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LEAVING EGYPT

Deliverance as Grace

CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING

The first and most commonly made mistake with the Old Testament law is to ignore where it appears. Many Christians assume that in the Old Testament era the Israelites had to earn salvation by following the Sinai law, while Jesus did away with that notion, making salvation available for free. This is a terribly unfortunate caricature of the Old Testament, but it is easily resolved by taking a closer look at the story. Israel arrives at Sinai in chapter 19 of Exodus. That’s where Yahweh will give them the law. However, God’s elaborate deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt takes place in chapters 3–14. If the law were a prerequisite for salvation, then we would expect to see Moses in Egypt making a public service announcement: Hey, everyone—Good news! Yahweh plans to set you free from slavery to Pharaoh. There’s just one catch. You’re gonna have to agree to live by this set of rules. If you just sign on the dotted line saying that you agree to these conditions, Yahweh will spring into action. Who’s in?

Of course, this is not what happens. Instead, God appears to Moses in the wilderness, reveals his personal name, Yahweh, and gives Moses this message for those living under oppression in Egypt:

The LORD, the God of your fathers—the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—appeared to me and said: I have watched over you and have seen what has been done to you in Egypt. And I have promised to bring you up out of your misery in Egypt into the land of the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites—a land flowing with milk and honey. (Exodus 3:16-17)

Yahweh delivers them “with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment” (Exodus 6:6) without first checking their homes for idols or performing an audit of their morality. His deliverance has to do with his character and his promise to their ancestor, Abraham, rather than with their righteousness. True, God had given instructions to Abraham and his sons, which they were to obey, but he had not given them any permanent code of conduct.

God made a covenant with Abraham back in Genesis. He promised as many descendants as the stars in the sky (Genesis 15:5), along with a vast tract of land that would become theirs (Genesis 15:18-21). He also had spoken of Israel’s future enslavement in Egypt:

Know for certain that for four hundred years your descendants will be strangers in a country not their own and that they will be enslaved and mistreated there. But I will punish the nation they serve as slaves, and afterward they will come out with great possessions. (Genesis 15:13-14)

Now they’ve done their time. Yahweh is ready to put his plan in motion. Abraham’s descendants have become a great multitude (see Exodus 1:7), and they’re about to be rescued. The only requirement is for each family to eat a lamb together and spread its blood on their door frame as a sign for God to protect them from the destroying angel.1

Whatever Sinai represents, it cannot be a prerequisite for salvation. Israel has already been delivered when they arrive. In order to understand what the law at Sinai is for, we’ll need to take seriously where and when it is given and how it is framed. And timing is everything.

PASSOVER

We know this event as the “Passover,” but the English word “Passover” is not a great translation of the Hebrew pasakh in Exodus 12:13. It gives the unfortunate impression that Yahweh is “passing over” them and his attention is elsewhere. While the word can mean pass over, in this context the meaning “protect” makes more sense. Yahweh protects, or covers, the Hebrew households from the destroying angel who has been commissioned to carry out God’s judgment.2 Yahweh’s gracious protection of his people shows faithfulness to his promise to save them. Exodus 12:23, 27 and Isaiah 31:5 are other examples where pasakh means “cover” or “protect” rather than “pass over.”3

FRAMING SINAI: THE WILDERNESS JOURNEYS

You’ve likely seen Leonardo da Vinci’s painting titled “The Last Supper.”

Figure 1.1. da Vinci’s The Last Supper

In it, Jesus sits at the center of a long table with six of his disciples on either side, grouped in clusters of three. The twelve are not insignificant, but Jesus matters more. He is the center of focus. All the perspective lines point toward his face, which is framed by the window behind him. That window is flanked by windows and four columns on either side of the room, drawing the viewer’s eye to the center. This framing technique is not only effective in visual art. It also works in stories.

