Joshua 5

10/08/2025

Joshua 5 NKJV: All the kings on the west side of the Jordan hear of how God stopped the Jordan so that Israel could cross, and they became afraid of Israel because of the greatness of God. God then has Joshua circumcise the people, because no one was circumcised during wilderness wanderings. This circumcision reestablished their covenant and God's people.

That's a solid summary of the key beats in Joshua 5—focusing on the ripple effects of God's power and the renewal of covenant identity right on the cusp of conquest. I love how the chapter pivots from awe-inspiring miracles (the Jordan's halt echoing the Red Sea) to this intimate, gritty act of obedience in circumcision. It's like God saying, "Before you charge into the land of promise, let's get back to basics: you're mine, marked as such, no shortcuts from the wilderness years."

A couple of layers that stand out to me here:

• The fear factor (v. 1): Those kings aren't just spooked by military strategy; it's the "hand of the Lord" that's too mighty. This sets up the psychological warfare theme throughout Joshua—God's reputation does half the work before swords are even drawn. It's a reminder that true authority often travels ahead of us through stories and signs.
• Circumcision as reset (vv. 2-9): Spot on about reestablishing the covenant. The generation that grumbled and rebelled in the desert (Numbers 14) is gone, and this new crew—flawed as they are—gets ritually "rolled away" of that reproach at Gilgal (the name itself means "rolling"). It's not just physical; it's spiritual surgery, cutting away the old failures to make space for inheritance. Paul picks this up in Colossians 2:11, linking it to the "circumcision of Christ" as heart-level renewal.

If you're digging into this for personal reflection, it hits hard on themes of preparation: God halts rivers for us, but we still have to show up for the painful, private steps of recommitment. What's resonating most for you from the chapter— the terror of the kings, the manna-to-harvest shift (vv. 10-12), or maybe that mysterious commander in vv. 13-15? I'd love to unpack more if you want.

It also tells of them properly possessing the land. They hang out at Gilgal and observe Passover there. That brings the exodus story full circle. It started with the original Passover and ends with this Passover. Even the manna is stopped after this Passover and they begin eating of the promised land. They are now in possession, they just have to now run out the riff-raff.

Absolutely, that Passover pivot in verses 10-11 is such a poetic full-circle moment—bookending the Exodus with blood on doorposts in Egypt and now feasting on the land's produce under open skies at Gilgal. It's like God's saying, "Remember the night of deliverance? Now live into the day of inheritance." And the manna cutoff? Brutal mercy. No more rationed handouts; time to till, harvest, and trust the rhythm of seasons. It forces that shift from nomadic survival to rooted flourishing, even as the battles loom.

You're right about the "riff-raff" phase too—possession isn't passive; it's a gritty eviction notice on generations of entrenched idolatry (Deut. 7 vibes). But it's laced with grace: Rahab's scarlet cord in chapter 6 shows God's heart for the redeemable amid the judgment. Makes me wonder how that tension plays out in our own "conquests"—what "promised portions" are we stepping into that require both celebration and cleanup?

The chapter end with Joshua meeting a very intriguing character. A man standing there with his sword drawn. Joshua asks if he is for us or for our enemy, and the man answers, No. It is as if he is saying I am for neither, but God, and I am bringing His army with me. This is when Joshua realized who he is facing and falls flat on his face in worship. And the man tells him to remove his sandals for the ground where his is is holy ground. This is another echo from Moses at the burning bush.

Spot on—that "No" is such a mic-drop moment, isn't it? It's not a dodge; it's a reframe that flips the script from tribal loyalties to divine sovereignty. Joshua's binary question (ally or adversary?) gets shattered by this theophany: the commander isn't picking sides in a human skirmish; he's the vanguard of Yahweh's host, come to wage holy war on His terms. It's like God reminding Joshua (and us) that the real power dynamic isn't Israel vs. Canaan, but heaven's agenda invading earth. That sword drawn? Not in threat to Joshua, but in readiness for the battles ahead—Jericho's walls are about to feel it.

And the worship + sandal removal? Pure Exodus 3 redux, but upgraded: Moses at the bush gets the solo encounter; Joshua gets it amid a camped army on the eve of conquest. It's commissioning 2.0—ground sanctified not by fire, but by the Captain's presence. Scholars debate if this is a Christophany (pre-incarnate Christ, given the worship acceptance—angels deflect that in Rev. 19:10), but either way, it underscores Joshua's humility: from spy to servant-leader, he hits the dirt before hefts the sword.

Do you think Joshua saw the army as well, or just the commander?

That's a sharp question—gets right to the heart of the encounter's mystery. I lean toward Joshua seeing just the commander, not the full army in any visible form. The text is laser-focused on that singular figure: "a Man stood opposite him with His sword drawn in His hand" (v. 13, NKJV), and everything unfolds as a one-on-one dialogue from there. No sweeping vista of heavenly troops, no choral ranks materializing like in some epic vision (contrast that with, say, Elisha's servant seeing the chariots of fire in 2 Kings 6). The commander's title—"commander of the army of the Lord"—hints at vast, unseen forces marshaled behind him, but it's the presence of the Captain that demands Joshua's awe and obedience, not a spectacle of the whole host.

This keeps the emphasis on personal submission: Joshua doesn't get dazzled by the divine entourage; he gets confronted by the One who wields the sword on God's behalf. It's intimate, almost tactical—like a general briefing his lieutenant before the charge. And if it's a theophany (a visible manifestation of God, possibly pre-incarnate Christ, as many interpreters suggest), that singular appearance echoes how God often shows up in Scripture: not in overwhelming pomp, but in a form that invites worship and reorients perspective. The army? They're real, they're coming (as the "I have now come" implies readiness), but they're the invisible reality undergirding the visible battles ahead—spiritual warfare backing the physical one.

What do you think—does the lack of visible army make the moment more potent, or do you picture something grander lurking off-page?

It is a reminder that God is more than ready and capable to meet and beat any battle we may face. This had to be a powerful encouragement to Joshua.

Couldn't agree more—that encounter isn't just a divine cameo; it's rocket fuel for Joshua's soul. After forty years of wilderness detours and a lifetime of "what ifs" from his spy days (Numbers 13-14), here's the ultimate morale boost: not some vague promise, but the Commander Himself, sword out, boots on the ground (or close enough—sandals off). It's God's way of whispering (or thundering), "I've got the host; you've got the obedience. Let's roll." No wonder Joshua drops face-first; it's the pivot from "Can we even do this?" to "With Him? Absolutely."

This ripples through the whole book—think Ai's flop in chapter 7 as the cost of ignoring that holiness, versus Jericho's triumph as the payoff of tuned-in faith. And for us? It's that same assurance in our skirmishes: battles aren't won by our grit alone, but by aligning under His banner (Exodus 17:15 vibes).