Jack Hardaway
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Sheeruh la Yahweh keeg gao gaa sus maro ka voe va yom.
Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea.
Moses’ older sister, Miriam, who pulled baby Moses from the water and tricked Pharaoh’s daughter into caring for him, this is her song, The Song of Miriam.
It is the oldest song in all of scripture. One of the oldest songs in human history.
Her words begin and end the Song of Moses, the song of ecstatic praise after the rescue on the Red Sea, when the impossible became possible.
It is the beginning, the beginning of everything, the birthday of faith, everything is either before or after. It is the Easter morning terrifying surprise of the Old Testament.
It is the baptism of the people of God.
Sometimes you just gotta sing, and Miriam led the song and the dance, and we have all joined in ever since.
Something to sing about.
The parting of the sea, the rescue of the Hebrews and the collapse of Pharaoh and his machinations.
When I was in seminary it was our fight song for our seminary football. The other teams thought we were singing in tongues.
All these priests in training singing out in Hebrew.
I know. It’s kind of weird.
The words are etched in my mind like only a song can be, a holy ear worm.
Sometimes you just gotta sing.
The story was over. They had almost escaped. Now they were trapped. They would be slaughtered, and then there was a way out of no way.
The miracle.
It was night, the darkness of God lit up the night as the wind blew, and at dawn the waters collapsed and it was over.
It was like Easter morning, the shock, then the song, then Miriam began the dance.
Sometimes you just gotta sing.
The birth of faith.
The demise of evil.
What a night.
The parable Jesus tells about forgiveness.
The slave is forgiven a debt of unimaginable magnitude.
10,000 Talents. It is the equivalent of a year’s wages for 10,000 people.
How much is that?
So much that counting doesn’t work and it misses the point.
A hopeless debt from which was no escape, and then it was forgiven.
Something to sing about, but he didn’t, instead he goes after paltry debts that others owe him.
Rather than show and share mercy he brutally exploits those debts.
Being paltry before the tremendous mercy that weaves the Universe together.
How much should I forgive?
It is the wrong question.
How can I not forgive? That’s the real question.
Anne Lamott has a great quote that only a hard living saint like her could come up with, it comes from her book Traveling Mercies: “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then expecting the rat to die.”
If I don’t let go then I choose to poison myself.
The hard thing for most of us is that letting go part.
Being set free, being delivered, being unbound.
How does that happen?
So the real question really isn’t how much I should forgive or how can I not forgive, but rather how do I forgive? Please Lord free my heart, I am bound up and I can’t escape this.
Forgiveness is about being set free, and praying for deliverance, praying for freedom.
Years ago my prayers for forgiveness became the prayer, “Free me Lord, free me from this, I am trapped.”
A way out of no way.
Parting the sea, raising the dead.
The miracle and the grace of forgiveness.
The darkness of God covers us and carries us on that road to freedom.
And just like the exodus the real work begins after the miracle, the real work begins with freedom, the freedom that is love.
Love is the work of faith.
The need for the miracle of grace only grows, not exponentially but logarithmically.
Grace drives us deeper and deeper into the need and the surrender of faith.
Where will it all end?
Sometimes you just gotta sing, sing before the darkness of God that lights up the night, the holiness that is deliverance itself.
The Lord is deliverance.
Jesus is deliverance.
Sing and dance with Miriam all along the way.