Each culture has its own set of expectations for how stories ought to be told. In the Western tradition, the climax belongs at the end. Other cultures arrange their stories differently, some with the climax right in the center. This technique is sometimes called a “ring structure,” “mirror imaging,” or “chiasm,” and it was commonly used in ancient writing. I like to think of it as a literary sandwich. While the climax of a chiasm is not always found in the middle, the turning point of the narrative often is.4

The flood narrative in Genesis 6–9 is an example of mirror imaging on a smaller scale. The way the story is told mirrors the actual event; the symmetrical ebb and flow of the story matches the rise and fall of the water. The structural center of the chiasm, or literary sandwich, is also the theological turning point: “God remembered Noah” (Genesis 8:1).5

A closer look at the wilderness stories immediately before and after Israel’s camp at Sinai reveals a surprise: they deliberately mirror each other, creating a narrative frame that draws our focus to Sinai in the center (see Figure 1.2). If we were tempted to think of the Sinai instructions as a boring appendix to the story of deliverance from Egypt, this framing technique wakes us from our delusion. We’d miss it if we only read parts and pieces of the Torah. But when we read large chunks of text in one sitting, we can begin to see what’s there. As a result, the Sinai narratives take their place as the crown jewel—the center of focus—of the Torah. Let me show you what I mean.

Figure 1.2. The framing of the Sinai narratives

Numbers 33 lays out the full itinerary of Israel’s hike from Egypt to Canaan. There are forty-two camping spots on that itinerary. But if you carefully read the narratives that actually describe those travels before and after Sinai (Exodus 12–18 and Numbers 11–32) you’ll discover that only six campsites are mentioned on either side, each introduced by the same Hebrew phrase: “and they set out.”6 This is not to suggest that one account is more reliable than the other. The itinerary and the narrative serve different purposes. If you made a scrapbook of your summer road trip, you might include a page with your full itinerary. But you might not have taken great pictures at every stop along the way. Some places were more significant than others, so they’ll get more attention on the pages of your scrapbook. So, too, with Israel. The narrator has selected six representative campsites before Sinai and six after, putting Sinai right in the middle, like Jesus in da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.” With Sinai deliberately in the center, our eyes are drawn to it. But this is only the beginning of the literary symmetry.

The itineraries mention “desert” seven times before Sinai and seven times afterward. On the way to Sinai we read about God’s provision of manna and quail (Exodus 16), as well as two requests for water satisfied by a gushing rock (Exodus 17:1-7). After Sinai? The same pattern: one story about manna and quail (Numbers 11) and two requests for water satisfied by a gushing rock (Numbers 20:1-16). We’re told that God provided manna daily in the wilderness as they traveled from Egypt to Canaan (Exodus 16:35) and obviously the people would have needed regular access to water, but the narrator’s selective telling contributes to the literary framing effect that points to Sinai.

But there’s more. God’s angelic messenger protects the Hebrews from a foreign king once before Sinai and once afterward (Exodus 14:19-20; Numbers 22:21-35). Before Sinai, Israel fights the Amalekites (Exodus 17:8-16). After Sinai? Again, Israel fights the Amalekites (Numbers 14:39-45). Before and after Sinai, Moses meets with a Midianite family member and receives guidance (Exodus 18; Numbers 10:29-32). Before and after Sinai, Moses is weighed down with leadership responsibilities (Exodus 18:17-18; Numbers 11:10-15) and begins delegating those responsibilities to others (Exodus 18:24-26; Numbers 11:16-17). This example involves a deliberate quotation. In Numbers 11, Moses explicitly reuses Jethro’s language from Exodus 18. Speaking of Moses’ leadership responsibility, Jethro had said, “For this thing is too heavy for you. You are unable to do it alone” (Exodus 18:18, author’s translation). Moses takes up these words after Sinai, saying “I myself am unable alone to carry this whole people for it is too heavy for me” (Numbers 11:14, author’s translation).

What’s more, the Israelites’ response to the report of the scouts in Numbers 14 mirrors the response to Pharaoh’s army before they crossed the sea (Exodus 14:10-12)—they lament ever having left Egypt. With such a close match between stories that took place before and after Sinai, you might begin to wonder if anything has changed during Israel’s year at the mountain. Indeed, it has.

