Dangerous Words
Sunday 8 March 2026
The Very Reverend Nicholas Papadopulos, Dean of Salisbury
Joshua 1: 1–9
Ephesians 6: 10–20
‘From the wilderness and the Lebanon as far as the great river, the river Euphrates… to the Great Sea in the west shall be your territory’
A few years ago God’s words to Joshua, or a close paraphrase of them, were quoted at me by Ardi. Ardi is an Israeli settler; God’s words to Joshua are Ardi’s justification for the fortified village he and others have built south of Bethlehem in the heart of the occupied West Bank. Ardi had been born in Chicago but moved to Palestine to join the movement to, as he sees it, reclaim the land given to his people by God millennia ago.
The words spoken to Joshua are dangerous; they are one of Scripture’s ‘texts of terror’. They have been used to force people from their homes; they have jeopardized the peaceful resolution of one of the longest-running conflicts in human memory; they have threatened the tranquillity of the whole world.
The use as weapons of words recorded long ago and of words recorded in an unimaginably different context is perilous. Such words have been used to deny the Palestinian people their legitimate expectations, to oppress women, to promote racist ideology and to discriminate against gay people. And yet we regard such words as sacred. They are within our ‘Holy’ Bible. We present them to newly-admitted Choristers.
How then should we read them? One answer is: with the full panoply of historical and literary scholarship that is available to our generation, examining authorship, date, genre and intended audience. Joshua was probably written when the Kingdom of Judah was taken into captivity in Babylon and had an interest in defining the story that had taken them into Canaan in the first place. Another answer is: with prayerful attentiveness and in the conscious presence of the God made known in Jesus. Joshua’s account of what looks like divinely-sanctioned genocidal land-grab is difficult to reconcile with the memory of a Christ who refuses to allow his friends to fight for him.
The words of Scripture are words to be meditated on, prayed over, and wrestled with, not waved around. But what I think we can’t do with them is turn to the letter to the Ephesians and draw comfort from St Paul’s description of the whole armour of God. The belt of truth and the breastplate of righteousness; the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation: here, it might be argued, are the proper and properly limited concerns of religion. St Paul’s eloquent warrior metaphor suggests irresistibly that these concerns are personal matters, internal matters, directed at self-improvement and unlikely to divide or oppress communities, provoke wars, or otherwise cause ructions in global geopolitics.
Until the armour of God is examined closely, that is; until its accoutrements are held up to the light; for when they are, the inescapable vocation of their wearer is exposed. The baptized, urges Paul, must fasten truth around their waists; they must cover their hearts with righteousness; they must don shoes that fit them to proclaim peace. They must shield themselves with faith; they must place salvation atop their heads; and they must wield the sword of the Spirit.
Think for a moment of the consequences of being true to any of these. Paul insists that the baptized must wear righteousness on their breasts. Righteousness is God’s action; it is God’s declaration that the baptized are accepted, cherished, and loved. Righteousness is not something you and I do, make, trade, or achieve. We stand against the dark powers of the cosmos protected not by our strength but by God’s adoption and God’s action. Paul further insists that the baptized shield themselves with faith. Faith is the ferment of our hearts; it is God’s deep stirring of our deep selves; it is the God-occasioned quiet turmoil of our innermost being. Again, faith is not something you and I do, make, trade, or achieve. Again, we stand against the dark powers of the cosmos protected not by our strength but by God’s adoption and God’s action.
The righteous and the faithful insist that their eternal defence is secured not by the influence they can bring to bear – not by deals, not by bribes, not by threats, not by missiles, rockets and drones – but by God’s grace.
On our feet are whatever makes us ready to proclaim peace: peace, while missiles rain down on Iran and the Gulf states. Around our waists is truth: truth, extolled in a climate of half-truths, alternative truths, and downright untruths. And in our hands is the sword of the Spirit: the Spirit, the living, rushing, dancing energy of God, in whom and to whom St Paul enjoins us to pray at all times.
Personal, internal, self-improving, safe? Not so much. Global, outward-facing, world-redeeming, risky? Yes.
God commands Joshua to be faithful; the faithful take possession of the land before them by displacing the Hittites who occupy it, with swords, shields, and armour. God commands us to be faithful; we will take possession of the land before us only by displacing the powers which occupy it, with truth, righteousness, and peace.