"The Daughters of Zelophehad" - Numbers 27:1-11 (July 6, 2025)

This sermon was preached on Sunday, July 6, 2025 at Guilford Park Presbyterian Church in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Texts: Numbers 27:1-11

It’s been a while since I included a Bluey reference in one of my sermons! As I was preparing for this message, an episode from the show's first season came to mind. It’s called "Shadowlands" and centers around a playground game played by Bluey with two of her friends: a black and brown Dachshund named Snickers and a pink Poodle named Coco. The game is called “Shadowlands," where the kids attempt to cross from one side of the park to the other, only stepping on shaded areas—and avoiding all the sunlit parts, which are, of course, alligator-infested waters! The game begins harmlessly as the three navigate the playground, stepping only in the shade, even crossing a sunny open area by following the shadow of a moving bus.

Everything goes smoothly until Bluey’s mom calls from the other side of the park, announcing she has cupcakes for all the children. The promise of those delicious treats adds a new sense of urgency to Bluey, Snickers, and Coco’s game. This is where a divide forms between the brave trio. Bluey is nothing if not a rule-follower; for her, the waiting cupcakes are tempting, but not enough to break the rules to reach them faster. Coco, the pink poodle, however, is more driven by her taste buds and believes it's perfectly fine to “bend” the rules a little to get to their tasty goal more quickly.

Snickers, the Dachshund with his so-called tiny sausage-god legs, assumes a neutral stance between two philosophical viewpoints. But then, as they debate the ethical merits of each argument, the stakes rise when Bluey’s mother yells one of the most savage threats any parent can make to a child; she shouts, “If you don’t get here soon, I’m gonna eat your cupcake!” Panic then ensues among the children, and they must work together to preserve the fun of their playtime while not missing out on their promised desserts before they disappear into their mothers’ mouths.

I won’t give any spoiler alerts; you’ll have to watch the episode to find out the ending yourself! But I share this to illustrate a sometimes exaggerated way of categorizing people. That categorization is this: there are rule followers and rule breakers. When these two types of people come together, they can create some pretty interesting stories. It can also lead to significant conflicts! The truth is, I don’t believe the world is just a binary where half of us follow the rules and the other half breaks them; I think most of us fall somewhere in the middle on a spectrum between the two. The reality is, rule followers and rule breakers need each other, just as Bluey needs Coco and vice versa, to compromise and grow together as friends and playmates.  We need to be in conversation with one another because rules are important, as is interpreting them and revisiting them as we develop and (hopefully) progress as a society.  Because the rules we establish have consequences far beyond that of an innocent playground game between three kids, but they also affect how we order our lives together, such as the legislation that was passed this week in Washington, D.C. that will have profound affects on so many of our neighbors’ access to affordable healthcare via Medicaid.

And so, as I held the newspaper in one hand reading the political news of the week, and the Bible in the other reading this story from the 27th chapter of the Book of Numbers, I couldn’t help but marvel at how scripture has a relevant word to speak to us today about the importance of knowing when to follow laws and when to challenge them.

Our conversation partners today are five sisters named Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. Their father, Zelophehad, died without having any sons. In Israelite culture, which was patrilineal, property could only be passed down from a father to his sons. If he had no sons, the property defaulted to other male family members further removed. The daughters of Zelophehad viewed this rule as deeply unjust. They knew the laws. They understood that this rule was established precedent within the Israelite community. Additionally, they must have known that this law was given by the divine voice of God. Yet, they chose to challenge it because, in a culture where owning property was the main social safety net, the daughters of Zelophehad recognized it was wrong for women in their situation to be overlooked, reinforcing a system of inequality stacked against them.

And so, together they approached Moses in public and petitioned to change the law. This was no quiet backdoor negotiation; the women approached Moses at the entrance of what was called the tent of meeting, where the Israelites gathered to worship. This alone was a great risk. Lynn Japinga notes that elsewhere in the Book of Numbers, people have suffered severe consequences for speaking out in protest or critique. The Israelites were struck with a plague when they complained that they had no meat (Num. 11). Miriam and Aaron questioned whether God could speak through people other than Moses, and Miriam got leprosy; Aaron escaped that punishment even though he did the same thing (Num. 12). Finally, three individuals in Numbers 16 questioned Moses’ leadership and were swallowed up by the ground beneath their feet (Num. 12). Therefore, in chapter 27 of the Book of Numbers, the daughters of Zelophehad must have known what was at stake when they approached Moses and God to challenge a law they believed was wrong.

And then a remarkable thing happens. Moses hears the testimony of Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, and promises to take their case to God for divine feedback before making a decision. God’s response is surprisingly brief. God says, “The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying.” God agrees with the women and tells Moses not only to grant them an exception but to change the law itself so that women in the future who find themselves in their situation won’t have to fight for their dignity and well-being, and they did.

I love this story because my reading of the text leads me to make the following theological conclusions:

• First of all, God listens to the cries of the oppressed. There are, of course, many other examples in scripture that support this fundamental theological truth. The daughters of Zelophehad stood up for their dignity and well-being, and God listened. Then God spoke, Moses listened, and then Moses spoke, and the Israelites listened, leading the neighborhood to change an unjust law.

