Unashamed (14 page)

Across the street, a fire blazed. The bodies of her neighbors lay in their doorways. Screams came from the center of the city. She could hear stones cascading into the street behind her. When she glanced back, she saw her house collapsing.

Salmon released her hand and caught her around the waist. “This way,” he said sternly, urging her forward. “Hurry!” He lifted her over some rubble. Over his shoulder, she saw her relatives hastening after them.

When Salmon turned to help the others, Rahab held her arms out to Awbeeb. He scrambled over some fallen rocks, and she caught him up into her arms. Awbeeb clung to her, his face buried in her neck. Everywhere she looked, there was carnage. They picked their way hurriedly through the crumbled wall. She looked back at the others. “Keep going, Rahab!” Salmon commanded her. “Don’t look back! We’ll see to the others. Now go! Wait for us beneath the palms.”

When Rahab reached the outer edge of the rubble, she ran. She didn’t stop until she reached the shade of the palms. She set Awbeeb on his feet and turned to encourage the others. Dragging air into her burning lungs, she called out to her mother and sisters, who were running from the rubble with the rest of the children. Her father and brothers came more slowly, heavily burdened with family possessions. Salmon and Ephraim brought up the rear, swords drawn and ready to protect them if need be.

Her mother’s face was ashen as Rahab helped her sit against the palm. Basemath, Gowlan, and Gerah were weeping and holding their children close. Hagri was blinking back tears and staring back toward the city. Rahab followed her gaze.

Jericho looked as though a hand had come down from heaven and flattened it against the earth. The walls and towers were scattered stones that had collapsed and rolled outward. Screams still rent the air as smoke and fire rose.

“This way,” Salmon said, grasping her arm. He turned her toward the Israelite encampment at Gilgal.

Ω
     
Ω
     
Ω

By sunset, the once great trading center of Jericho was burning. The air was acrid, smoke billowing into the darkening sky. Red and orange tongues of fire licked up the last bits of wooden rubble within the circle of tumbled stone. The cloying scent of burning flesh was heavy.

Shuddering, Rahab clasped her knees to her chest. She was weary with exhaustion, greatly relieved to have survived the destruction and yet saddened as well. All those thousands of people were now dead because they’d foolishly put their trust in man-made walls rather than in the living God who had created the stones. They’d heard the stories just as she had. Why had they refused to believe?

Salmon and Ephraim guarded her and her family as the Israelites returned from battle.

“None of your men are carrying any plunder,” Mizraim said in surprise.

“Jericho is accursed,” Ephraim said.

Salmon seemed more hospitable and willing to explain. “The Lord commanded through Joshua that every living thing in the city was to be killed: man, woman, child—young and old, ox, sheep, and donkey. Whatever silver, gold, brass, or iron that remains after the fire will be brought into the Lord’s treasury. We take nothing for ourselves.”

Rahab lowered her head against her knees. She didn’t want Salmon or Ephraim to see her tears. They might mis-understand and think she grieved over the fallen city or that she wasn’t grateful that they had fulfilled their vow. Her heart was filled with thanksgiving toward the Lord God of heaven and earth, who had held these men to their promise. She and every member of her family were alive and safe.

Yet she had hoped for more. Oh, so much more.

Someone gripped her shoulder. She glanced up sharply to see her brother Jobab bending over her. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Rahab.”

“I, as well,” said Mizraim. “The god of the Hebrews is a mighty god, indeed.” He sat with his wife and children, putting his arms around them and holding them close.

The last of the Israelites returned to Gilgal.

“You will be safe here,” Salmon said. He inclined his head to Rahab and then turned and walked away. Ephraim went with him.

Rahab rose quickly and followed to the edge of darkness. She stopped there and watched the two young men head back to the Israelite encampment. Behind her, no one said anything. When the two men disappeared among the tents of Israel, Rahab closed her eyes and fought despair.

After a long while, her father came out to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “We are all relieved, my daughter. Because of your wisdom, we are alive and safe.”

