When the walls of Jericho collapsed, chaos ensued. The Israelite army converged on the city and followed the Lord’s instructions to the letter. They killed every person within the city, slaughtered the livestock, destroyed the buildings, and set fire to anything that remained. Yet in the midst of all that carnage and chaos, God spared one household because of the faith of one Canaanite prostitute. At the end of the day, nothing of Jericho remained except for Rahab, her family, and their possessions. “Joshua said to the two men who had spied out the land, ‘Go into the prostitute’s house and bring her out and all who belong to her, in accordance with your oath to her'” (
So the young men did exactly as Joshua had ordered. During the pandemonium of battle, as houses burned and swords clashed, a small Hebrew squad rescued Rahab, her father, mother, brothers, and “all who belonged to her.” They escorted her entire family to safety.
Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the Lord’s house. But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho—and she lives among the Israelites to this day (
Don’t rush by that last line. It’s incredibly important. The storyteller, writing some years later but before Rahab’s death, concluded his account with the remarkable epilogue, “And she lives among the Israelites to this day.” A Canaanite prostitute, who otherwise would have been stoned under the law recently received through Moses, became an accepted member of the community, an adopted daughter of the covenant.
Her trust in God and her acceptance into the community entitled her to receive a portion of the land promised to Abraham’s descendants. By surrendering her illegitimate claim to the land and by receiving God’s gracious offer of mercy and forgiveness, Rahab became an adopted daughter in the family of God and an heir to Abraham’s promise.
But the story doesn’t end there! The Gospel of Matthew reveals that Rahab didn’t merely live on the outskirts of Israelite society, eating leftover milk and honey. Despite her sin-stained past, a young man named Salmon saw in Rahab a beautiful woman of faith, and he asked her family for her hand in marriage. Salmon and his bride, Rahab, gave birth to a son, whom they named Boaz. Boaz, perhaps influenced by the remarkable courage and grace of his parents, married a dispossessed widow from Moab named Ruth. Boaz and Ruth later became the great-grandparents of none other than King David.
No longer a prostitute, clinging for survival to the lowest rung of Canaanite society, Rahab became a member of the Hebrew community. In time, she ceased to be known as Rahab the harlot. To them, she became Rahab, the wife of Salmon. Or Rahab, the mother of Boaz.
She eventually became a prominent figure in Hebrew history. She became the mother of kings, a progenitor of the greatest dynasty the world will ever know. Moreover, the Messiah, the King of kings, would be born from her lineage! Generations would look upon Rahab as one of the most fortunate women ever to find refuge in the mercy of God.
In the end, Rahab received far more than she originally surrendered. She received grace heaped upon grace and divine favor beyond her wildest imaginings.
Rahab’s story illustrates the wonder and beauty of God’s grace with fairy-tale drama. But for all its uniqueness, her story is not so different from each of ours. Before Israel showed up outside the walls of Jericho, Rahab wore a label. Her neighbors, fellow citizens, customers, and even her parents knew her as Rahab the harlot. The people of Jericho may not have attached to the label the same things we do, but I have no doubt she felt the indignity of her occupation. Regardless of their culture or religion, women typically do not become prostitutes unless they are forced to. But when given the opportunity between dying with her pagan countrymen and surrendering to God, she chose the latter. As a result, she eventually received a new label: Rahab the mother of kings.
In some ways Rahab’s story is our story. Each of us has a label. You may have had your label concealed for most of your life and prefer that it remain a secret. You deftly keep the people from your past separated from those who know you now. You avoid reminiscing too much because your memories and your old label cause you shame. In fact, your label may cause you to shy away from approaching God. Perhaps your label is the reason you hesitate to step foot inside church. If that’s the case, consider this.
Isn’t it interesting that when the Israelite spies offered to spare Rahab’s life, they said nothing about her lifestyle? Abandoning her trade was not part of the deal. Changing her life wasn’t discussed. She acknowledged Israel’s God as the most powerful God and then hid his servants. That was it. Rahab’s label was not an obstacle to God. And neither is yours! The reality and the embarrassment your label reflects is not an obstacle to God’s grace. You, like Rahab, are invited as you are, label and all. You, like Israel, have been invited to join God in a relationship initiated by faith, not adherence to a set of rules.
This is the way of grace. And this is the way it has been from the beginning. Grace doesn’t require people with embarrassing labels to shed those labels as a prerequisite. Grace is what empowers us to do so. Grace doesn’t demand. Grace assists. When you look at Rahab’s story within the context of God’s patience with the nations inhabiting the promised land, the message is unmistakable: Grace is slow to judge and quick to deliver.
This is true at a personal level as well. When it comes to your labels, current or past, God is slow to judge and more than willing to deliver. Not after you’ve freed yourself or distanced yourself from your embarrassing labels, but as part of the process. In fact, grace provides you with labels of its own: Forgiven. Accepted. Loved.
We don’t know how long it took Rahab to completely shake her past. We don’t know how long it was before she no longer viewed herself through the lens of her past behavior. My guess is that it was a process—a process that took time but that ended with her fully embracing her new life, her new identity, and her new standing with God. In the same way, it may take you some time before you can put away your label once and for all. But in the meantime, I want to encourage you to begin renewing your mind to the new labels that are yours through the grace of your heavenly Father.
To help you along that path, I’ve written a short prayer that is simply a way of verbalizing your recognition and acceptance of God’s invitation to you. If this strikes a chord, I would encourage you to copy it down and read it over and over. Old labels don’t fade fast. Sometimes it takes a while for new ones to stick, as well.
Heavenly Father, I believe Your grace is more powerful than my label. I believe Christ died to pay the penalty for the sin my label represents. I believe You are offering me a new label. Forgiven. Accepted. Loved. Today I declare that what You say about me is true. I am forgiven. I am accepted. I am loved. Teach me to live my life in accordance with who You say I am. Amen.
Thomas Nelson, 2010
