The Crimson Thread of Redemption

The Stranger with Calloused Hands

I need to tell you about something that happened to me this week. I was out walking on the trail, trying to clear my head, when I ran into a man. There was something... unusual about him. His clothes were plain, but his hands were heavily calloused, and his eyes had a weight to them—like a man who had stared down giants and survived collapsing walls. We started talking, and as the conversation turned, he began to talk about his wife. Not as a memory from long ago, but with a fierce, burning loyalty, as if he had stood beside her on a rooftop while the world ended around them. He told me her name was Rahab.

He didn't explain how he knew what he knew. But before we parted ways, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "You need to tell the women in your church something for me. Tell them God doesn't measure a soul by the labels a broken culture gives them. Tell them my wife was an outsider, a woman written off by everyone, yet God placed her right at the center of His rescue mission. And He's still doing it today."

Today, I want to share the story that stranger gave me—and share the message he left for the women of this church. This is what he said to me. I will share it in his own words to ensure I don’t mess anything up. His name, by the way, was Salmon. This is what he said to me:

Salmon: "I will start from the beginning. I was sitting quietly in my tent next to my friend, Aviv. We were mentally preparing to cross the Jordan River in three days as instructed by Joshua. I was listening to the rushing waters, when suddenly, our commander, Joshua walked into my tent."

Joshua: "Sorry to disturb your rest, my friends. But I need you to spy out the land, especially Jericho. This is a huge fortified city, and in order to fulfill our duty from God, this is the first place we need to encounter."

Salmon: "Without hesitation, Aviv and I agreed. We crossed the Jordan and arrived at Jericho, where the first thing we noticed were the formidable double walls. But that didn’t scare us; God had already prepared us through victories over strong kings like Sihon and the 11-foot-tall King of Og. To get in without being noticed, we put on Canaanite clothes drying outside and entered the gates. Moments after entering, we heard a beautiful female voice echoing down the walls from a window."

Spies, Hoods, and an Unexpected Welcome

Rahab: "Hello, my dear fellow travelers. My name is Rahab. Welcome to our city. Why don’t you come upstairs and get some rest? I can see that you are weary."

Salmon: “Aviv whispered loud enough for anyone to hear - ‘Uh, Salmon. You know this lady is a prostitute, don’t you?’

Rahab stepped out and replied, "The politically correct word for me is a harlot, not a prostitute. Yes, my profession is as you say, but I’m more than that. I am a professional woman who works hard to care for my family and conduct business with our officers and the king himself. I know who comes into our city."

Immediately, Aviv wanted to leave. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her; there was an inner beauty I couldn't yet name. She invited us to her home for food and rest. Unfortunately, a guard hiding in the shadows noticed us, and as we went up the stairs, my pe'ot—the Jewish corner curls—slipped out from under my hood. The guard ran to the king, shouting, 'Some of the Israelites have come here tonight to spy out the land at Rahab’s home!'

We knew we were caught. But Rahab immediately brought us to her roof and told us to hide under the stalks of flax she had laid out. A knock came at the door. Rahab opened it to the same guard."

Guard: "Bring out the men who entered your house."

Rahab: "What men? You know I always have men coming and going."

Guard: "The two men I saw going into your home. They have come to spy out the whole land."

Rahab: "Oh, those two. Yes, they came, but right before dusk, they left. Go after them quickly; you may catch them."

Salmon: "As soon as the guards left the city, the gate was shut and we knew we were safe.”

Bone-Deep Fatigue Meets Radical Faith

I interrupted Salmon once again. I didn’t understand why a harlot, a pagan woman, would have hidden them in first place.

Salmon: “That’s the thing my friend. I couldn’t put my finger on it either. Did she not know who we were and what God we served? Was she not afraid that the king would kill her for treason? So I asked her, and her answer was a complete surprise."

Rahab: "For years, I have lived a life of shame, trapped by choices I made. I thought my pagan gods would provide peace and rest, but none of those ever came. Instead, I had this bone-deep fatigue that never went away, no matter how much I slept. Every daily task felt like a monumental hurdle. One day, a visitor told me about your God who dried up the Red Sea and destroyed the Amorite kings. When I heard this, my heart melted. Your God had actually rescued you from slavery. Right then and there, I knew your Lord is God in heaven above and on earth below. I didn't invite you in for any other reason than knowing the Lord was giving you this land. I hid you by faith, choosing to risk my life to protect you."

Salmon: "Right after Rahab said this, I no longer saw her for who she once was. Under the flax on a city roof, I met a woman whose radical faith shattered everything I thought I knew. She carried the shame of her past, yet she risked her life because she believed in the living God."

At this moment, Salmon took a sip of water.

Before continuing with Salmon’s story, I want to address something our society—and even the church—does constantly: we label women by their past, their struggles, or their circumstances. But just like Rahab, God doesn’t define you by the world’s standards. He sees your strength, honors your faith, and invites you to play an essential role in His kingdom. And just like Salmon, God doesn’t see you as scandalous outcast. Rather, He sees you as a finished painting when you see a blank canvas, potential when you see failure, your future when you see your past, a message when you see a mess, hope when you feel hopeless. And here’s what makes this personal: You have the highest position in all the world, the position of being God’s own holy and beloved children. That’s who God sees when He looks at you.

