Original Meaning
THIS PORTION OF EXODUS has received a fair amount of scholarly attention relative to other portions of the book. It is a song that the Israelites sing after crossing the Red Sea in response to what God has just done, which is the chronological point made in 15:1, “Then Moses and the Israelites sang. . . .” The song has been given various names, including “The Song of Moses and Miriam,” “The Song of Miriam,” and “The Song of Moses” (although Deut. 32:1–43 is usually reserved for this latter title). The best title, in my view, is the one that has been used in the history of Jewish interpretation: “The Song at the Sea.” The reason for the variety of titles has to do with the ambiguities that surround the opening and closing of the song.
According to 15:1 the song is sung by “Moses and the Israelites.” In verses 20–21, however, Miriam and the women do the singing. This has led to some discussion concerning the identity of the singers and the nature of the song itself. The song that Miriam and the women sing begins the same way as the song Moses and the Israelites sing (cf. v. 21 to v. 1). What are we to make of this? Are we to assume that the song in its entirety (not just the first line) is sung by the women in response to the singing of the men in verses 1–18, sort of an antiphonal song?
This is possible, although the gender distinction may not be as clear-cut as it seems at first glance. Note that “Moses and the Israelites” (v. 1; lit., “sons of Israel”) should not necessarily be restricted to men, especially since the Hebrew phrase “sons of Israel” (bene yiśraʾel) is used throughout Exodus and the Old Testament to refer to the nation as a whole irrespective of gender. Perhaps it is best to think of the women (especially Miriam) singing after the company as a whole has sung the song. That a woman does the singing in verse 21 should be no cause for surprise, since elsewhere in the Old Testament women sing after great military victories (e.g., 1 Sam. 18:6–7). The question here, however, is whether men and women sing antiphonally, which is by no means certain.1
Another version of the antiphonal explanation is inspired by verse 1. The use of the singular “I will sing” has given rise to the theory that the song is sung antiphonally: first Moses sings (indicated by the first person pronoun “I”) and the Israelites respond.2 In other words, Moses sings, “I will sing to the LORD, for he is highly exalted,” and the people respond, “The horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea,” and so forth. This antiphonal explanation breaks down quickly, however, since the singular does not alternate neatly throughout the song. Moreover, it is overreading the text to think that the use of the singular in verses 1–2 indicates that only one person is singing. Many psalms are in the singular but were no doubt intended for corporate use (e.g., Ps. 89:1; 101:1; 108:1), as with many hymns sung in churches today.3
The identity of the singers, the manner in which the song is sung, and its title should not detain us. Regardless of these ambiguities, this is certainly a song sung after the crossing of the Red Sea. It is a song of victory to Yahweh (v. 1) and about Yahweh; it is a response to what he has done. But God is extolled not for the general deed of bringing the Israelites out of Egypt (as we might expect), but for something specific, namely, destroying the Egyptian army in the sea. This is the clear focus of the song.
The practical results of this act are twofold: (1) The surrounding nations will fear God (vv. 14–16), and (2) God will bring his people safely to his dwelling (v. 17). There is, with the possible exception of the ambiguous mention of “wonders” in verse 11,4 no reference to the plagues or to Israel’s release from slavery. To be sure, these things are assumed and form the backdrop from which to view the song, but they do not come into play here. This song has a different purpose: to praise God’s destruction of his enemies. It is a poetic rendering of the narrative of the death of Egypt’s army described toward the end of chapter 14.
Perhaps more important, it is also the gateway to what will be the focus of attention for the remainder of the book. It reminds the reader not only of what has just transpired, but gives a glimpse of what will soon take place. It takes us, at least on one level (see discussion below), from the Red Sea to the foot of Mount Sinai. It is the bridge that closes the first half of the book and begins the second half. After we leave this passage, Egypt will remain in Israel’s rearview mirror and her desert wandering will have begun.
The main theme of the song, God’s victory over the Egyptian army, is introduced in verse 1: “The LORD . . . is highly exalted.” Why? “The horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea.” How does such a description of the death of the Egyptians (being hurled into the sea; see also v. 4) square with chapter 14, where they are covered with the water on their way to the other side? This is not as much of a discrepancy as one might think. For one thing, we must respect the rights of a biblical author—any author, for that matter—to portray events in such a way that will produce the desired effect, especially in a poetic description.
