Joshua 10:28–35

Joshua 10:28 — Makkedah: The Pattern Established The conquest of Makkedah opens the southern campaign proper and sets the interpretive template for every city that follows. Makkedah had already figured in the preceding narrative: it was the cave near which the five Amorite kings hid and were subsequently executed (10:16–27). Now the city itself is taken "on that day" — the same extraordinary day on which the sun stood still (10:12–14) and the kings were slain. The phrase "utterly destroyed" renders the Hebrew haram, denoting the ḥērem, the sacred ban in which conquered persons and property are devoted entirely to God rather than kept as spoil. This is not mere battlefield ruthlessness but a theological category: the population is not enslaved or assimilated but removed from the land as part of a divine judgment on Canaanite sin (cf. Lev 18:24–25; Deut 9:4–5). The formula "as he had done to the king of Jericho" is programmatic; it anchors every subsequent action in the paradigmatic first conquest, giving each new victory a typological resonance with that foundational act of faith.

Verses 29–30 — Libnah: The Pattern Repeated The march to Libnah (likely modern Tell Bornat, in the Shephelah foothills) follows without pause or consolidation. Israel is depicted as a single body moving with Joshua at its head — "all Israel with him" — a phrase repeated like a refrain that emphasizes communal unity in holy war. Yahweh is again the decisive agent: "Yahweh delivered it also." The word "also" (gam) is quietly significant; it signals accumulation, each victory building theologically upon the last. The king of Libnah is executed in explicit parallel to the king of Jericho, locking this anonymous ruler into a judicial sequence that began at the Jordan and will culminate throughout the southern campaign.

Verses 31–33 — Lachish and the Intervention of Horam Lachish was one of the most formidable city-states in Canaan — archaeological work at Tell ed-Duweir confirms its massive fortifications. Yet even Lachish falls, and notably in a compressed two days rather than the seven-day siege of Jericho, suggesting that the miraculous momentum established on the day of the long sun (v.14) continues to carry forward. The arrival of Horam king of Gezer introduces a moment of dramatic tension: a Canaanite coalition attempts to relieve the besieged city. But the intervention only results in the destruction of Horam's forces as well. Gezer is not itself taken here — it will not fall until later (cf. Josh 16:10; 1 Kgs 9:16) — but its king and army are annihilated, demonstrating that no human alliance can reverse a divine decree. The text draws no moral attention to Horam's courage; it is simply swallowed by the same formula that governs every other encounter: "until he had left him no one remaining."

Verses 34–35 — Eglon: Speed and Totality The campaign moves to Eglon (identified by many scholars with Tell Aitun or Tell el-Hesi). The siege and capture occur "on that day," the same compact phrase used of Makkedah, suggesting a relentless divine tempo that compresses what might naturally take weeks into hours. The formula of total destruction — "all the souls who were in it that day" — is now stated for the fourth consecutive time, establishing a cumulative rhetorical effect. The reader is meant to feel the weight of divine judgment bearing down on the whole land.

The Typological and Spiritual Senses The Church Fathers consistently read Joshua (Yehoshua, the Hebrew equivalent of "Jesus/Iesous") as a type of Christ leading the new Israel into the true Promised Land. Origen, in his Homilies on Joshua, identifies the sword of Joshua with the Word of God (cf. Heb 4:12), which must cut away every enemy dwelling within the soul. The cities represent vices entrenched within the heart — pride, lust, covetousness — that admit no negotiation or partial conquest but must be utterly destroyed by the ḥērem of mortification. The repetitive formula of total destruction becomes, in the spiritual sense, a call to radical interior conversion: no soul-enemy is to be left remaining.

Catholic tradition approaches the violence of the conquest narratives with a hermeneutic of development rather than embarrassment. The Catechism teaches that "the Old Testament is an indispensable part of Sacred Scripture" and that its moral and narrative complexities must be read in the light of their progressive fulfillment in Christ (CCC §121–122). The ḥērem passages in Joshua present one of Scripture's most demanding interpretive challenges, and the Church's response has been multivalent and rich.

First, the tradition affirms the historical-moral dimension: God, as sovereign Lord of life and the author of death (Deut 32:39), possesses a unique authority over human life that He does not delegate permanently to any nation. The condemnation of Canaan, as Augustine explains in Contra Faustum (Book XXII), was not arbitrary cruelty but divine judgment upon peoples whose iniquity had reached its fullness (cf. Gen 15:16). God uses human instruments — as He uses nature, illness, and death — to accomplish His providential ends without thereby sanctioning unlimited violence.

Second, Origen's allegorical reading, endorsed broadly by the patristic tradition and never condemned by the Magisterium, unlocks a vital spiritual application: the campaign against Canaan figures the soul's warfare against sin. St. Gregory of Nyssa in his Life of Moses employs similar logic — the enemies to be destroyed are passions and disordered attachments. This reading does not evacuate the historical, but enriches it.

Third, the figure of Joshua himself carries decisive Christological weight. His very name (Yehoshua, "Yahweh saves") is the Hebrew form of "Jesus." Vatican II's Dei Verbum (§15) affirms that the Old Testament books "give expression to a lively sense of God… and contain sublime teachings about God, sound wisdom about human life, and a wonderful treasury of prayers" — even in passages like these, where that teaching is encoded in forms unfamiliar to modern sensibility. The theological significance of total conquest, read Christologically, is that salvation in Christ is likewise total, admitting no compromise with sin.

The relentless rhythm of this passage — city after city, king after king, "none remaining" — can speak powerfully to a contemporary Catholic engaged in the real, often grinding, work of interior conversion. We tend to negotiate with our sins rather than destroy them. We capture a vice for a season and then release it. We strike a bad habit and leave it wounded but alive. Joshua's southern campaign models something different: a holy implacability, a refusal to leave any enemy entrenched. St. John of the Cross wrote that a single unruly appetite, however small, is enough to impede the soul's union with God — echoing, in mystical language, the logic of the ḥērem.

For Catholics engaged in the sacramental life, the Sacrament of Penance is precisely the liturgical space where this interior campaign is waged city by city. Frequent, specific, honest confession is the spiritual equivalent of Joshua's march: not a vague sweep, but a named, targeted, systematic surrender of every stronghold to the Lord. The formula "Yahweh delivered it into the hand of Israel" reminds us that even this warfare is not ours to win by effort alone — it is grace, received and cooperated with, that dismantles what we cannot dismantle ourselves.