Love is Liberating
Exodus 14:19-31
Exodus 14:19-31 (NRSV):
19 The angel of God who was going before the Israelite army moved and went behind them, and the pillar of cloud moved from in front of them and took its place behind them. 20 It came between the army of Egypt and the army of Israel. And so the cloud was there with the darkness, and it lit up the night; one did not come near the other all night.
21 Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea. The Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night and turned the sea into dry land, and the waters were divided. 22 The Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left. 23 The Egyptians pursued and went into the sea after them, all of Pharaoh’s horses, chariots, and chariot drivers. 24 At the morning watch the Lord, in the pillar of fire and cloud, looked down on the Egyptian army and threw the Egyptian army into a panic. 25 He clogged their chariot wheels so that they turned with difficulty. The Egyptians said, “Let us flee from the Israelites, for the Lord is fighting for them against Egypt.”
26 Then the Lord said to Moses, “Stretch out your hand over the sea, so that the water may come back upon the Egyptians, upon their chariots and chariot drivers.” 27 So Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and at dawn the sea returned to its normal depth. As the Egyptians fled before it, the Lord tossed the Egyptians into the sea. 28 The waters returned and covered the chariots and the chariot drivers, the entire army of Pharaoh that had followed them into the sea; not one of them remained. 29 But the Israelites walked on dry ground through the sea, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left.
30 Thus the Lord saved Israel that day from the Egyptians, and Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore. 31 Israel saw the great work that the Lord did against the Egyptians. So the people feared the Lord and believed in the Lord and in his servant Moses.
Now that’s a Bible story you could make a movie out of! Am I right? It’s got death…a miraculous parting of the sea…death.
This is probably the defining story of the Hebrew Bible, and a story that was must have been foundational for Jesus in his ministry, as someone firmly grounded in the Jewish tradition. It’s also the story, at least this one climactic scene in a longer saga, that has been the key narrative for liberation theology in the 20th and 21st centuries. Let me combine those two observations. Arguably the most foundational story for Jesus, and the Biblical tradition, is a story of liberation. Christianity has often narrowed the scope of that liberation to something internal, even transactional, but I think the scope for Jesus was internal, but also relational, communal, national, and global.
Whenever you have a story where people die, especially when attributed by God, it raises valid concerns. But I do assume that this was the story that the hearers and tellers of the story needed, in their time.
What stories do we need in our time? What are the stories that give you clarity about who you are and what your work in the world is? What stories that you inherited have you now rejected? What are the stories that most capture, for you, the work God is doing in the world?
Liberation theology, which I touched on briefly last week, arose in the context of poverty and injustice in Latin America and sought to speak about the Divine and the Divine-human relationship, in light of suffering and injustice. The result is a theology that affirms a God who sides with the oppressed and is at work to change the systems that give rise to their oppression. Theologies that have followed that same liberating pattern have emerged from many marginalized communities.
Thus, today, we have Black theology; feminist theology; womanist theology (done by Black women); mujerista theology, from Hispanic women; queer theology from the LGBTQIA+ community; Asian liberation theology; Palestinian liberation theology, by Palestinian Christians; disability liberation theology, and so on. These theologies of liberation start on the ground, with an analysis of the lived experience of a community, which is why the core concerns of “God on the side of the oppressed” and “human responsibility to create social change” can exist in each and yet the specific work God is doing in each community will vary. So if someone said, “do we really need another liberation theology?” I’d say, “yeah, probably!”
It doesn’t make a ton of sense for someone like me to develop a liberation theology for my community, per se, because it would be difficult for me to argue that I’m part of an oppressed community, as a straight white male homeowner in Camas, WA. But I can definitely listen and allow the liberation theologies arising from other communities to inform my own faith and practice. However, I would argue that for the Quaker tradition, liberation has been central to our call, from the beginning. More on that in a moment.