She lowered her hands angrily. “We are all alive because of God.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Yes, of course.”

Cautious words, not faithful ones. Rahab shook her head sadly. None of those she loved would understand her sorrow. Even now, after all they’d heard and seen, they didn’t share her faith or the desire of her heart. Nor would they understand her desolation. She was unworthy to be counted among the Israelites. God had rescued her from destruction. He had shown mercy upon her and her family members. But that didn’t mean she was acceptable in His sight. That didn’t mean she could assume a place among His people. She saw in the faces of the men who had come to represent their people that she was still just “the harlot from Jericho.”

Her shoulders shook, and she covered her mouth to hold back the sobs.

“Do you cry for those who died, Rahab?”

“No,” she said raggedly.

She wept because her dream of being a follower of the true God was turning to dust. She was still outside the camp of Israel.

Ω
     
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Ω

Rahab slept fitfully that night and rose early in the morning. She stood in the predawn twilight, watching the Israelite camp awaken. As the sun rose, three men approached. Her heart leapt, and she immediately awakened the others. They all rose quickly and stood with her. Rahab moved to stand beside her father.

She recognized Salmon and Ephraim immediately, but not the older man with them, who walked with grave dignity. She and her family members bowed down before them.

“It is
him,
” her father said quietly. “The man I met in the palm grove forty years ago!” He knelt and put the palms of his hands and his forehead to the earth. “I would recognize him anywhere.”

It was the man she’d seen studying the walls before the march began, the man who had bowed down to the soldier with the drawn sword.

“Arise!” the elderly man said, hitting his staff against the ground. “Bow down before God, not man.”

Rahab rose quickly and helped her father to his feet. She could feel how he was shaking. And no wonder, for when she looked into the commander’s eyes, she trembled as well. Never had she seen such fierceness in a human face.

“I am Joshua.”

“You and I met once many years ago in the palm grove,” her father said. “I knew you would return.”

“I remember you, Abiasaph.”

Her father bowed his head again. “I thank you for taking pity upon my family and sparing our lives.”

“It is God who has rescued you from destruction, Abiasaph, not I,” Joshua said. “But now it is left to you to decide what you will do with the lives you’ve been given. Have you considered your future?”

“Our only desire is to live.”

“Your lives are granted you,” Joshua said. “No one in Israel will do you harm. Where do you wish to go?”

“If it is as you say and we can decide for ourselves,” her father continued cautiously, “then I would ask that we be allowed to return to the palm grove so that we might live there safely and make a living for ourselves.”

Heart sinking, Rahab closed her eyes.

Joshua inclined his head in agreement. “You may go, Abiasaph, you and yours, and peace be with you!”

Afraid he would leave and she would never have another opportunity to speak for herself, Rahab stepped forward. “I don’t wish to go!” All eyes focused upon her—her father’s and brothers’ in warning, her mother’s and sisters’ in fear.

Salmon’s eyes glowed and he seemed ready to speak on her behalf, but she turned her face from him. She could only imagine what had been said to him for giving his oath to rescue her and her family. She would not risk shaming him now. Besides, her hope rested on no man. Let God be her judge. If He were an eagle and she a mouse scurrying for shelter, she would still seek refuge beneath His mighty wings.

Joshua considered her enigmatically. “You are Rahab, the prostitute who hid our spies.”

“I am Rahab.”

“What is it you want, woman?”

Her father had chosen for the family, but she had this one chance, this one brief moment when opportunity lay within her grasp.

“Don’t be afraid,” Joshua said. “Speak.”

“I want to become one of the people of God, no matter what it takes.”

Joshua turned his head and looked at Salmon. Rahab held her breath, studying the two men. Was Joshua giving Salmon a silent reprimand for sparing her and her relatives and bringing this bother upon him? Was he blaming the young man for her outrageous plea? She could almost imagine what he was thinking:
How dare this brazen harlot think she deserves to be among God’s people! Isn’t it enough that the Lord spared her life? What right has she to ask for more? Be off with her!

