Exodus 15: A Light Song and Heavy Grace
Exodus 15: A Light Song and Heavy Grace
"Miriam sang to them: 'Sing to the LORD, for he is highly exalted. Both horse and driver he has hurled into the sea.'" (Exodus 15:21, NIV)
"Then Moses led Israel from the Red Sea and they went into the Desert of Shur. For three days they traveled in the desert without finding water." (Exodus 15:22, NIV)
"Then Moses cried out to the LORD, and the LORD showed him a piece of wood. He threw it into the water, and the water became fit to drink. There the LORD issued a ruling and instruction for them and put them to the test." (Exodus 15:25, NIV)
The author places the groaning of burning thirst immediately after the triumphant sound of tambourines has barely faded. Between the joy of verse 21 and the despair of verse 22, there exists only a brief interval of "three days' journey." What is this stark arrangement telling us? The Red Sea miracle changed Israel's "circumstances," but it did not instantaneously sanctify the inner being of Israel as a "people." The author soberly reveals that even that tremendous miracle of parting the sea was insufficient to completely wash away humanity's deep-rooted unbelief and fickleness.
Here we witness the unbridgeable gap between the unbearable "lightness" of human existence and the "weightiness (Glory)" of God. God's saving work is too great and heavy for humans to bear. Conversely, the human vessel meant to contain this heavy grace is too thin and light. This fickleness—where lips that danced and praised three days ago instantly pour out complaints before Marah's bitter water—paradoxically proves that salvation does not depend on human qualification or will. We have neither the strength to cross the Red Sea on our own, nor the ability to turn the bitter waters of our lives into sweet water.
Therefore, the subject of life must be thoroughly changed. When I am the subject, the wilderness is merely a place of complaints and fears. But when God becomes the subject, the wilderness finally becomes a school of grace. Even in the very moment when the people pour out their complaints, God had already prepared a tree for Moses. When we stumble without even the strength to grasp the hand of salvation, the only One who holds that weak hand without letting go is the faithful God alone. Only upon this awareness of total inability does true grace (Sola Gratia) shine forth.
What is noteworthy is the urgency the author displays immediately after the miracle. Right after making the water sweet, God, almost seemingly out of place in His haste, establishes "a ruling and instruction" (verse 25). Before even reaching Mount Sinai, the author hurriedly brings in the Word. Why? He knew. What is more urgent than a miracle that solves immediate thirst is the solid structure of the Word that can bind humanity's fickle lightness.
God, who reveals Himself as "the LORD, who heals you (Yahweh Rapha)," is the One who repairs our broken inner being. The prescription for that healing is none other than His Word. To us who, intoxicated by miracles, can be shaken again at any time, God casts down the secure anchor of His Word. The wilderness teaches that what fills the precarious gap between heavy miracles and light existence is ultimately daily obedience. This is what the author wants to convey to readers throughout the ages.