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE: A PLACE OF BECOMING

In spite of the similarities before and after Sinai, a great transformation has taken place. The Hebrews fled Egypt as a mixed multitude, refugees and former slaves seeking a better life. They leave Sinai as a well-organized army, registered and marching tribe by tribe. But change wasn’t easy. Big questions plagued the first part of their journey. Are we safe? Where are we going? What’s on the menu? Who’s in charge? What sort of god is Yahweh? And what does Yahweh expect of us?

We can relate. It’s like being lost on a hike. You know where you want to end up, but you can’t figure out how to get there because you don’t know which direction you’re facing. Or maybe you’ve felt lost in life, stuck in between where you’ve been and where you’re going. You know what you’re cut out to do, but you can’t get the traction you need to get there. There’s a word to describe this state: liminality. It’s from the Latin word limen, which means “threshold.”7 Imagine yourself standing in the doorway, neither in nor out of a room. That’s liminal space. An airport, for example, is a liminal space. Nobody lives there. We’re all passing through on our way to somewhere else.

The first people to start talking about liminality were anthropologists. They used it to describe a stage in rituals that change someone’s status or identity. Sociologically speaking, a liminal place is a transitional space where a person lacks social status and is reduced to dependence on others. Every human ritual the world over includes an element of liminality, from coming-of-age rituals to funerals. Liminality has since been applied more broadly to psychology, politics, popular culture, and religion. In a moment, we’ll explore Israel’s experience of liminality. But first, I want us to think about the ways we experience liminality, because all of us do! For example, a wedding ceremony sets the bride and groom apart and lingers in liminal space. During the ceremony the couple is neither married nor unmarried. They wear new, symbolic clothes and explore other symbols of their new life together (rings, candles, vows, kiss). The congregation witnesses their change of status as the minister pronounces them “husband and wife” and welcomes them to rejoin the community with a new identity.

When a woman becomes pregnant, she enters liminality. She is officially on the threshold of motherhood, and yet she has not yet experienced most of its aspects—nighttime feedings, diapering, discipline, pushing a stroller, singing the ABCs. Liminality is usually temporary, but it can be prolonged. My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage. Part of my grief was because I found myself in the strange position of having been pregnant, but lacking a child to hold. Mother’s Day that year was especially awkward and painful. Was I a mother? Or wasn’t I? I didn’t really belong in either category.

Few people actually enjoy liminality. We have an inborn desire to seek order and belonging and predictability. Just a few months after that awkward Mother’s Day I became pregnant again and happily left that liminal state behind. My grief largely dissolved when the ambiguity of my status was resolved. Others are not so fortunate. Immigrants or refugees sometimes spend long stretches of time in a liminal state—lacking papers to legally work or even stay in their host country, always feeling like an outsider, and never knowing if they should put down roots or start packing.

College intentionally creates liminality. Students leave home and enter an entirely new environment with a new set of expectations and roles. With the help of faculty and staff, they scrutinize themselves in order to reshape their identity and discover their vocation. But they are not welcome to stay. Just when they feel like they know the ropes, they are thrust into the “real world” to begin the process all over again as full-fledged adults. Graduation is a ritual designed to mark that transition between academia and the outside world. To some extent, it redefines students by qualifying them for new roles in society. Crossing the stage, they cross the threshold to a new season of life.

For Israel, the wilderness journey from Egypt to Canaan is liminal space. Far more than just a place to pass through, it is the workshop of Israel’s becoming. The wilderness is the temporary destination that makes them who they are. Liminal places always do this. They change us.

God is not in a hurry to lead them out of liminal space and into the land he promised to give them. They’re not ready yet.

