Joshua 8:30-35
“Then Joshua built on Mount Ebal an altar to the LORD, the God of Israel, just as Moses the servant of the LORD had commanded the Israelites, as it is written in the book of the law of Moses, “an altar of unhewn stones, on which no iron tool has been used”; and they offered on it burnt-offerings to the LORD, and sacrificed offerings of well-being” (Joshua 8:30-31)
The law of Moses required that “an altar of unhewn stones” be made because Moses and his people we on the move. They had to make their altars quickly and with no sense of permanence. Today’s altar might be enjoyed and utilized for a day or two before they broke camp and carried on in their wilderness wanderings. This is a poignant image for the Christian church in 21st century America.
First, it teaches us to look for God’s providence rather than permanence. Naturally, we’d all love permanence. We’d love it if the worship plans, for example, we make would be evergreen and able to serve us at all times and in all ways. But then, you know, a global pandemic happens and our impermanence is revealed fully. But Israel, under Joshua’s leadership, knows that permanence awaits them in a holy land that they have not yet reached.
Second, and building off the first, the work of permanence does have its place: in the Holy Land. What, then, is the Holy Land for us? It is the Kingdom of God, which is both a place that will be given to us (so we can’t make it) and a series of practices we can embody (which we can make happen). Our works of permanence are the ways that we pursue justice, present mercy, express joy, share in laments, and embody God’s love and grace. Another way to think of it is that our very bodies and souls are the place where God’s permanence gets worked out; they are the new “holy land.” For we know, in the end, the parts of us that are good and true and faithful, they will survive a refining fire, while the rest will burn off to create space for new growth. So, we can work on permanence, but only so far as we make our lives an altar to God.
Third, consider just how annoying it might be to build an altar and not be permitted the use of any tools! That means you have to collect a series of rocks and then work to see how they fit together in a stable enough way that you can set a large fire for sacrifices on them. One rock may have a really flat, smooth side – and that’s just perfect – but its other side is rounded and bumpy, which makes it more like a teeter-totter when the bumpy side is laid on the ground. All of the sudden, the flat side isn’t as useful. I think this is a good metaphor for the church. We all come in – rocks of various shapes and sizes – useless in and of ourselves. It’s only after we are carefully nestled together in a way where my bumps fit into your valleys that we build something functional and holy. Once we understand ourselves, as a community, in this way, we don’t analyze one’s bumps and another’s grooves as character flaws, but places where God fits us together.
Really, consider this deeply as a metaphor. Let’s say the “valley” or “groove” is a place of loss in someone’s life. They may lament this abnormality; they may wish for it to be corrected. But their shape is used by God to help them fit more closely to the rest of the church. This is why we can’t take iron tools to one another’s souls and try to chisel each other down to what we think is most acceptable. If we did this consistently, we may have a bunch of perfect rocks, but they’d be smaller than when they started and the altar we built together maybe couldn’t hold the weight of the holy task put before it.
Friends, rejoice that our God works more by providence than permanence, that when He works on permanence it is of the eternal type, and that even your wounds, scars, and shortcomings have a place in the altar that is the Church. Thanks be to God. Amen.