I said the Exodus story is foundational to the Jewish people, to Jesus, and to many marginalized communities today. But anyone drawing inspiration and guidance from this story probably has to address what happens to the Egyptian army (and horses!).
Now, sure, it’s fun to watch the Death Star blow up in the Star Wars saga—twice!—until you realize that this means the deaths of thousands of people who believe they’re doing the right thing, serving the right leader or god, following the only path seemingly available to them, or maybe acting out of fear for the consequences should they try to break free from that path. Not to ruin Star Wars for you, but sometimes the good versus evil trope is a binary worth questioning.
This is in no way to minimize the need for liberation in the Black community, the queer community, the disabled community, and so on, but to note that liberation is for everyone. Liberation theology, since its emergence in 1970s and 80s Latin America, has always sought, while attending to the power dynamics of the historical situation at hand, to liberate those being hurt and to liberate those doing the hurting. Sustaining a cruel system, and embodying that cruelty, is its own kind of bondage. Liberation theology centers the oppressed, but seeks liberation for everyone, inviting entirely new ways of organizing our lives together.
The Talmud, one of the most important Jewish texts that is kind of an ongoing, spirited debate among rabbis about how to interpret and apply scripture, includes this commentary on Exodus 14: “What is the meaning of…‘And the one came not near the other all the night’ (Ex 14:20)? At that time the ministering angels desired to recite a song before the Holy One, Blessed be He. The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to them: My handiwork, i.e., the Egyptians, are drowning in the sea, and you are reciting a song before Me? Apparently, God is not gladdened by the downfall of the wicked.” (1)
We’re right to be troubled, like the rabbis, by the death in this story. And we’re right to hold onto the story’s core message: that God’s work, and our work, is liberation.
Should we root for the literal deaths of those who oppress? Even as I ask that I recognize my privilege—the privilege of being relatively free from direct and systemic violence. It may be easier for me to maintain an ethic of nonviolence and discourage violent retaliation. But if you are part of an oppressed community, you might have a different perspective on what will actually work to change your reality.
And I don’t want to critique or celebrate that, just acknowledge the complexity, and that my voice should carry less weight on this topic than those who’ve more personally had to wrestle with hard questions about how to respond to their oppressors. So, to be clear, I’m not encouraging violence, I’m encouraging empathy…and self-awareness.
Now, not all practices of liberation are violent, of course. Creating new structures to replace the old—creativity can be liberation. Making sure authority and opportunity are distributed—inclusivity can be liberation. Feeding and clothing people who didn’t “earn it”—generosity can be liberation. Voting, and voting with empathy—participation in democracy can be liberation. Teaching people about systemic injustice—education can be liberation. Doing some hard inner work around the wounds and fears that cause me to act in harmful ways—self-awareness and healing can be liberation.
What does liberation mean to you? What actions in the world does it imply? Do you have a negative or fearful response to that word, maybe something you inherited from a previous religious community that saw liberation theology as a “theological bogeyman” threatening to upend Christianity and our world as we know it? If so, what did those who condemned liberation theology feel was at stake, what did they stand to lose? How much of the work of liberation is external—changing how we order our lives together? And, how much is internal, changing our hearts?
In the chapter I wrote for The Quaker World, which will be homework for our Welcome Class participants later this month, I talk about examples of Quakers who were moved to engage in liberating activity. My chapter is about Love within, but my noticing is that this Love often moves individuals and communities to acts of care—relief, support, friendship—but also acts of liberation. This has been the pattern of many Quakers, not all of whom were necessarily celebrated by their Quaker communities at the time, but who nonetheless have represented what it can look like when we listen to the Light in us and in others and then act upon what we hear. Let me share some examples.
Early Friend and co-founder of our quirky movement George Fox refused a position in the army in 17th century England, laying down a pattern of liberation through conscientious objection. Liberation from reliance on war and the occasion for all wars.
American abolitionist John Woolman traveled door to door to convince enslavers to free their enslaved and avoided buying or using products made through human or animal cruelty. Liberation from chattel slavery, liberation from exploitative economics.
