09/15/2026
Shane's sermon, September 13
Proper 19A, 2026
No, no, no.
This has to stop.
This passage from Exodus is one of the only readings required at the Easter Vigil, a harbinger of Christ’s resurrection. It is central to our tradition, and it has inspired oppressed people for millennia. It has been a light to people around the world, including to African-American slaves. Harriet Tubman earned the nickname “Moses” for her role in leading people out of slavery into freedom. This motif continues to inspire people who struggle.
Still. This is a dangerous passage, with toxic consequences in our history. Especially in the light of September 11, we need to examine it carefully.
There are two parts to the passage. The Israelites are fleeing Egypt, after years of grinding oppression. Pharaoh’s army is chasing them. When they come to the Red Sea, an impassable, impossible barrier, God parts the water so that the Israelites can cross over. So far so good.
Now comes the hard part.
As the Egyptian army tries to pursue the Israelites, God clogs their wheels. They realize that God is with the Israelites, and they try to retreat. Rather than let them do that, God closes the water back over them and kills thousands of men and animals. Standing on the far shore, the Israelites rejoice.
The message seems to be that they are not really safe until their enemy is dead. It’s not enough to be on the far side of a huge body of water; they need to know that the enemy is gone for good.
Or, it might be simple revenge, the twisted delight of seeing their enemy suffer. It might be about flexing their muscles against a hated oppressor, getting their own back.
Either way, it’s a message that still lives in our cultures. In the United States, we see it in movies and other media; we see it in politics; we see it in white Christian nationalism, in anti-immigrant hysteria, in the targeting of sexual and gender minorities. We might even notice it in the resistance to these movements! According to this message, we - whatever “we” we are - requires the extermination or elimination of the other.
We have to find a better way.
We cannot build a free society by extermination and expulsion. As long as we seek to crush enemies, we are held hostage by our rage and fear. The painful history of our interventions in the Middle East after 9/11 shows us how we can become victims of our own trauma.
Jesus knows this. He repudiates the position of king because he knows this. He refuses to play out the expected drama of the Messiah who conquers by force, because he knows that the cycle of violence will simply keep repeating itself unless someone stops it.
Jesus counsels forgiveness because he knows this. He knows that, as 12-Step programs say, resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Whether it’s a personal resentment or a whole cultural complex, festering anger eats the person, or the people, who carry it.
The answer to trauma is not revenge, and it’s not brushing it away. The only answer is healing. Healing means facing the pain, facing our anger and shame and sense of violation, in order to move through them. It means realizing that we are still here, stronger than the wound, capable of new life.
This is what Jesus shows us. By undergoing torture and death without resentment, Jesus makes an opening for new life. When he rises, his wounds will remain, but they will not define him. He is liberated from the fear of death. He shows in his life, death, and life what he taught in parables.
Now, Jesus’ followers have not always been able to follow him on this path. We still hear the remnant of revenge in Matthew’s parables, which so often end with wrongdoers suffering. But even then, I imagine Jesus trying to say, “If you don’t forgive, you will be in prison.”
I know that many people, perhaps many of you, boggle at the idea that we should forgive people who bring us harm on the scale of 9/11. But forgiveness does not mean excusing. It does not remove the need for accountability. It means releasing the need to punish over and over, to build a fortress in our hearts.
All of this takes the willingness to suffer with Jesus, to suffer the pain of our hurt without lashing out.
We cannot do this alone. Healing, including forgiveness, takes community support.
So the question becomes, how can we build a world where people can heal rather than continue the cycle of violence and revenge?
We can support one another in stepping back from our initial reactions. I have a friend who says, “First thought, second thought.” I’ve watched him grow from an angry, aggressive jerk into a man who brings peace into his family and community. He still has that first, angry thought, but he waits for the second thought that leads him to a better way.
We can help one another feel safe enough that we can lay down our weapons long enough to listen to one another. We can listen with respect even when we disagree.
We can draw a line in our lives and our communities that refuses derogatory talk, stereotyping, and justifications for violence or degradation.
Huh: it sounds like the Baptismal Covenant.
Ironically perhaps, we come back to the Easter Vigil. After the Exodus reading and others, we renew our baptismal vows. We are asked to seek and serve Christ in all persons; to love our neighbors as ourselves; to strive for justice and peace among all people; and to respect the dignity of every human being.
This is our call. With St. Francis, we can pray to be channels of God’s peace. With God’s help, we can rise above hate and fear, and help others to do the same.
