Exodus 14:19-31
Up a creek without a paddle. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Between the devil and the deep blue sea. Any of these idioms could apply to the Israelites at this point in their story.
Moses had gone to Pharaoh and demanded the release of the Israelites, but that hadn’t worked so well. Instead of releasing them, the Pharaoh made the Israelites’ working conditions even harder. When the Israelites learn that Moses and Aaron were to blame, their leaders said to the pair: “The Lord look upon you and judge! You have brought us into bad odor with Pharaoh and his officials!” And that was just the beginning of the odors. By the time the plagues were finished, the water stank, the land stank, and Pharaoh finally said, “Just take the people and go! And take that stench with you!”
So the Israelites fled Egypt, and in spite of having permission to leave, they knew the permission would be withdrawn. They knew that as soon as he saw his free work force was gone, he would send his armies to capture them and bring them back. They moved as quickly as a huge group of people can travel, but of course they were no match for the speed of the pharaoh’s horses and chariots.
So behind them was Pharaoh’s army, and before them were two very bad options: the desert and the sea. The desert offered them no way of escape. Pharaoh’s army would undoubtedly overtake them, and besides, they would likely have to pass Egyptian outposts where even more soldiers would be waiting. But obviously the sea was no better. They had no boats to carry them across, and there’s no way the people could all swim to safety. The Israelites were surrounded—bound on three sides by the enemy, the wilderness, and the sea. I think that definitely qualifies as “stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
And I think we all know how that feels . . . the end of the road . . . when you’ve walked the path that was set before you, only to find that it’s a dead end; when you’ve followed as faithfully as you could, but somehow you don’t end up where you thought you would; when you thought you were getting away from something bad, only to find yourself facing something far worse. Your way is blocked and you’re caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. You’re standing at the edge of the water and you can’t see a way through.
And so you cry out, like the Israelites, Was it because there were no graves in Egypt, that you brought us out here to die? Was it because my life wasn’t crazy enough, that you had to drop this in my lap? Was it because I wasn’t faithful enough, not good enough, to get the easy road? What did I do to deserve this? What didn’t I do to deserve this? Is it true that you never give us more we can bear, and if so, would you kindly stop thinking so highly of me?
You’re standing at the edge of the water and you can’t see a way through. We often forget how limited our vision is. We forget that just because we can’t see doesn’t mean there isn’t a way through.
The movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade has a classic scene about faith and sight. Indy is standing at the edge of a chasm. The book tells him that “Only in the leap from the lion’s mouth will he prove his worth.” He knows that leaping from one side to the other is impossible. Nobody could do it. But his father is dying. His father’s life depends upon his leap of faith. So he puts his hand on his chest and he takes a deep breath and a giant step—not a tentative little baby step, but a giant, full-stride step into thin air. But instead of falling he lands on something he can’t see, and he makes his way, step by step, to safety.
A quote I love says, When you get to the end of all the light you know and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things will happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.
The same is true for you. The way will come. A way will be made. But you may not recognize it.
That is partly because, unfortunately, God doesn’t always part the waters. Sometimes the miracle isn’t in the East Wind that parts the waters and dries the land. Sometimes the miracle is in the courage we find to step into the sea anyway. Sometimes the miracle is in the strength we find to swim across. Sometimes the miracle comes after we have dog-paddled with all our might and just before our lungs burst and our thighs give out.
But because we’ve heard this story all our lives, and because we expect God to be predictable, there we are: standing at the edge of the water, waiting for that East Wind to divide the sea forgetting that sometimes, in order to find the miracle, we have to at least get our feet wet.
We can’t predict how God will work. We can’t determine God’s course of action. God parted the water for Moses, but not for Jesus—Jesus walked on the water. In other words, God has more than one trick up the divine sleeve. So when you are standing at the edge of the water and you can’t see a way through, remember that God may work as you have seen God work in the past, or God may work in new ways, or God may work through your work to get you to where you need to be.
Or maybe you’ve done all that. Maybe you’ve looked for the miracle, and you’re still stuck. You’ve looked for your miracle, and you’ve been open to God’s surprise, but it’s just not there. You can’t wade across—the sea is too deep. You can’t swim across—the sea is too wide. You can’t row across—there is no boat. And still the sea stands there in its stubbornness, refusing to be parted.
When that happens, it’s easy to believe that God has abandoned us. It’s easy to believe that God has forsaken us. And that’s when we need to remember that the miracle took time. With the rush of the narrative we tend to skip over two little words: “The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night.” The miracle took all night. Not all day, when we’re still stuck but at least we can see our predicament clearly. But all night, when every fear is multiplied and every doubt enhanced. All night, when the unknown lurks in the shadows and we can hear the hooves of the coming army and the creaks of the chariots of destruction. The miracle took all night. So you may think God has abandoned you, but in truth—you just gotta hold on until morning.
It’s important to remember that the story of God parting the water was written from the far side of the sea. They saw it in retrospect. That scene from Indiana Jones that I told you about earlier, where he steps out into the unknown, into thin air? When he gets to the other side, he grabs some dirt and throws it back where he’s just been, and the dirt reveals what he couldn’t see before—a bridge, just one step wide, that carried him across. He couldn’t see it until he was past it.
Some of you are on the other side. You have faced the sea and made it across. Tell your story. Let others know that you struggled, too. Or wade in the water to help someone else get across. Be the way that God makes.
There are many times in our lives when we think we’ve reach the end of the road. We’re standing at the edge of the water and we can’t see a way through. But that’s when God says, I’m standing right beside you, and I’ll help you to the other side. It’s not the end of the road. Even if your past is nipping at your heels and your future holds no promise; even if the way behind smells like slavery and the way ahead looks like death; even if you’re out of time and out of hope; God says to you, I’m standing right beside you, and I’ll help you to the other side.
Thanks be to God. Amen.