As you might recall, last week we worked hard getting Pharaoh to let the children of Israel go out of slavery in Egypt. Actually, we just sat here. Moses and God did all the heavy lifting. But, we were nonetheless glued to our seats as again and again Moses told Pharaoh, “Let my people go,” and Pharaoh said, “No,” and Moses called down some hideous plague, and Pharaoh said, “Alright, alright, already! I’ll let them go!” and then the plague stopped, at which time Pharaoh promptly reversed himself and said, “Just kidding! You can’t go.” This went on and on with frogs and gnats and boils and hail and locusts and such until finally, finally, when it became clear that Pharaoh would listen to nothing else, Moses said, “Let my people go, or God will strike down all your first born.”

And Pharaoh, who we’re starting to think is not any too bright, says, “No.” So the children of Israel eat their first Passover meal and mark their doorways with the blood of the lamb, and the Plague of Death passes over and strikes down all the firstborn of Egypt, but passes over the Israelites.

Finally, something gets through to Pharaoh. In despair, he calls Moses and says, “Go away from my people. Take anything you want, just go! Be gone!” He even says, “And bring a blessing on me too!” (Ex. 12:32)

Now the people of Egypt have suffered through ten horrible plagues, the last of which killed their firstborn children. And after each round of escalating destruction, they have had to watch their Pharaoh renege on his promise to let the Israelites go — and therefore invite more disaster to reign down on their heads. There hasn’t been a thing they could do about it; this is not a democracy; there is no provision in Egyptian law for impeaching a Pharaoh.

So after all these trials, the people of Egypt are so glad when the Israelites finally get ready to leave that they give them all sorts of gold and silver and treasure. They seem to see clearly what Pharaoh’s power blinds him to; these people are in with the Lord, and you want to be in with them.

Now, you might think Pharaoh has come around, I mean, he did let them go and he did ask for a blessing. Well, poor old Pharaoh, he seems to be unable to help himself. After the Israelites leave, all six hundred thousand of them (and that’ s just the men), they are led by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. But poor old Pharaoh just can’t help himself, so he thinks, “What have I done? I’m letting the biggest slave force ever amassed just walk away! Bring my chariot! Bring my army!”

So, Pharaoh and his army go after the Israelites. As he approaches this huge mass of people with an even larger mass of flocks and herds, they panic. “What have you done to us, Moses, bringing us out here to die in the wilderness? Weren’t there enough graves in Egypt? Let us serve the Egyptians and live!”

Moses says, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm. God will deliver you.”

And the pillar of fire moves and cuts off the Egyptian army and keeps them away from the Hebrews. Then (you know the story), Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and God send a wind that parted the waters. With walls of water standing up on both sides, the Israelites went in, and the Egyptians went in after them. But God clogged the Egyptian’s wheels with mud, and the poor Egyptian soldiers who, you have to know, never thought this was a good idea anyway, say, “Let’s get out of here.”

But it’s not to be. It’s clear that they serve a Pharaoh who will never give up. We know this guy. Poor old Pharaoh — he can’t help himself. No matter what he says, no matter what he promises, no matter what you do to him, he’ll never give up. So Moses stretches out his hand over the waters, and the walls collapse on the Egyptians, and Pharaoh and his army disappear in the Red Sea. [Silence]

I bet a lot of people in New Orleans wish God had made a wall of water stand up and block the floodwaters pouring in from Lake Pontchartrain. I know there are lots of people right now who are upset with God, or have lost their faith in God, because there was no Moses to hold out his hand and stop the waters. That reaction is very understandable, and if you don’t have it, you will probably encounter it. If God acted like that then, why can’t God act like that now?

It’s a child’s question: “Why didn’t God stop the terrible flooding?” The kind of thing adults think and children ask. Over the years, children (sometimes my own, sometimes others) have asked me the hardest and most profound theological questions I’ve ever gotten. Usually, I don’t have an easy answer. Sometimes, I don’t have an answer at all. But what I always do is respond by stating what I believe is not so and what I believe is so. It may or may not answer the question. That’s what I’m going to do now.

What I think is not so is that the story of the parting of the Red Sea represents a promise that God will protect God’s people from flood, tornado, fire, earthquake, hurricane, or other natural disaster. This, of course, touches on the famous Problem of Evil — how could an all-good and all-powerful God allow evil to exist? I don’t have a completely satisfactory answer, no one does, but I do believe that God created a physical universe that, if it is going to operate by the rules of the physical universe, will occasionally churn up natural disasters. How and when God decides to intervene in that process is a mystery to me, but it’s clear enough that if we are going to live on this wonderful gift of a planet with an atmosphere we need in order to stay alive and with the rules of physics we need to, for example, stay in our pews and not float to the ceiling, if we’re going to live on that earth, we will have hurricanes. The victims of Katrina were not singled out by God, punished by God, or targeted by God; they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So I don’t believe that the story of the parting of the Red Sea is a promise that God will keep floodwaters away from you and me. A quick review of history in the 4000 years since Moses makes that clear enough.

What I believe about the story is that it isn’t really about water; it’s really about overcoming oppression. There’s a reason that oppressed peoples, and especially black people in the United States, have again and again gained strength and inspiration from the Exodus stories; they are about deliverance from oppression. This is a story about a people who have no bargaining power at all, but who believe that God will hear their cry and demand justice. And this is a story about how people who follow God can overcome the greatest powers on earth without resisting with that kind of power. The Egyptians had the most powerful army on earth. The Israelites had flocks and herds and old people and children — and men who had no military training and had been taught from birth to be subservient. By all reason, it should have been a slaughter. But the meek prevailed, and the powerful were destroyed. No wonder the great leaders of the Civil Rights Movement drew again and again on the Exodus story. They had to tell their people to have courage in the face of overwhelming odds, to have faith that God would act for justice, but that it must be God’s act, not theirs. They could not mirror evil for evil; they could not fight fire with fire, match weapons with weapons. God must handle that part.

And God did. It’s not like racial discrimination is gone, but the world of Jim Crow that Martin Luther King, Jr. grew up in has simply disappeared under the waves of history.

For me, the defining moment in this story is not when God held the waters back; it’s when the Israelites went in. The Rabbis tell a story to illustrate the faith required. They say that Moses stood on a point over the waters and stretched out his hand — and nothing happened. A second time, and a third time, nothing happened. Then a young Israelite man, in full battle armor that would make him sink like a stone, leapt into the deep sea. Immediately, the waters parted. It took an act of faith.

Think about it; if you were an Israelite and God was protecting your flank (so you feel delivered in that regard), and you stand at the edge of the sea and it parts so that huge walls of water mysteriously hold back the whole ocean, it takes some guts to say, “Let’s walk on through there.” You’ve got to be wondering, “How long will this last?” And if you’re in the middle when it collapses. . . .

The story of the parting of the Red Sea doesn’t ask us the question, “Why are there hurricanes and floods?” It does ask the question, “Will you go into the waters? Will you trust that through you, God can overcome the greatest powers on earth in what appears — by worldly, rational standards — to be a tragically lopsided fight?”

Katrina was a great power that wrought terrible unfairness. We could not fight it using its forms of power. We could not blow back its winds or dry its waters. But Katrina presents us with many, many opportunities to minister as the Body of Christ. We can give generously; we can bring food; we can open our homes. I’ve heard stories of people standing in line at the store, realizing that the person in front of them is an evacuee, and buying their groceries. There are many ways, large and small, that we will be able to minister as the Body of Christ.

And, ultimately, that will prevail. That is how God, working through us, will part the waters.