The Israelites have been liberated from slavery in Egypt, but they have not yet arrived at their final destination. Everything they know about who they are, how to survive, and what is expected of them is stripped away on that fateful night when they make their escape, leaving them vulnerable and uncertain. They don’t know how to live under these new arrangements. But God is not in a hurry to lead them out of liminal space and into the land he promised to give them. They’re not ready yet. Into this vacuum, Yahweh speaks. He answers the basic questions of human existence in surprising new ways, offering himself as the solution to their needs for leadership, guidance, protection, and provision, and revealing his name as the key to their identity and vocation as his people. Yahweh invites them to begin walking in a new direction by trusting him. Sinai is part of their liminal experience. In the wilderness of Sinai they are free from the mind-numbing distractions of Egypt and Canaan. In their isolation, they can hear the voice of God. Having lost their old identity, they are ready to become what they are meant to be.

ARE WE SAFE? FINDING SECURITY

We may be long centuries removed from Israel’s wilderness wanderings, but we share many of the same basic human instincts. Like the Israelites, we want to know if we can close our eyes at night and fall asleep in safety. Uncertainty breeds anxiety.

As I read the wilderness narratives with students, the question I’m asked more than any other is this: “How can the Israelites so quickly forget God’s power to deliver them?” The people who’ve seen ten dramatic plagues on Egypt, whose own households were spared devastation, whose neighbors have willingly given them silver and gold and clothes for their journey, who’ve heard Pharaoh’s command to “Get out!”—these are the same people who quickly change their tune as Pharaoh chases them in hot pursuit. The Hebrews are terrified. They cry out:

Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt? Didn’t we say to you in Egypt, ‘Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians?’ It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert! (Exodus 14:11-12)

If this response surprises us, it’s because we underestimate the disorienting effect of liminal spaces and because we overestimate our own stability. Perhaps a thought experiment would help. Imagine you are a college student. One day your professor ends class with a special announcement: “Attention Students! I have fantastic news. A generous donor has arranged to cover the rest of your tuition payments this year as well as all the school loans you have accumulated so far.”

Incredulity melts into celebration as you all realize she is dead serious. The classroom erupts with cheers of joy and (for some) tears of relief. When the commotion dies down, your professor gives some instructions. “All who would like to take advantage of the donor’s offer need to gather up their belongings and follow me.” Of course, you pack your bag and follow. How could you pass up the opportunity? But you’re not sure where she’s taking you. The class files out into the hallway, down a back staircase, and down the sidewalk behind the cafeteria to the parking lot.

“Wait here,” she says. “I’ll be back.”

She disappears into the administration building and she’s gone . . . for a long time. For the first few minutes everyone is jovial and curious, wondering where she’s gone and how long the wait will be. But as the minutes stretch on and the sun gets higher, your stomach reminds you that it’s lunchtime. The longer you wait, the more you begin to wonder if this is some sort of practical joke. You crane your neck to see if there’s a video camera set up somewhere, capturing your gullibility on film.

What if this happened to you? How long would you wait in the parking lot for your professor to reappear? How quickly would you begin to doubt the sincerity of her announcement? A wonderful promise becomes much harder to believe when we are tired and hungry, or when we can’t imagine how things will play out. Abraham Maslow claimed as much in his 1943 essay, which popularized a hierarchy of needs.8 He posited that certain needs are fundamental, such as physiological needs (food, water, air, sleep) and the need for safety. Without these in place, people are less motivated to focus on higher-level needs, such as love, esteem, and self-actualization. Some criticize Maslow’s hierarchy as reflecting an individualist, rather than collective, society, making it potentially less pertinent for understanding Israel’s wilderness wanderings. We could also disagree with Maslow’s humanist perspective. He insists on the essential goodness of any human desire, failing to recognize how our inclination toward those desires may be corrupted by sin. Contrary to Maslow’s assumption, we do not become who we are meant to be by seeking to fulfill every felt need. Still, his overall idea is helpful—without fulfillment of basic needs such as food, water, and a safe place to live, people will very quickly lose interest in promises relating to higher-order thinking about values or beliefs or opportunities. Remember when Moses delivered God’s great promise of deliverance to the Hebrews in Egypt? “Moses reported this to the Israelites, but they did not listen to him because of their discouragement and harsh labor” (Exodus 6:9). The promise was glorious, but they weren’t buying it.