• Secondly, this story reminds me that those who are marginalized often stand alone.  We’ll certainly give Moses credit for obeying God’s command and changing the law, an act that must have ruffled the feathers of many men in the community who stood to benefit from the status quo.  But what we don’t see in this passage are other men who support the daughters of Zelophehad and advocate for them. How might this story have been different if the daughters hadn’t had to stand alone? What if they had approached Moses with a diverse group of women and men working together for a fairer society?

• Finally, this story suggests that not only do we have divine permission to challenge unjust laws, but we are also obligated to do so when we encounter laws that harm the most vulnerable among us. The daughters of Zelophehad remind us today that just because something is legal doesn't mean it's right.

In 2018, the Attorney General of the United States infamously cited an oft-quoted verse from Romans 13, which suggests that Christians should follow the law of the land without question because God ordains such laws. He used this to justify a federal policy that separated children from their families in immigrant detention centers. At the time, I, along with many other clergy across the country, disagreed with that selective interpretation of scripture, simply because it could be used to justify any harmful legislation. Nowhere in scripture does God call us to abandon our moral compass just because something is lawful. Slavery was “lawful.” Segregation was “lawful.” Prohibiting same-sex couples from marrying was “lawful.” But these policies were wrong then, and they are wrong now. Those laws changed because people like Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah, the daughters of Zelophehad, had the courage to stand up and challenge them.

And I believe this is an important cultural moment to remember our duty to challenge unjust laws. In our highly polarized political climate, we are often tempted to assume that if a law is passed by “our side of the aisle,” then it must be just. Conversely, we may see legislation from the other side as automatically evil. Neighbors, listen to me: no political party in this country has a monopoly on harmful laws! But we should act from a place of justice, mercy, and compassion not because we belong to a particular political party, but because we are Christians!

I want to make one last observation today. About nine chapters later in the Book of Numbers, the topic of this change in law that allows property to be passed down to women comes up with some concerns of a geopolitical nature. Some Israelites ask: “Now that the law has changed and women can inherit property, what if they marry outside their tribe?” This is a legitimate question because many Bible scholars believe that the original intent of only allowing property to be passed along to sons (or other men) was to keep property within a particular tribe. The logic was that if women were given property and then married men outside of their tribe, then the property of that tribe (and the security and influence that comes with it) would disappear.

Therefore, the daughters of Zelophehad agree to a compromise. In return for becoming the lawful heirs to their deceased father’s property, Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah agree to marry (eventually) only men within their tribe, thereby keeping the property within the ownership of the larger community.  Japinga notes that “skeptical readers might conclude that, once again, women did as they were told.  They won justice for their father at the cost of their freedom to marry any man in Israel.  The women were indeed willing to compromise,” she says, “but they had actually been given a radical freedom.  Moses told the women to marry “whom they think best” (36:6), which allowed them an unusual amount of choice in a culture where women were usually given and taken without regard to their preferences.”

And so, this story is about a group of women demanding justice for themselves and others like them. It is also a story of a community that aimed to address their real concerns while finding a compromise that protected both their interests and those of the wider community. Imagine that! That raises a crucial question for us today: how do we stand firm in our moral convictions while being open to reasonable compromise to protect the vulnerable and serve the greater good of the wider community?

I hope we can learn from the daughters of Zelophehad. I also hope we can find a way forward that respects the needs of the vulnerable around us, just as they did, while remaining open to reasonable compromises that help us move forward together. Of course, there are situations where talks of compromise can be forms of gaslighting (how can you compromise between someone who says 2+2=4 and someone who says 2+2=5? Should we compromise on fundamental issues like the inherent dignity of every human being?). It’s essential to acknowledge that reasonable and compassionate compromise only works when everyone is operating from the same shared reality, which seems increasingly rare these days.

But, in ways big and small, we can learn from the daughters of Zelophehad and stand for justice. So perhaps you know what it’s like to be a daughter of Zelophehad. Or maybe you’ll find yourself in a moment when God will call you to stand with a daughter of Zelophehad.

And as we live together on this playground called “the neighborhood,” maybe you’re a Bluey, who believes the rules must be followed no matter what. Or maybe you’re a Coco, who thinks the rules should be changed to serve the greater good. Or maybe you’re a Snickers, who sits in the middle and just wants everyone to get along! But whatever character you most relate to, know that God calls all of us in community with one another. And may we never forget that there’s room on the playground for everyone!

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.

"Rahab & Deborah" - Joshua 2 & Judges 4 (July 13, 2025)

This sermon was preached on Sunday, July 13, 2025 at Guilford Park Presbyterian Church in Greensboro, North Carolina.

Texts: Joshua 2 & Judges 4

Rahab the Wise. Rahab the Negotiator. Rahab the Courageous. Rahab the Savior. All of these would be fitting labels for the woman who saved her family and everyone in her household from death and destruction. But the Bible and readers across the centuries remember her simply as Rahab the Prostitute. Women have long been stigmatized for their sexuality in ways that men almost always seem to escape. My wife, Tricia, used to do a fair amount of ministry in metro Atlanta, working with women in clubs and on the streets, many of whom were strippers and sex workers. When I discussed this passage with her a few days ago, she said to me, “You know, it's a tale as old as time. The “Johns” never get the blame. It’s always the women who suffer the consequences.”

