messy, ambiguous, and profoundly personal. It forces us to ask: What parts of our old self must be cut away so that a new, covenant-defined identity can emerge? Perhaps, like Joshua, we must remove our worn-out shoes—both literally and metaphorically—and bow before the mystery of divine change.
A Call to Radical Transformation
The narrative of Joshua 5 is not merely a record of ancient rituals and military maneuvers—it’s radical firsts and a living invitation. It tells us that true renewal requires a deliberate, often painful, cutting away of the past. Whether it’s the reactivation of the covenant through circumcision (an act that resonates with pre-Mosaic practices and even gentile rites like castration) or the dramatic presence of a divine commander whose drawn sword symbolizes judgment and renewal, every element in Joshua 5 demands that we rethink what it means to be transformed.
“The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly, as if it were nothing at all.”
C.S. Lewis
This isn’t a story of neat conclusions or tidy resolutions. It’s a raw, unfiltered invitation to examine our lives—our pride, our fears, and the inherited legacies that weigh us down—and to decide what must be excised so that a new identity can emerge. Israel was never called to be like Pharaoh or to follow an “every man for himself” mentality. They were called to be a blessing to all nations, a kingdom of priests whose very identity was defined by humility and divine intervention.
Integrating the Ancient with the Modern
The challenge of Joshua 5 reverberates far beyond the ancient Near East. In our modern world, obsessed with preserving the status quo, we often cling to outdated models of success and identity. Yet the call in Joshua 5 is as urgent today as it was then: transformation is only possible when we have the courage to cut away the dead weight of our past—be it inherited pride, fear, bitterness, greed, avoidance, or the inertia of generationally-held assumptions5.
The ancient act of circumcision, far from being a relic of the past, serves as a vivid metaphor for this process (Jere 4:4, Phil. 3:3; Col. 2:11). It was a direct and specific lesson to a real person, Joshua, about responsibility and pride. It reminds us that transformation requires sacrifice, that sometimes what is most painful must be excised in order for new life to emerge. It challenges us to look at our own lives and ask: What parts of us have we outgrown? What old beliefs or practices are keeping us from becoming the people we’re meant to be? And what, like Joshua’s sandals, must we shed before we can truly stand in the presence of the divine?
This is the radical, messy, and ultimately transformative truth of Joshua 5. It’s not just a historical narrative; it’s a challenge to every one of us to step into a future defined not by our past failures or the comfort of the familiar but by a courageous, covenant-defined promise of renewal.
Stepping Boldly Into The Unresolved Invitation
The story of Joshua 5 is a seamless tapestry where ancient history, ritual renewal, ambition, and personal transformation converge. It begins with a rewinding of Exodus—recalling the call, the stopping of the Jordan, and the promise of Passover—culminating in a moment when God drops the bombshell every male was eagerly looking forward to: circumcision.
Israel was not destined to be a self-appointed judge, an empire built on self-reliance, or a people defined by inherited limitations. They were called to be a blessing, to become a kingdom of priests—set apart by a covenant that demanded radical transformation.
“What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.”
A.W. Tozer
The enigmatic appearance of the Commander of the Army of the Lord, sword drawn and message delivered with a simple “No,” challenges us to question our own assumptions about comfort, power, pride, and what it means to be holy. It is in that unrecorded gap, between the end of Joshua 5 and the beginning of the march on Jericho, that the mystery of divine intervention lies—inviting each one of us to consider: What must we cut away to step boldly into a personal future defined by acceptance and possibility?
If we can do the work of putting ourselves in Joshua’s shoes, standing before the Commander of the Army of the Lord, and extract the lessons into our personal modern context, we might wonder a lot more about what transpired with Joshua between 5:15 and 6:1. We also might take off our shoes and even bow.
*Footnotes
- Remez (רמז) is a Hebrew term referring to a hint or allusion in the text that points to a deeper or hidden meaning. It is one of the four levels of Jewish biblical exegesis (Pardes), representing the allegorical or suggestive interpretation. ↩︎
- The concept of Israel as a “kingdom of priests” is particularly rich. In Exodus 19:6, God declares, “you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” This idea is later echoed and expanded upon in the New Testament, most notably in 1 Peter 2:9, which applies the same language to the Christian community, stating, “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” This highlights the ongoing nature of this calling and its application beyond the physical nation of Israel. ↩︎
- The imagery of the drawn sword is also used metaphorically in the New Testament, particularly in the Book of Revelation, where it symbolizes Christ’s authority and the power of his word (Revelation 1:16, 19:15). ↩︎
- The lack of explicit detail in this moment mirrors other significant encounters in the Bible, such as Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus (Acts 9). In both cases, the transformative event is marked by a profound yet largely internal shift that defies easy description. The reader is left to grapple with the implications of the encounter. ↩︎
- The concept of intergenerational trauma provides a lens for understanding how past experiences, both positive and negative, can shape the identity and behavior of subsequent generations. ↩︎
