When Good Intentions Nearly Start a Civil War
What’s Joshua 22 about?
After decades of fighting together, the eastern tribes build an altar that looks like rebellion to their brothers across the Jordan. What follows is a masterclass in how misunderstandings can escalate—and how honest conversation can prevent catastrophe.
The Full Context
Joshua 22 takes place at one of those pivotal moments when everything could go spectacularly wrong. The conquest is essentially complete, and Joshua is releasing the eastern tribes—Reuben, Gad, and half of Manasseh—to return to their families across the Jordan River. These tribes had kept their promise to fight alongside their brothers for seven long years, leaving their wives and children behind. Now it’s time to go home.
But here’s where it gets interesting: as soon as they cross the Jordan, these returning warriors build a massive altar. When word reaches the western tribes, they assume the worst—their brothers are starting their own competing worship system, effectively declaring independence from Yahweh’s established order. The response is swift and severe: they’re ready to go to war over it. What we have here is a perfect storm of good intentions, poor communication, and religious zeal that nearly tears the newly united nation apart before it even gets started.
What the Ancient Words Tell Us
The Hebrew word used for the altar in Joshua 22:10 is mizbēaḥ, but it’s described as gadôl (great) and lemareʾh (to see). This isn’t just any altar—it’s specifically designed to be seen from a distance. The eastern tribes aren’t trying to hide anything; they’re making a statement that everyone can see.
Grammar Geeks
The phrase “great to see” in Hebrew suggests something built for visibility, not necessarily for sacrifice. It’s architectural communication—like building a monument rather than a functional worship center.
When the western tribes hear about this altar, their reaction is described using the word qāhal (assembly), the same term used for Israel’s most serious religious gatherings. They’re not just upset; they’re convening a holy council to deal with what they perceive as apostasy.
The word choice here reveals the depth of their concern. In Joshua 22:16, they use maʿal (treachery/unfaithfulness), the same word used to describe Achan’s sin that brought disaster on the entire nation in Joshua 7. They’re not just worried about bad theology—they’re terrified of corporate judgment.
What Would the Original Audience Have Heard?
To ancient Israelites, this story would have resonated on multiple levels. First, they would have immediately understood the geography problem. The Jordan River was more than just a natural boundary—it was becoming a psychological and spiritual divide. Would the eastern tribes gradually drift away from the central sanctuary? Would their children grow up feeling disconnected from the rest of Israel?
Did You Know?
In ancient Near Eastern culture, altars weren’t just worship sites—they were legal witnesses. Treaties were often sealed at altars, and they served as permanent reminders of commitments made before the gods.
The western tribes’ fear wasn’t irrational. They’d seen what happened when Israel compromised with local religious practices. The golden calf incident, the Baal Peor disaster, Achan’s sin—each time someone decided to do their own thing religiously, the entire community suffered. From their perspective, a rival altar looked like the first step toward theological independence.
But the eastern tribes had a completely different perspective. They were thinking generationally. How would they explain to their grandchildren that they belonged to Israel when they lived so far from the tabernacle? How would they maintain their identity as people of Yahweh when the Jordan River separated them from their brothers?
But Wait… Why Did They Build It in Secret?
Here’s what’s genuinely puzzling about this story: if the eastern tribes were building a memorial, why didn’t they communicate their intentions clearly from the start? The text suggests they built the altar and then went home, leaving their brothers to discover it and draw their own conclusions.
This seems like a massive communication failure. These are seasoned warriors who had fought together for years—surely they knew how their actions would be interpreted? Or maybe that’s exactly the point. Perhaps they were testing whether their brothers still considered them part of the family, or maybe they wanted to force a conversation about their place in Israel’s future.
Wait, That’s Strange…
The eastern tribes call their altar “Ed” (witness), but only after they’re confronted about it. If it was always meant to be a witness, why didn’t they announce that purpose from the beginning?
Wrestling with the Text
What strikes me most about this passage is how quickly good people can misunderstand each other’s motives. The western tribes see rebellion where the eastern tribes intended reassurance. The eastern tribes see suspicion where the western tribes intended protection.
But look at how the confrontation unfolds. When the western tribes send their delegation, they don’t come with swords drawn (though they’re ready for war). They send Phinehas the priest and leaders from each tribe—their most respected voices. They come to talk first.
And when they do talk, they lay their cards on the table. In Joshua 22:17-18, they essentially say, “Look, we’ve been down this road before. When one of us sins, all of us suffer. We can’t afford to let this slide.” They’re not being judgmental—they’re being protective of the whole community.
The eastern tribes’ response is equally revealing. They don’t get defensive or dismiss the concerns. Instead, they take an oath in Joshua 22:22: “The Mighty One, God, the Lord! The Mighty One, God, the Lord! He knows, and let Israel itself know!” They’re essentially saying, “God is our witness—judge our hearts, not just our actions.”
“Sometimes the most dangerous conflicts aren’t between enemies, but between family members who love the same things for different reasons.”
How This Changes Everything
This story completely reframes how we think about religious conflict. Too often, we assume that disagreement equals apostasy, that different approaches mean divided loyalties. But what if the eastern tribes were actually demonstrating a deeper commitment to their faith by ensuring their children would remember their heritage?
The altar they built was never meant for sacrifice—it was meant for storytelling. In Joshua 22:27-28, they explain that future generations would look at this altar and remember that they too belonged to the God of Israel. It was a preemptive answer to the question, “What share do you have in the Lord?”
This transforms our understanding of unity. True unity isn’t uniformity—it’s not everyone doing exactly the same thing in exactly the same way. True unity is everyone serving the same God with the same heart, even when their circumstances require different expressions.
The western tribes’ final response in Joshua 22:31 is beautiful: “Today we know that the Lord is among us, because you have not been unfaithful to the Lord in this matter.” They don’t just accept the explanation—they celebrate it. They recognize that God is big enough to be honored in ways they hadn’t initially considered.
Key Takeaway
When someone’s actions look suspicious, the most loving response isn’t to assume the worst—it’s to create space for honest conversation. Sometimes what looks like rebellion is actually a different way of expressing the same loyalty.
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