“If I cannot be grafted into God’s own people, then it would have been better had I died among the rest of those lost souls in Jericho!”

Her father grasped her wrist and gave her a hard jerk. “Be silent, Daughter. Be thankful for your life!”

She yanked free and appealed to Joshua again. “I am thankful to God for my salvation, but you have said we can choose, and so I choose not to go back to my old life. I want to start afresh. Would that I could be a new creation under God!”

Her father said quickly, “She knows not what she says.”

“Indeed, she does,” Salmon said.

“She is only a woman and foolish,” Mizraim said, clearly angry with her, his expression warning her to silence
. This, from a man who would have put his hope in the walls of Jericho and the wooden idols now ash in the rubble,
she thought angrily, refusing to be cowed.

Joshua raised his hand for silence. “The Lord has shown pity toward all of you,” he said, “but toward this woman, He has shown compassion beyond measure. Abiasaph, your request has been granted. Take your family and go in peace. Live in the palm grove as you wish. But be warned: Jericho is accursed. Any man who rebuilds the city will do so not only at the expense of his firstborn son but of his youngest as well.”

“What of my daughter?”

“If Rahab wants to remain behind, she may.”

As Joshua and the two spies walked away, her eyes filled with tears. She hung her head in sorrow.

“You see how it is,” Mizraim said, while his wife began repacking their possessions. “They think they’re better than we are. They don’t want a woman like you among them.”

She didn’t answer. She knew what he said was true, but she refused to let him see her pain.

“We’ll build you a house near the road, Rahab,” Jobab offered. “You can have a lucrative business—”

“I’m staying here.” She sat down.

“Stubborn woman! Show some sense!”

“Sense?” She glared up at him. “What sense is there in walking away from a God who protects His people?”

“He didn’t protect
our
people!” Mizraim pointed out, gesturing toward Jericho. “You can still smell their burning flesh on the wind.”

“Those are my people,” she said and pointed toward Gilgal.

“I want to go home,” her mother said, weeping. “When can we go back to our house in the grove?”

“Will you go back to worshiping your little wooden idols as well?” Rahab asked bitterly.

“The god who destroyed Jericho isn’t for us,” her father said gravely. “We’re alive, and that’s all that matters.”

“No, Father. It isn’t enough to be alive but not serve the God who rescued us.”

“Not for you, perhaps,” Mizraim said. “But enough for us.”

“Then go!”

“Please come with us, Daughter,” her mother pleaded. “What will become of you if you stay behind? The Israelites will never allow you to live among them.”

“I’ll make her come,” Mizraim said angrily, reaching for her.

She slapped his hand away. “I’ve had stronger men than you try to bend me to their will! Don’t try it!”

“Leave her alone,” her father said, hefting a bundle onto his back. “Give her a few days to think things over. She’ll come to her senses.”

“When will you come to yours?” she cried out. “How can you turn away after you’ve seen the truth?”

“What truth?” Jobab said.

“
That it was God who saved you!
”

“It was you, Rahab,” her father said. “And we’re grateful.”

“But you all know the stories about God just as I do. Haven’t I told you each and every one as I heard it?”

“Yes, this god has great power.”

“All
power!”

“All the more reason to go, my dear. Such a god is best avoided.”

“And how do you propose to do that, Father? Where can you hide from Him?”

He looked troubled, but remained firm. “We will dwell quietly among the palms as Joshua has said we can. We will go about our business and not interfere with theirs. And, in this way, we will have peace with the people of Israel and their god.”

Shaking her head, she looked away toward the Israelite encampment of Gilgal and wept.

“Come with us,” Hagri said. “Please, Sister. You’ll be all alone here.”

“I’m staying.”

“And if they break camp and leave?”

“I’ll follow.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to.” How could she explain that she yearned for God, like a deer panting for water?