For example, when we read the story of Rahab, most of us don’t blink an eye at the fact that the two Israelite spies likely didn’t go to Rahab’s place of business with innocent intentions. Womanist scholar Wilda Gafney argues that it’s silly to believe the spies went there for any reason other than to buy sex. Yet, Rahab is remembered throughout the centuries as a prostitute, while, to my knowledge, the two spies have never been remembered as “Johns.”

This double standard extends beyond the Old Testament into the New Testament. Interestingly, Rahab is one of five women mentioned in Jesus’ genealogy in the Gospel of Matthew. Mercifully, she is simply called “Rahab” there, without the sordid details of her profession. However, Rahab is later mentioned again in the Book of Hebrews, where the author lists people who exemplify great faithfulness. In that context, she is called “Rahab the Prostitute.” Interestingly, King David is praised for his faithfulness just a verse or two later, but he is not referred to as “David the Murderer” or “David the Womanizer”—both of which would be honest descriptions. No, David gets a pass. As fate would have it, Barak, the general who refused to go into battle without his Commander-in-Chief Deborah, is honored for his faithfulness. But Deborah herself receives no mention at all.

Now, I’m not taking a position either for or against sex work. More importantly, this text raises an important question: Who are the “Rahabs” among us that we tend to reduce to just one aspect of their personhood? Is it the woman we call an “illegal alien” who carried her baby on her back across the desert to escape gang violence? Is it the drag queen who is no more a danger to children than any random straight white guy? Is it the guy in the red MAGA hat who acts as a Good Samaritan to someone stranded by the side of the road? Friends, there are Rahabs among us all. Maybe you know what it’s like to be labeled something—either fairly or unfairly—that weighs on you long after the fact.  Perhaps that’s why the author of Matthew’s Gospel thought it important to list Rahab in Jesus’ family history; because so much of Jesus’ compassion was aimed squarely at the “Rahabs” among him and his followers.

And now I want to shift our focus from Rahab the Savior to a woman who also saved her people. After the Rahab story, the Israelites settled in the land God promised them, under the leadership of a series of judges who guided them before the kings arrived (Saul, David, Solomon, etc.). One of these judges was a woman named Deborah. The text describes her as a prophet, a “fiery” woman, and a brave political and military leader. Many artistic images depict her holding court beneath a palm tree. Her leadership was so strong that her general, Barak, refused to go into battle against the Canaanites without her by his side.

In summary, the battle was a remarkable victory. Deborah’s leadership caused the Canaanites to panic, and their commander, Sisera, fled. He found shelter in a woman named Jael’s tent, who, unfortunately for him, was skilled at using a tent peg in inventive ways. (If you're interested in that story, more details can be found later in the bulletin).

Following the Israelite victory over the Canaanites, Deborah governed the Israelites for forty years of relative peace and prosperity. This makes her one of the longest-serving leaders in Israelite history; only David, Solomon, and Joash served longer, though each had notable character flaws. Nevertheless, Deborah is remembered positively for her wisdom, courage, and leadership strength. Similar to Rahab, she often does not receive full recognition in subsequent Biblical references. For instance, in Hebrews 11—where Rahab is again referred to as a prostitute—the text mentions Barak, Deborah's general who insisted on her presence at battle, but omits Deborah herself. Later, in 1 Samuel, when recounting the victory over the Canaanites, the credit is attributed to Barak rather than Deborah.

As we reflect on the stories of Rahab and Deborah, it becomes clear that both women embody qualities of resilience and strength, yet their legacies have been overshadowed by historical biases. Rahab, despite her profession, shows extraordinary courage and wisdom, saving not only her family but also playing a key role in the Israelite conquest of Jericho. Deborah, on the other hand, stands out as a symbol of leadership during a time when women’s voices were often silenced. Her military skill and prophetic insight led to a major victory, proving that wisdom and bravery are not limited by gender.

Yet, the stories of these women remind us that society often labels individuals with a single identity, ignoring the complexity of their true selves. Rahab is forever called “the prostitute,” while Deborah’s achievements are overshadowed by the more visible male figures around her. This calls us to challenge these narrow narratives and recognize the complexities of those around us. Who among us has been reduced to just one story? Who are the voices that have been silenced or ignored in our communities?

As we gather here today, let us strive to be advocates for those who, like Rahab and Deborah, possess a deep character that goes beyond societal labels. It is our duty to uplift the marginalized, recognize their contributions, and make sure their stories are fully told. Just as Jesus included Rahab in his genealogy, let us embrace the variety of experiences and backgrounds that make up our community.

In doing so, we not only honor the legacies of these remarkable women but also foster a culture of compassion and understanding. Let us remember that everyone has a story, and every story matters. May we be inspired by Rahab’s courage and Deborah’s leadership as we seek to uplift those around us, ensuring that no one is defined by a single aspect of their identity. Together, let us work toward a world where every individual is seen, valued, and celebrated for the whole of who they are.

In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.