Exodus 14: 5-6a; 9 – 13a; 19 – 31a
This part of the exodus story was one of my favorite Bible stories as a child. The good Hebrew slaves escaping from their evil Egyptian masters. Moses leading them out of Egypt, guided by God as the pillar of fire by night and the cloud by day. The Hebrews coming upon the Red Sea. Oh, no they can’t go forward. They turn around and see the Egyptians hot on their heels. Oh, no they can’t go back! Moses raising his staff and the Red Sea parting—clearing a dry path for the Hebrews to cross on.
It was a favorite story when I taught Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. The children enjoyed acting it out—getting to run away from the pursuing Egyptians. In VBS we leaders rippled blue material on either side of the children as they, too, walked through the parted waters of the Red Sea. My middle schoolers, loved to sing (and move to) “Pharaoh, Pharaoh”.
As an adult this was a favorite story because I understood how it shaped the identity of the Jewish people. From a people held in slavery—a people without hope—to a people formed through God’s dramatic, miraculous intervention! A people called to remember, to celebrate ritually, and to teach their children how God delivered them into the promised land. A people called to worship the great I Am. This very event is God’s introduction to the 10 commandments. “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.” (Ex. 20: 2)
As a seminarian, it was a favorite story because I realized it is seminal for Christians as well. Through Christ’s death and resurrection, God has delivered us from slavery to sin and death. God has delivered us into the promised abundant and eternal life with God. And this is how I have most closely connected with this story. Through Christ’s grace, God has liberated us. Out of gratitude to this freely given gift, we choose to serve God.
Yes, this text has been a favorite of mine over the years. But when I read it in preparation for today’s sermon, I did not feel comfort as with an old friend. Instead I felt dis-comfort, dis-ease. Why? I was focusing on the words about the Egyptians—how God threw them into a panic and clogged their chariot wheels so that they were stuck when the walls of water came crashing down on them. And I kept hearing the last verse of “Pharaoh, Pharaoh”—a verse I did not sing earlier.
Moses says, <sing>
Pharaoh’s army was a comin’ too.
So what do you think that I did do?
Well, I raised my rod and I cleared my throat.
And all of Pharaoh’s army did the dead man’s float.
Why the dis-comfort and the dis-ease? If I place myself in this text, I might be one of the Egyptians—doin’ the dead man’s float.
If I place myself in the text <pause> The cast of this story are God, the Hebrews and the Egyptians. God, is the great I Am whose sovereignty and power fill the story in the miraculous parting of the Red Sea. God is the great I Am who responds to the Hebrews’ cries, not because as his chosen ones, they can appropriate him to fight their battles for them. God responds to the Hebrews’ cries because God opposes injustice. God is the great I Am who responds to the Hebrews’ cries because God opposes those who choose to denigrate the image of God in found in each and every person. God is the great I Am who responds to the Hebrews’ cries because Pharaoh was the epitome of oppression and had set himself up as a god. If I place myself in this text, I won’t be taking the part of God.
I am not a fleeing Hebrew slave either. For I am an Anglo woman, living in a predominantly Anglo-culture, well-educated—even if I do use the word “y’all.” At no time in my life have I wanted for food, clothing, shelter, or medical care. I have enjoyed not only the necessities, but also many of the luxuries of life. In other words, I am not now nor have I ever been oppressed. I suspect that most of you have never been oppressed either. If I place myself in this text, I won’t be taking the part of the fleeing Hebrew slaves.
So what part does that leave for me in this story? the Egyptians. I don’t want to end up under 10 tons of water. So I sat with the text—I read and prayed; I discussed and reflected. And I wondered—am I an Egyptian? The Egyptians in this text enslave the Hebrews—dominating them by fear, withholding nourishment, forcing them to long hours of hard labor. The Egyptians in this text don’t look at a Hebrew and see a person—they look at a Hebrew and see a commodity—placed before them solely to satisfy their needs, their wants, and their desires.
Is this me? Do I see “the other”—the one who is different from me, the one who has less than I have—as someone less than God’s beloved child? As a commodity? No, this is not me.
If I am not God, not Hebrew slave, not Egyptian, where do I fit in this text? Is there a message for me here? Is there good news for us in this story? Good news beyond the connection with Christ’s death and resurrection?
Where can I fit in this story? While I am not oppressed, I can be one who helps those who are—those who are oppressed by life’s circumstances, oppressed by systems, oppressed by other people. I can be one who opposes injustice. I can be one who accompanies the fleeing Hebrew slave.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can walk beside one who is oppressed by life’s worries. I can listen to her concerns; I can reflect the feelings she expresses; I can share my time, my ear, my shoulder, my heart.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can donate the clothes I no longer need and some of my time to The Thrift Shop.
I can sort on Tuesdays or Thursdays I can sell on Saturdays. I can assist clients who need free clothes on weekdays.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can mentor children—reading to them and sharing my own joy of learning.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can pray—lifting up those in need all over the world, naming the ones I know.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can organize relief packages for those whose homes and lives are devastated by tornado, flood, hurricane, fire.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can look the person who serves my meal in the eye, relating as one human to another,
treating him as the beloved child of God he is and not as a commodity—placed before me solely to satisfy my wants, my needs, my desires.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can offer hospitality—seeking out the stranger, the one who feels she does not belong. I can welcome her.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can feed those who are hungry—bringing rice, dry beans, peanut butter, and canned fruit as part of my offering to God. Once a month—Wednesday or Friday afternoons—I can offer my time to PACA food bank. I can pack bags of groceries. I can greet families when they arrive for their food. I can offer my warm conversation as we carry groceries to their car.
Where can I fit in this story? Perhaps I can advocate—deciding it is unconscionable for anyone to go hungry. I can work to end hunger in Paola, in Miami County, in Kansas, in the United States, in the worId.
Where can I fit in this story? I can respond lovingly to others just as God has responded to me. Not just because I don’t want to do the dead man’s float. But because I have experienced God’s overflowing love, because I have walked through showers of grace.
Who do I want to be in this continuing story, the journey God calls us on? I want to be one who works with and for the great I Am who created all that there is and called it good. I want to be one who works with and for the Great I Am who, through Christ, delivered me from sin and permanent separation from him. I want to be one who works with and for the Great I Am who makes me, who makes you, who makes us all a new creation in Christ.
Where can you fit in this story? Who do you want to be on our continuing journey?
preached 9/11/2011
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