East coast Quaker Hannah Barnard, an inspiration to Quaker heretics like me, in the early 19th century, prior to impending splits among Friends communities in the decades to come, rejected biblical literalism and rejected any parts of scripture portraying a violent God. Liberation from…bad hermeneutics? Liberation from violence.
Lucretia Mott, co-organized the Seneca Falls Convention, the first women’s rights convention in 1848, and before that, co-founded the Philadelphia Female Anti-slavery society in 1833. Abolitionist, first-wave feminist, suffragist. Liberation from patriarchy, liberation from white supremacy.
British Friend Elizabeth Fry, prison reformer, sought humane treatment of prisoners, especially to protect women, and worked to change societal attitudes toward prisoners and about what conditions they needed/deserved. Liberation from dehumanizing practices, and inspiration to those working today to literally “set the captives free” and abolish the prison system as we know it, in hopes of something better.
Bayard Rustin, a Black, gay Quaker and collaborator with MLK, was a force, often behind the scenes, in the civil rights movement and later for LGBTQIA+ rights. Liberation from discrimination based on race, sexual orientation, and gender identity.
Pedro Sosa, a Guatemalan immigrant and Oregonian, who spoke here, in 2019, has advocated for and protected immigrants and organized hospitality for them. Liberation from fear—the valid fears immigrants experience, and the exaggerated and deadly fears of long-time citizens—and liberation from state-sanctioned violence.
Ruah Swennerfelt, of New England Yearly Meeting, is a leader in the “Transition Movement” inviting us away from our dependence on fossil fuels. Shoot, we could add relatively recent Camas Friends guest speakers Eileen Flanagan, Christy Randazzo, and Cherice Bock, leading Quaker voices in the conversation around the climate crisis. Liberation from fossil fuels, liberation for the entire planet.
Someone I don’t mention in my Quaker World chapter is Esther Mombo, a Kenyan Friend. Kenyan Friends, who make up over a third of the world’s Quakers, continue to find their post-colonial identity, both in relation to colonial powers and to American and British Quaker missionaries. Mombo, a Kenyan feminist theologian and professor, founded the Tamar Campaign in Kenya to address gender-based violence and continues to advocate for inclusivity and safety for women and the LGBTQIA+ community (2). Liberation from colonization, liberation from gender-based cruelty.
It’s important we don’t overlook the spiritual center that energizes these Friends to take liberating action. Like Moses, maybe, who hears God tell him to do some pretty extraordinary things, and then, whether speaking truth to power or stretching out his hands, does them. This is our tradition, at its best: a tradition of people who have listened to Love, and then followed Love where it took them. That work will always include the ongoing work of direct care for ourselves, friends and family, and individuals in need whose lives intersect with ours. But it will also lead us, as it has Friends past and present, toward liberation. An exodus from what kills and destroys.
The Exodus story tells me that God’s work is to liberate, to lead people out. That opposition arises when people move toward liberation, that you may be chased down by an army. That God is not magic, that liberation doesn’t happen by magic, but by people using their hands and voice, like Moses did. Moses who tells Pharaoh “Let my people go” and here, makes a way out of no way, through the sea.
The Exodus story was pivotal to the exiled community in Babylon, as they sought to clarify and retain their identity despite the instability and danger of their lives. I’m confident it was a defining story for Jesus, who launches his public ministry by declaring his mission to “release the captives” and “free the oppressed” (Lk 4:18). Liberation is the story of the Bible, the story of Jesus, and one good way to tell the story of Friends.
I hear that story continuing to be told and lived by you, as I listen to the work you’re doing and the things that fire you up. Liberation is often needed where things aren’t right, but could be. So what’s not right? And…how will we respond?
Queries:
What is most important to me about today’s scripture?
What are the stories that have helped clarify and sustain my mission?
How are we invited to sustain the Quaker commitment to liberation?
How have I experienced or practiced liberation?