This morning we come to the end of the book of Joshua. Joshua himself is now very old—110 years of age—and he knows that his life and leadership are drawing to a close. Under his guidance, the Israelites have taken possession of most of the Promised Land. They have defeated many of the Canaanite peoples, but not all of them. The work is largely done, but not fully complete.
In that sense, their situation mirrors our own. We live in the reality of God’s Kingdom now, but not yet in its fullness. The victory has been won, but the story is not finished. The Israelites were living in that same “almost, but not quite” space—settled in the land, yet still surrounded by challenges and temptations.
It is in this context that Joshua asks a question that is as urgent today as it was then: “Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve.” It is a decisive question, one that assumes we are not neutral observers of life, but active participants making daily choices about our loyalties.
The title itself assumes that many of us have already committed our lives to Christ. What Joshua is really calling for is a renewal of that commitment. And if you are here today and have not yet made that commitment, I hope you do not feel pressured, but rather invited—to reflect honestly and openly on where your life is headed.
Why do we need to renew our commitment at all? The simple answer is this: drift.
Drift rarely announces itself. It happens quietly, gradually, almost unnoticed. Let me illustrate. This is a picture of Watamu on the coast of Kenya. Years ago, I did a lot of scuba diving, and when we visited our daughter while she was living there, she persuaded me to go snorkeling. There is a coral reef running along the coast, creating a calm lagoon between the reef and the shore. The boat drops you off at one end and then disappears far into the distance, planning to collect you later.
You simply float, carried by the current, surrounded by beautiful fish and coral. It feels effortless—and it is—but only because the drift is controlled. The danger, both in the sea and in life, is failing to notice when drift becomes dangerous. In the English Channel, drift can take you out to sea or smash you against rocks before you realize what’s happening.
Life works the same way. What begins as something harmless—an occasional drink, a harmless habit, a reasonable distraction—can slowly turn into something unhealthy. Social media, consumerism, obsession with fitness or diets, or simply being too busy: none of these are evil in themselves, but all of them can quietly pull our attention away from God.
The Israelites faced a similar temptation. After 400 years in Egypt, they were used to a land irrigated by the Nile’s reliable floods. Farming in Canaan was different. Rainfall was unpredictable: seven years were good, three were not. The local people explained their solution—worship Baal, the storm god, and Asherah alongside him. When the crops grew, Baal must have worked. When they failed, they simply needed to worship harder.
It is easy to see how Israel could drift. “We still worship Yahweh,” they might say, “but perhaps Baal can help too.” Drift rarely looks like rebellion at first.
So how do we resist it? Joshua shows us the first answer: we need a strong anchor.
Joshua gathers the people at Shechem, a deeply symbolic place. It was here, in Genesis 12, that God promised Abraham this very land. Hundreds of years later, that promise has been fulfilled. Joshua reminds the people of their entire salvation history—from Abraham, through Egypt, the Exodus, the wilderness, and into the land. Again and again, God says, “I did this.” Seventeen times in fourteen verses. Not you, but I.
That history becomes their anchor. God has proven Himself faithful.
For us, the same is true. The gospel reminds us that salvation is not something we achieve; it is something God has done for us through Christ. When doubts come—and they do—we return to the Gospels, especially the resurrection accounts. We remember those moments when God was unmistakably present in our lives. Scripture and experience together hold us fast.
Joshua then issues his challenge: “Fear the Lord and serve him with all faithfulness.” But then comes the first surprise. He does not say, “Choose God or choose nothing.” He says, “Choose God or choose another god.” There is no neutral ground. Everyone serves something.
Jesus echoes this truth in the Sermon on the Mount: “No one can serve two masters.” Our modern idols may not be wooden statues, but they are no less powerful—money, comfort, success, pleasure. We are, by global standards, enormously wealthy. Even if we do not feel rich, most of us enjoy comforts that much of the world does not.
These things are not wrong, but they are dangerous if we grip them too tightly. Held lightly, they can be used to serve God generously. Held tightly, they quietly replace Him.
Then comes the second surprise. When the people enthusiastically promise to serve the Lord, Joshua responds, “You are not able to serve the Lord.” This is not cynicism; it is realism. Joshua wants them to grasp the seriousness of what they are saying. God is holy. This commitment is not casual.
The “fear of the Lord” is not terror, but awe. Like children playing lions with a loving father—screaming with delight, momentarily overwhelmed, yet running straight back into his arms. God is both Abba Father and El Shaddai, and we must hold those truths together.
I was reminded of this at my ordination. At each promise, the response was not “I will,” but “By the help of God, I will.” That is the only honest response. Our commitment is real, but our strength is limited. Faithfulness is only possible with God’s help.
So let me summarize.
First, drift is real, and we must resist it by anchoring ourselves in Scripture and in our lived experience of God’s faithfulness.
Second, there is no neutral position. We will serve something. The question is whether it will be the living God or something else.
And third, however sincere our commitment, we can only live it out by the help of God.
So today, as Joshua did long ago, we are invited to choose—again—whom we will serve.
And with humility and trust, we say: By the help of God, we will.