If we go through this song, as many have done, with a fine-toothed comb, looking for possible discrepancies with the narrative of chapter 14, we will find them;5 but in doing so we will have misread the song. It is a modern Western penchant to require complete “consistency” between accounts, but the biblical authors are not so concerned. We must resist the temptation to impose our own modern expectations on a text, which ancient texts are not always prepared to shoulder.6
The song, as we have also frequently seen in chapters 1–14, is tied to Genesis. Verse 2 speaks of “my father’s God.”7 This likely refers to God’s covenant fidelity to the patriarchs (see 2:24), although, admittedly, the singular “father’s” is not the way one would expect this to be expressed. The other option is to read “father’s” as a reference to the more recent ancestors of the Exodus generation, perhaps even one’s biological parents, but this would be anticlimactic, to say the least.8 The purpose of verse 2 seems to be to tie those crossing the sea with those who have gone long before and who worship the same God. The Song at the Sea, in other words, is not only a bridge connecting the two halves of the book of Exodus. It reaches back further to remind the reader yet again of God’s overarching purpose for bringing the Israelites out of Egypt.
We see another Genesis connection in verses 5 and 8. The “deep waters” are a translation of tehomot, which is the plural form of the word used in Genesis 1:2 to describe the primordial “deep” (tehom). In other words, the Red Sea is described in Exodus 15 in a manner reminiscent of the chaotic waters that God tamed at creation. The Red Sea has become “The Sea.”
This song as a whole is a textbook example of the divine warrior imagery so prevalent in the Old Testament. It is Yahweh who has hurled the Egyptians into the sea (15:1, 4). He is a warrior (v. 3), who extends his right hand and “shatters the enemy” (v. 6; see also v. 9). This particular use of divine warrior imagery further serves to tie together the crossing of the sea with the primordial battle against chaos. The enemy God slays at the sea is Egypt, an act that clearly reflects the slaying of the primordial enemy sea. Egypt is God’s enemy (v. 7), a Rahab figure, and as such is merely a concrete personification of an age-old nemesis (see comments on 13:17–14:31).9 This does not make Egypt any less real. On the contrary, as a manifestation of chaos, this is reality at its core! Egypt is a real enemy to God’s people, an enemy whom God has destroyed. And Israel should never forget that Egypt is the enemy of God—though, as we noted in 14:10–14, Israel has already forgotten and will forget again.
Verse 8 raises a number of matters of interest. The description of the state of the sea during the crossing seems overtly in line with that given in chapter 14: The waters “piled up,” which certainly calls to mind the image of two walls of water in 14:22. The “congealing” of the waters mentioned at the end of 15:8 evokes a similar image: The sea condenses or hardens on either side of the dry path that appeared in its midst. What is stranger, perhaps, is the reference to the nostril blast in the first part of 15:8. This is not at odds with the “strong east wind” given in 14:21 as the cause of the sea’s parting. Rather, 15:8 and 14:22 are two sides of the same coin. The issue here is the same one we have seen repeatedly in the plagues: Is this event a result of natural phenomena or an intervention into the natural order by God?
This example illustrates wonderfully that to ask such a question is foreign to the way ancient Israelites understood the relationship between God and nature. Israel’s God shows his mastery over creation not always by supervening natural processes, but by using them for his own purpose. To put it another way, the parting of the sea is miraculous precisely because it is the result of a strong east wind, and God’s snorting is a poetic way of communicating this message. This is a powerful image, and we should not think that ancient writers were any less adept at using such imagery than we are. To call the wind a nostril blast is to say that the wind is his. It is his to command as easily as we breath in and out.
Verse 11 continues another topic addressed throughout the plague narrative: God’s defeat of the Egyptians is likewise a defeat of their gods. “Who among the gods is like you, O LORD?” Should we understand this comment as an affirmation that Yahweh did indeed defeat the gods of Egypt, or is it hyperbolic, that is, that there were no such thing as Egyptian gods, so verse 11 poses an unreal condition? This is a huge question, and to answer it properly would take us far from the confines of Exodus 15.
Yet to answer it briefly, it seems to me that the former is the more likely option. The idol polemic running through the plague narrative was not a suspended, hypothetical polemic, as we modern readers might assume it to be. The ancient world was imbued with polytheism, and the power of the true God of Israel is expressed in a manner that the ancient mind would have readily understood. We must remember the polytheistic environment in which the Israelites have just spent over four hundred years! Surely, the effects of such an environment would have made itself felt on generations of Israelites who lived, worked, raised families, and tried to make sense out of what their God was doing to them.
