1. On the Arabian shore of the Red Sea, Moses and the sons of Israel, we are told, met Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, at the head of the long train of Israelite women, with the sounding timbrels and the religious dances which they had learned in Egypt, coming forth, as was the wont of Hebrew women after some great victory, to greet the triumphant host. She, the third member, the eldest born, of that noble family, whose name now first appears in the history of the Church, afterwards to become so renowned through its Grecian and European forms of Maria and Mary, she, who had watched her infant brother by the river side, now hailed him as the deliverer of her people, or rather, if we may with reverence say so, hailed the Divine Deliverer, by the new and awful Name, now first clearly proclaimed to her family and her nation.
The going forth of the women of Israel after Miriam with timbrels and with dances was their expression of passionate triumph and thankfulness, after the full accomplishment of their deliverance from the Egyptians. That deliverance had been by the utter death of their enemies, and accompanied by a stupendous miracle; no human creatures could in an hour of triumph be surrounded by circumstances more solemn. I am not going to try to excite your feelings about them. Consider only for yourself what that seeing of the Egyptians “dead upon the sea-shore” meant to every soul that saw it. And then reflect that these intense emotions of mingled horror, triumph, and gratitude were expressed, in the visible presence of the Deity, by music and dancing. If you answer that you do not believe the Egyptians so perished, or that God ever appeared in a pillar of cloud, I reply, “Be it so-believe or disbelieve, as you choose:-This is yet assuredly the fact, that the author of the poem or fable of the Exodus supposed that, under such circumstances of Divine interposition as he had invented, the triumph of the Israelitish women would have been, and ought to have been, under the direction of a prophetess, expressed by music and dancing.” Nor was it possible that he should think otherwise, at whatever period he wrote; both music and dancing being, among all great nations, an appointed and very principal part of the worship of the gods.1 [Note: Ruskin, Time and Tide, § 41.]
2. Unwonted interest attaches to this song-the earliest on record of all the sacred odes, and the very foremost in the annals of the Hebrew race. To the Jewish people themselves, it is what they have long called it, “The Song”-a designation to which it is entitled, alike from its inherent pre-eminence and its unrivalled associations. It is Israel's natal song. For in crossing the Red Sea they passed through the birth-throes of their national existence, and from this epoch dates a new chronology in Israel's calendar. The oppressed tribes have become a commonwealth; and a commonwealth of the free. It is Israel's emancipation song, or song of liberty. It signalizes a triple deliverance, marking the supreme moment of rescue from the threefold evils of domestic slavery, political bondage, and religious thraldom. It is Israel's Te Deum, or song of thanks and praise to God. An overwhelming sense of the Divine interposition is the predominant sentiment in the song from first to last. It is no mere secular ode; no mere war-song or outburst of patriotic triumph; no exultant shriek of insult over a fallen foe; it was an anthem of blessing and gratitude for a great deliverance, a devout and solemn Psalm before God, to whom, of whom, and for whom it is sung. It is Israel's Church-song; the type of all songs of redemption and salvation. The very words “redemption” and “salvation” are first introduced in connexion with this great deliverance. “I will redeem you with a stretched out arm”; and again, “Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.” The people has become unified into a worshipping assembly. The nation has become a Church; the theocracy has begun. It is Israel's triumph-song of deliverance. The note is that of joy and victory, and is prophetic of the success of every battle and struggle for the Lord's cause and Kingdom, fought in the Lord's name and in His strength.
We can understand the stern joy which throbs so vehemently in every pulse of that great song, the first blossom of Hebrew poetry, which the ransomed people sang that day. We can sympathize with the many echoes in psalm and prophecy, which repeated the lessons of faith and gratitude. But some will be ready to ask, Was that triumphant song anything more than narrow national feeling, and has Christianity not taught us another and tenderer thought of God than that which this lesson carries? We may ask in return, Was it Divine Providence that swept the Spanish Armada from the sea, fulfilling, as the medal struck to commemorate it bore, the very words of Moses' song, “Thou didst blow with Thy wind, the sea covered them”? Was it God who overwhelmed Napoleon's army in the Russian snows? Were these, and many like acts in the world's history, causes for thankfulness to God? Is it not true that, as has been well said, “The history of the world is the judgment of the world”? And does Christianity forbid us to rejoice when some mighty and ancient system of wrong and oppression, with its tools and accomplices, is cleared from off the face of the earth? “When the wicked perish, there is shouting.” Let us not forget that the love and gentleness of the Gospel are accompanied by the revelation of Divine judgment and righteous retribution.1 [Note: A. Maclaren.]
In the Book of Revelation, when the saints of God stand on the heavenly shore, they sing the song of Moses and of the Lamb. The victory which they have gained is not due to their own righteousness, but to the preventing and overcoming grace of God. So, they connect their own life-history with the early history of God's people. It is the song of Moses, as well as the song of the Lamb. Even the first victory over sin, as well as all victories since then, have been due to the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. And at last, when we have been redeemed, when we have been completely rescued from the jaws of destruction, when we see how our evil impulses have been curbed and overcome, then we too will say that not to ourselves, but to the Lamb, are the honour and glory, and we shall place the crown upon the head of our great Redeemer.2 [Note: A. H. Strong, One Hundred Chapel-Talks to Theological Students, 105.]