Hunger, thirst, and fear are powerful masters. (These days, so is the lack of internet access.) Yahweh knows this. Remarkably, he does not chide the Israelites when they complain or panic as they travel toward Sinai. He simply provides for their needs. He utilizes this trek to demonstrate to them his trustworthiness. Here are a few examples of Yahweh’s care from these chapters:

When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter. For God said, “If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea. (Exodus 13:17-18)

Yahweh first ensures Israel’s safety.

By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. (Exodus 13:21)

In the hot and dusty desert, traveling in the cool hours of night may be preferable. God provides unmistakable guidance day and night. He has thought of everything.

[God said to Moses,] “Raise your staff and stretch out your hand over the sea to divide the water so that the Israelites can go through the sea on dry ground. I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians so that they will go in after them. And I will gain glory through Pharaoh and all his army, through his chariots and his horsemen. The Egyptians will know that I am the LORD when I gain glory through Pharaoh, his chariots and his horsemen.” Then the angel of God, who had been traveling in front of Israel’s army, withdrew and went behind them. The pillar of cloud also moved from in front and stood behind them, coming between the armies of Egypt and Israel. Throughout the night the cloud brought darkness to the one side and light to the other side; so neither went near the other all night long. (Exodus 14:16-20)

Two things are worth noting: First, God provides the Israelites a way of escape. He does not choose the easiest route, but rather the one that will demonstrate his power and bring him the most glory. Second, God provides safety all night long, even lighting their camp to dispel the fear of attack in the darkness.

Trust is not automatic, and God does not expect it to be. He patiently works on Israel’s behalf until they can see that he is worthy of their confidence.

Trust is not automatic, and God does not expect it to be. He patiently works on Israel’s behalf until they can see that he is worthy of their confidence. God’s guidance and protection of the Israelites cultivate their trust in him and in Moses (see Exodus 14:31). The wilderness is his classroom. He has work to do in the Israelites that can only be done in a state of dislocation, in liminal space.

WHAT’S ON THE MENU? LEARNING TO TRUST

The Israelites haven’t traveled far—three days, in fact—when they become desperate for water (Exodus 15:22). I think Maslow would agree that it doesn’t matter how dramatic last week’s breakthrough when your throat is parched today. And so they begin to grumble against Moses. The right response would have been to pray and ask God for help. This is what Moses does, and God provides. The incident is even more striking when read against the plague narratives. In Egypt, the outcome of the first plague, when the Nile turns to blood, is “water they cannot drink” (Exodus 7:24)—a judgment against Egypt. When the Hebrews arrive at Marah, they find “water they cannot drink,” but Yahweh shows Moses how to transform it from bitter to sweet (Exodus 15:23-25)—a blessing for his people.9

Six weeks later, they run out of food. Despondency sets in. “If only we had died by the LORD’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death” (Exodus 16:3). Again, God’s response is full of mercy. He announces his plan to provide bread from heaven. In Egypt, God had “rained hail” (Exodus 9:18, 23), but here he “rains bread” (Exodus 16:4). In Egypt, locusts “came up” and “covered” the ground, devouring all the produce (Exodus 10:14-15), but now God provides meat for the people to eat in the form of quail that “comes up” and “covers” the ground (Exodus 16:13).10

The bread God provides is not just any bread, however. It doubles as a “test to see whether they will follow his instructions” (Exodus 16:4). Rather than filling their pantries to bank against future famine (this is a road trip, after all!), God invites them into an exercise of daily trust. Each morning, he provides a day’s worth of food, as much as each one needs. In this way, they learn how to depend on him daily. Those who disregard his instructions find maggots the next morning in the extra food they’ve collected.

