Do you find the image of God in the story of Israel’s deliverance from the Egyptians at all jolting? Consider this: in the Gospel passage we just heard, Jesus charges the disciples, and by extension us, to forgive those who wrong them “seventy-seven” times, i.e., an infinite number of times. Then, in an absurdly exaggerated parable, Jesus reminds them of the importance of forgiveness in the life of a Christian community and suggests that we truly accept God’s forgiveness of us when we extend forgiveness to others.
Or consider this: our reading from Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome, our last reading from this letter for this liturgical year, reminds us that the God revealed to us in Jesus welcomes all comers. Christian communities can – and should – allow for a variety of theological perspectives and spiritual practices. If we all belong to Christ, Paul admonishes us, we are to refrain from judging each other.
But the God whom we meet in the Exodus story? Is that the same God whom Jesus called “Abba?” Is that the same God to whom each of us will be held accountable for our welcome – or lack of welcome – of one another? Is that violent God our God?
The story of the deliverance of the Israelites at the Sea of Reeds is a foundational story, for Jews and for many Christians. For good reason, African-American theologians have especially identified with the story of Israel’s deliverance from Egyptian oppression. Even so, this story raises profound questions – at least for me. To begin with, did God grieve over the deaths of all those Egyptians? Sure, we hear the story from the point of view of an oppressed people who finally and miraculously triumphed over those who oppressed them. Even so, what about all the Egyptian lives lost? And what of the women whose husbands, sons, and brothers rode in those chariots whose wheels became clogged in the mud, and who were swept under as the sea returned? Did God not care about them?
Secondly, is God a tribal God? Does God really favor one people over another? Many fundamentalists of all faith communities would say, “Absolutely.” Many of today’s Israelis, who believe that Israel may use any and all means to ensure its self-preservation, would agree wholeheartedly. Similarly, those in Muslim nations who limit the freedom of Christians to practice their religion would agree, as would members of the Taliban and ISIS, who promote the most rigid possible forms of Islam. As would Christians who believe that those who favor their brand of belief and practice are saved, and assure those of us who disagree with their literalist interpretations of the Bible or tradition that God hates us, and that we are damned. Is this the God to whom we have committed our lives?
And finally we might ask, “Is God really a warrior God?” “Warrior” is certainly one of the images for God that recurs in the Hebrew Bible. However, because Jesus consciously rejected military power, even refusing to be crowned as a king, many Christians feel profoundly uncomfortable with military imagery and with the notion of God as warrior. Some refuse to sing “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Some squirm when they hear Paul’s command, in the portion of the letter to the Romans that we heard last week, to “put on the armor of light.” Even worse for them is to hear him instruct the Ephesian Christians to “take up the whole armor of God,” including the “belt of truth,” the “breastplate of righteousness,” the “shield of faith,” the “helmet of salvation,” and the “sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (6:13-17). Is God a militant God?
There are no easy answers to these questions. The book of Exodus is one of the most ancient in the entire Bible. The story we have just heard comes from at least three sources, which were probably only edited and put together after the return from Exile in the 6th century BC. Apparently, the rabbis were also troubled by our first question, of whether God grieved for the Egyptians. Indeed, there is a Midrash, an interpretation, that God rebuked rejoicing angels saying, “While my creatures are drowning in the sea you would sing a hymn?” According to the rabbis, this rebuke showed that God does not rejoice in the death of the wicked. In answer to the second question, of whether God is a tribal God, much of the Hebrew Bible suggests that God cares for all people. For example, Psalm 117 enjoins all nations to praise God. The prophet Isaiah reminds us of God’s promise of unity among nations. “In the days to come,” Isaiah says, “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob” (2:2-3). Those who chafe at the notion of God as warrior point to the promise spoken by the prophet Micah: “He shall judge between many peoples, and shall arbitrate between strong nations far away; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore….” (4:3).
Despite our questions and reservations about the God of the Exodus story, despite the alternative images of God that Scripture provides, this text is included in our lectionary for a reason. Its purpose is to remind of some important truths about the God whom we profess to worship, truths we might sometimes wish to forget. To begin with, the story witnesses to God’s power. Yes, God sometimes comes to us as a “still small voice.” Yes, God cares for us as a mother cares for her children. Yes, we can know God as friend and companion, and as the power working within us for transformation. But, at some point, we also must acknowledge that the Holy One, the Incomprehensible Mystery that created and grounds the cosmos, is also a God of immense power, power that can both act on our behalf, even working miracles, and power that can work against us when we in the wrong.
Secondly, this story reminds us that God stands passionately on the side of justice. The Israelites who crossed the Sea of Reeds were an oppressed people, forced into slavery by the wealthy and powerful Egyptians, whose leadership was determined to do everything necessary to maintain the status quo ante. This story forcefully reminds us, with unforgettable imagery, that the God of Israel, the God of Jesus, the God of Paul, and our God, is a God who uses all of God’s power to work for justice on behalf of those who are oppressed. No wonder enslaved Africans found this story so full of hope and promise!
And finally, this story reminds us that we are called to trust in God. What did the Israelites do after they had crossed the sea, after they had been saved, and after they “saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore?” “So the people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and his servant Moses.” The Israelites acknowledged God’s immense power, put their trust in God, and came to understand fully that Moses was God’s designee, God’s trusted instrument.
And what of us? We may not have crossed the Sea of Reeds, but we too stand where the Israelites stood. We too are called to trust in God’s great power, to trust that God will be on our side in our fight for justice and peace, even when we are weak and unarmed, even when we fight against great worldly powers. Can we do that? My brothers and sisters, we are surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses,” who have trusted God to be with them when they stood on the side of justice. We are instructed by the witness of many who, despite their lack of military hardware, have gone out against mighty powers ranged against them.
Abraham Joshua Heschel was a descendant of rabbis and a lecturer in philosophy in Warsaw, Poland. Six weeks before the Nazis invaded Poland, Heschel managed to escape to London. He eventually made it to the U.S. where he had a distinguished career as a professor of philosophy and a scholar of the Hebrew Bible. His book on the prophets is still widely read and is considered a classic in the field. However, Heschel was much more than a dispassionate scholar. He took seriously the witness of the Scripture that he studied. Hearing God’s call to join God on the side of justice, he became a forthright proponent of Civil Rights. In March, 1965, Heschel “prayed with his legs” by joining Martin Luther King on his historic march from Salem, Alabama, to the state capital in Montgomery. Unarmed and defenseless, along with King and others, he faced down dogs, fire hoses, hostile police officers, and jeering crowds. Bearded, white-haired, wearing black horned-rimmed glasses, Heschel fulfilled his deep life-long commitment by marching with those who truly trusted that God would liberate them, just as God had liberated the Israelites.
We have only to look around us to see God similarly at work, companioning the weak, the unarmed, and the oppressed, in their struggle for justice. Are we with them? Do we trust God to lead us? If the Exodus text has any meaning for us, let it continue to remind us that God is powerful, that God cares for all people, that God shows up on the side of the weak and powerless, and, most important, that God calls us to work in partnership with God to bring about liberation for all.
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