Rejecting Church Passivity and Fatalism

Now, let's look at the spies. Why would Joshua send them to Jericho in the first place right after telling him to be strong and courageous? Was Joshua doubting God? No. Joshua trusted God completely, but he also knew trusting God and taking practical, responsible steps go hand in hand. Joshua sent spies to gather intelligence, demonstrating practical wisdom alongside faith. While God ultimately fought the battle, biblical faith often involves responsible human action combined with trust in God's power. It wasn't a lack of faith, but rather doing due diligence while relying on God to deliver the victory.

This is where we as a church need to task ourselves: Do we wait, pray, and expect God to do the work for us, to fight our battles, to help us understand why people leave, or do we obey Jesus’ mandate for us to go out, preach the gospel, and trust that God will work through our faithful obedience? Joshua shows us that faith and action aren’t opposites—they’re partners.

Many dying churches fall into a trap: they either become passive, waiting for God to reverse decline without human effort, or they exhaust themselves with programs disconnected from prayer and dependence on God. Our view of these issues radically impacts evangelism—excessive passivity often ends in fatalism, where people grow apathetic and excuse their responsibility based on an unbalanced view of God’s sovereignty.

But here’s the reality: A sovereign God is free to ordain not only the end result but the means to achieve it, and in evangelism, the means is urgent Christian witness by all members of the body of Christ. We don’t need to choose between prayer and action. We need both.

So the question becomes: Are we willing to do the hard work of going out, listening to why people leave, equipping disciples, and sharing the gospel—while simultaneously trusting God to open hearts and multiply our efforts? That’s the Joshua principle applied to our church’s future.

From Outcast to Ancestor of Christ

Think about what the spies actually accomplished: they went inside, met Rahab, hid, and left. And if we look at Matthew 1, we find something astonishing—Rahab’s name right next to her husband’s: Salmon.

“...Nahshon the father of Salmon, Salmon the father of Boaz, whose mother was Rahab...” (Matt. 1:4–5)

Did you catch her husband’s name? We don’t really know if the spy in Joshua 2 is actually the same Salmon. The spies' names are not revealed anywhere in the Bible. But the "suspicion" about Salmon being one of the spies is described as something that "naturally arises"—suggesting it’s an inference rather than documented tradition or scriptural claim. But, it seems plausible to me, because after meeting her inside the city, hearing about her faith first-hand, and seeing her beauty, how could he not have fallen in love with her and married her? Because let me tell you, that’s exactly how I fell in love with Angie and married her.

What we do know is that Rahab is mentioned by name in three New Testament books: Hebrews 11:31 praises her faith in the "Hall of Faith," and James 2:25 highlights her actions as an example of faith expressed through works. Both Hebrews and James also explicitly refer to her former profession as a prostitute. But her name is also included in Jesus’s genealogy in Matthew 1, showing God’s mercy and salvation for His grand redemptive plan.

I find that incredible! Don’t you? The fact that God uses unlikely people. But that’s who our God is. Our God is not looking for the successful, smart, good-looking people. He’s looking for the faithful.

The Crimson Thread of Redemption

After drinking his water, Salmon looked at me and concluded his story.

Salmon: "After Rahab confessed her faith in the Lord, she asked us to show her kindness so that the Israelites would spare her life and her family. We assured her, telling her, 'Our lives for your lives.' She then let us down by a rope she tied to the window. When we reached the ground, we commanded Rahab to tie the scarlet cord in her window as a condition for our oath. But this wasn’t merely a practical marker. It functioned as a visible declaration of protection, a sign that those within her household had entered into covenant relationship with our God."

After saying this, just as quickly as he had appeared on the path, Salmon nodded, turned, and continued down the trail without looking back. He didn't wait for me to ask more questions. He just left me standing there with the weight of his words echoing in my ears: Tell them my wife was an outcast... and God is still rescuing outcasts today.

The scarlet cord echoes the Passover blood. Just as blood on doorframes signaled God’s protection, causing Him to pass over those households (Exod. 12:7–13), the scarlet cord marked Rahab’s home as a place of deliverance. The color itself carries profound meaning—scarlet sins are transformed to whiteness through God’s redemptive work (Isa. 1:18), suggesting that Rahab’s past didn’t disqualify her from mercy, but rather positioned her to receive it.

The connection to Christ’s sacrifice completes the picture. Christ is our Passover lamb, sacrificed (1 Cor. 5:7), and His blood obtained eternal redemption through His entry into the Most Holy Place (Heb. 9:11–14). Through His blood we receive redemption and forgiveness according to the riches of God’s grace (Eph. 1:7). Just as Rahab’s faith in welcoming the spies preserved her from destruction (Heb. 11:31), believers today find protection and salvation through faith in Christ’s blood—a pathway of grace that transcends background, past, or social standing. The scarlet cord becomes a foreshadowing of the crimson thread of redemption woven through all of Scripture.

So I leave you with some final questions.

First, how are we viewing the people outside these walls? Are we measuring souls by the harsh, broken labels of our culture—writing people off because of their past, their struggles, or their mess—or are we seeing them through the eyes of a God who loves to place outcasts right at the center of His rescue mission?

Second, are we falling into the trap of church passivity? Are we sitting back comfortably, waiting for God to magically reverse decline without human effort, or are we willing to combine our absolute trust in His sovereignty with the hard, boots-on-the-ground obedience of going out, loving our neighbors, and fighting for this church's future?

Third, where is your heart regarding the body of Christ? Are we standing shoulder-to-shoulder with our brothers and sisters—letting go of pride, refusing gossip, and guarding our unity like the crimson lifeline it is—or are personal preferences and comfort pulling us apart?

The scarlet cord of grace is still hanging, and the door is wide open. Let's cross over together.