Exodus 14:19-31
As I sat down to look at the lectionary text, the fact that Friday was September 11 probably forced my eyes and heart to give the Exodus passage greater significance. I still remember the tragic image that captivated our collective memories. I am sure most of us distinctly remember what we were doing that September morning. The day before, I had flown into Raleigh. Deb and I were living in Texas when I received word that a dear friend and colleague in Wilmington N.C. had died. His wife wanted me to perform the funeral. I used this as a chance to see my mother and father. The morning of the 11th I drove my car from Morehead to Wilmington on a back road through Camp Lejeune. Not knowing what was happening, I was somewhat alarmed at the activity by MP’s and security police. I was basically given a personal escort off the base. I turned on my radio and the reports I received seemed like something out of a HG Wells novel. Once I got into Wilmington I was stunned to find the streets deserted. I pulled into a Dick’s Sporting Goods store and witnessed what the whole world was watching. Over and over again we saw the replay of the first plane hitting the Trade Center. Then live I witnessed in disbelief as the second plane appeared. The sky was a cloud of fire and smoke. Below, those who survived were frantically running for safety with no idea what the next moment might bring. This image is burned into our collective consciousness. But there was a third horrific memory. That evening, I drove back to Morehead and watched TV. There were brief flashes of reactions around the world. One was a picture of folks dancing for joy as the cloud of fire and smoke briefly reigned supreme over the broken hearts and psyche of our nation. I thought to myself, “How could they rejoice?”
In the weeks that followed the pews of my church were filled to capacity. People who showed up only on Christmas and Easter suddenly appeared. Some showed came to pray. Some came hoping for a word of hope. Some probably came because they didn’t know where else to go.
Now it is 19 years later. Much has changed. Perhaps our innocence has been stripped. Perhaps our hearts have been hardened. Perhaps we have been driven by a long season of revenge. Perhaps we don’t even like remembering because those memories are painful, and on going, and have reached no sense of closure. Those folks that filled our pews for a week or two have gone. Their reaction was as much one of fear and confusion as anything else. Maybe they just didn’t know where else to go. Maybe they were looking for answers and found none. Sometimes the church doesn’t have answers, only stories.
This morning’s story is about fire and smoke. The Hebrew people overstayed their welcome in Egypt. Southerners have a great saying about never visiting relatives for more than three days. That is when fish and guest begin to smell. The Hebrew people extended their welcome beyond three generations. So Pharaoh put them to work. Eventually The Hebrew people became so immersed in Egyptian culture they forgot their past and their God. In their misery they cried out to anyone who would listen. Their cries caught the ear of Yahweh and the God of Abraham responded by sending Moses. After numerous conversations with Pharaoh, the scene was set for the Hebrews to leave Egypt. They fled east toward the Promised Land only to discover there was a body of water standing in their way. They looked at the water; then looked back toward Egypt. It was hard to miss the cloud of dust exploding across the western horizon. The chariots of Egyptian Army were descending on the Hebrew people. They turned to Moses and cried out, “Why did you bring us out here to die?” Moses responded, “You are a people of life not death.” He lifted his shaft and a great cloud of smoke and fire separated the children of Israel from the armies of Pharaoh. As the waters began to part, the Hebrews made their way through the danger to solid ground. In all the smoke the Egyptians could not see what was happening. They followed the Israelites into the water and that was their undoing. As the Israelites were taking their first step toward a new life, the waters rescinded destroying every member of the Egyptian army. That night the lifeless bodies of the Egyptians washed up on the shore. This is the oldest story of the Hebrew Scriptures. It is the story that was told throughout the history of Israel. When the Jews were in Babylon the story was remembered. When the Romans destroyed Jerusalem, the story was remembered. In the death camps of Auschwitz the song faithfully sung was, “Sing to the Lord for God has triumphed graciously, the horse and the rider God has thrown into the sea.”
When we remember 9/11 don’t our hearts burn with a desire for God to once again stir up the waters against those who are our enemies? We want, no more than that, we demand God be judge, jury and prosecuting attorney. We want God to strike vengeance on those we consider to be our enemy. We want a clear and concise action to justify Christians marching forth to war. Fortunately, God is not controlled by our emotions. Within the utter mystery of the fire and smoke that separated the Israelites from the Egyptians is an unpredictable God. As we continue to read the stories of the Old and New Testament we discover this is not a God who is endlessly biased toward one people at the expense of another, but a God steadfastly preoccupied with a gracious horizon that we fail to comprehend. This is the God who insists we forgive our enemies not once, not twice but seventy times seven. How does one reconcile the slaughter at the Red Sea and this extraordinary proclamation? The only explanation I can offer is another story which boldly declares God is bigger than us and our agendas.
The Talmud is an ancient Hebrew commentary which is studied alongside the Torah. For generations these commentaries have been an invaluable tool to Rabbis searching for greater insights. According to a story in the Talmud, the angels were singing and dancing over the deliverance of Israel at the Red Sea. One of the angels noticed that God had not joined their celebration. “Look”, the angel said, “The Lord, the Creator of the Universe is sitting there weeping!” They approached God and asked, “Why are you weeping? You delivered your children from the hand of evil.” God said, “I am weeping for the Egyptians washed up on the shore. Those sons, those husbands, those fathers, are also my children.”
When we remember 9/11, those memories are filled with images of fire and smoke. We remember the pain and heartbreak of so many people. We remember our enemies singing and dancing for joy. What we fail to remember is our God does not rejoice over the loss of one human soul regardless if they are friend or foe. Maybe this is because so many of us came of age on that fateful day. Our childlike naiveté was lost. Trusting the stranger became difficult, even foolish. Over the past 19 years that suspicion has been extended to neighbors and even family members. On 9/11 New York was a city in ruins. Since that day our suspicion, anger, and distrust has extended beyond the collapsed of the Twin Towers and reached from sea to shining sea. Our hearts have been hardened. We desire a God triumphant. Now, ravaged by a pandemic, enflamed by a 400 year old sin, encouraged by self-righteous prophets, and guided by self-serving leaders on both sides of the aisle, we are a nation divided and only able to agree on one thing. My opponent is God’s enemy.
There’s no poetry to our rhetoric, only fiery prose. Without the poet, how can we remember the tears of God?
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by thy might, led us into the light,
Keep us forever in thy path we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the place where we met Thee.
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world we forget Thee.
Shadowed beneath thy hand, may we forever stand.
True to our God, true to our native land.
James Weldon Johnson wrote those words over 100 years ago. How true they ring today! If we are to look beyond the moment we must do it together. If we are to reclaim the path of righteousness we must do it without prejudice. If we are to recognize of our God, we must do it humbly. If we are to rise above the ruins it must be done with open hands, open hearts, and tears in our eyes.
Amen.
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