On the sixth day of every week, God provides twice as much. In this way, Israel also learns the rhythm of Sabbath observance—six days of work, one day of rest, repeat. Like a parent with a toddler, patiently teaching obedience and reward, Yahweh trains an entire nation. His provision of food demonstrates his glory and cultivates habits of obedience and trust for forty years straight! Their need in the wilderness supplies the opportunity for a greater display of Yahweh’s character. God has things to teach that can only be learned in a state of dislocation. On the way to Sinai, the Hebrews find out what sort of God he is and how to live in dependence on him.

God taught me a similar lesson in the first few months of marriage. Never having lived on my own off campus, I was nervous about money. I was still getting the hang of grocery shopping, paying rent, and living by a budget. One day, I went shopping for food to make a spaghetti dinner. I remember standing by the rack of French bread in the bakery department. Garlic bread sounded tasty, but a whole loaf for one meal? Was that wise? It seems strange now that I wrestled so hard over this one 99-cent item. In the end, I left the store without bread, feeling poor. Not long after I arrived home, I heard a knock on our back door. Our next-door neighbor stood there with a loaf of French bread. “I bought too much bread. Can you use this?” Never before or since has someone brought me French bread. On that day, God sent me a message loud and clear: “I am your provider. I’ve got this.” That bread was more than manna for my stomach. It was manna for my soul. Like Israel, I was learning to trust God to provide.

WHO’S IN CHARGE? APPOINTING LEADERS

Another question that rises to the surface in liminal places is “Who’s in charge?” Anyone who has tried to do a group project for school can relate. Nothing gets done until somebody takes the lead. A similar leadership vacuum results whenever an elementary school teacher is absent and requires a substitute. The children face a measure of uncertainty about how the day will go. What is this substitute like? What will be expected of me? Will he be a harsh taskmaster or will he be funny and kind? Inevitably, a student or two steps into the vacuum and asserts their own authority, attempting to control the substitute.

Ultimately Yahweh calls the shots. It is he who appointed Moses to a leadership role. He inevitably bears the brunt of Israel’s complaints. But he recognizes that their protest is actually resentment against God himself, merely deflected toward him (Exodus 16:8). Still, it’s not easy being the target of their grumbling. Moses reaches a breaking point at Rephidim, where the Israelites complain again about thirst: “What am I to do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me!” (Exodus 17:4). On this occasion, God answers the people’s prayer directly through the hand of Moses, telling him to strike the rock at Horeb. Water flows in the sight of the elders. The same staff used to strike the Nile, making Egypt’s water unfit to drink, now supplies liquid grace for the Israelites.11

Up next is the battle against the Amalekites, for which Moses and Joshua both receive credit. Joshua fights the battle on the ground, but he only prevails as long as Moses’ hands are raised on the mountain (Exodus 17). Both of these incidents publicly underscore Moses’ God-given authority to lead.

Moses consistently shoulders the burden of responsibility for the people, bringing their requests to Yahweh and announcing his response. When his father-in-law, Jethro, stops by for a visit, he is alarmed that Moses serves as judge for the people from morning until night (Exodus 18). They come to him whenever they want to know God’s will. Jethro advises Moses to delegate the bulk of these responsibilities to trained officials, reserving his energy for the most difficult cases.

With divine approval for Moses’ leadership and a structural hierarchy in place, the people’s basic question “Who’s in charge?” is answered. Moses’ authority is vindicated by God and supported by a network of leaders serving under him. The resulting clarity provides security for the people, helping them as they learn to trust God and his appointed leaders. It’s a lesson they’ll revisit later, when jealousy sets in.

But now, we arrive at Sinai.

DIGGING DEEPER

Resources with an asterisk (*) are accessible to a broad audience. Resources without an asterisk are written for scholars.

*Peter Enns. Exodus. NIVAC. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000.

*Terence E. Fretheim. Exodus. Interpretation. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010.

*Jeff Manion. The Land Between: Finding God in Difficult Transitions. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010.

Mark S. Smith. The Pilgrimage Pattern in Exodus. JSOTSup 239. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1997.

 

Related video from The Bible Project: “Torah: Exodus 1–18.”