Perhaps an analogy can be drawn from another time in Israel’s history. After Alexander the Great’s conquest of the ancient Near East in the latter part of the fourth century B.C., Greek became the common language and Hellenism began to exert its influence on Jewish thinking. The Jews did not lose their sense of identity and history during this time—quite the opposite. But they did begin to understand and express their identity in ways that sounded—well—more and more Greek. This interface of the two cultures caused tremendous strain and strife, a fact that much of the intertestamental literature records for us, but the point here is that Greek thinking began to seep into the worldview of a Semitic people.
Closer to home, we see a similar situation in the first commandment: “You shall have no other gods before me” (20:3). We will come back to this below, but it stands to reason that God, at the initial stages of Israel’s journey as his people, would address them in a way they would recognize. Acceptance of a multiplicity of gods was a ubiquitous element in the world in which the Israelites lived, not only generally in the ancient Near East, but most acutely in Egypt. We should not read into this passage later idol polemics, such as we find in Isaiah 44:6–20, into Exodus 15:11 or 20:3. The passage in Isaiah (and other prophets) reflects a more mature time in Israel’s understanding of who God is, that there truly are no other gods. But at the beginning of Israel’s life in God’s presence, God, like a father leading his young child by the hand, reveals himself slowly, not all at once. Israel is to learn just who their God is, but it will take time. So, for now, God’s defeat of Egypt is a defeat of Egypt’s gods.
Verses 1–12 recount the destruction of the Egyptians. Verse 13 introduces the purpose for which the Israelites have been permitted to escape the doomed Egyptian army: God “redeemed” his people in order to lead them to his “holy dwelling.” What is the identity of this dwelling? Three options, all of which are amply illustrated in the Old Testament, present themselves: Sinai, the Promised Land of Canaan, and the temple. Mount Sinai would seem to be the most convincing. It is the next stop on their journey, the destination that has been previously announced (3:12), and the Israelites would likely have this place on their minds. But the Promised Land has also been announced as the ultimate destination (3:8, 17). Nor should the temple be ignored as an option, since the word for “dwelling” (naweh) in 15:13 is also used elsewhere to refer to the temple (e.g., Isa. 33:20).
Perhaps verse 17 offers some help. There we read that God will plant the Israelites on the “mountain of your [God’s] inheritance.” Does this refer to Mount Sinai? Not necessarily. The temple was also located on a mountain, Mount Zion. Mention of a “sanctuary” (miqqedaš) at the end of the verse would seem to support this conclusion, as does “dwelling” (makon; see 1 Kings 8:13; 2 Chron. 6:2; Isa. 4:5; 18:4). Also “inheritance” is not necessarily a reference to the Promised Land, but may refer to the temple, perhaps including Jerusalem (see Ps. 79:1).
In the final analysis, however, it poses a false dilemma to have to choose among these three options, as if they are mutually exclusive. In a manner of speaking, they all meld together. Mount Sinai is God’s holy dwelling, but he will choose to move his holy presence to live among the Israelites, first in the moveable tabernacle and then in the temple. Mount Sinai and Mount Zion (Jerusalem) are integrally related. So, too, is the land of Canaan. This is no mere patch of land, but God’s permanent gift to his people, within which will be his glory and presence. We can say that God is bringing his people out of Egypt in order that he might be present with them, and that presence will be manifest in “sacred space” that takes three forms. God’s self-revelation at Sinai is, although itself a frighteningly powerful reality, a prelude to the permanence of his presence in the land and the temple.
The building of the temple under Solomon several hundred years later can then be seen for what it is. It is the culminating stage in which God’s presence will abide with his people. For the ancient Israelites, the building of the temple was not an afterthought, nor was it, like church buildings today, “a nice thing to have but you don’t really need it.” Jerusalem and the temple are where God chooses to make his dwelling. It is his house. As we will see with respect to the tabernacle (the forerunner to the temple), it is more than simply a place where God chooses to dwell. It is constructed in such a way that brings to mind God’s first earthly dwelling with his people, Eden—the first “temple.” And Eden itself represents God’s heavenly throne room, where God’s presence is most full.
The allusion to the temple raises another issue. Is this reference not anachronistic, since the temple will not be built until several hundred years after the crossing of the sea? This has led some scholars to conclude that the Song at the Sea was written either in whole or in part well after the events themselves. Such a theory also seems to be supported by verses 14–16. One should not glance over the fact that verses 14–15 mention the Philistines, Edomites, Moabites, and Canaanites. These are peoples with which Israel will not come into contact until well after they leave Sinai. In fact, the Philistines and Canaanites will not be encountered for at least another forty years. What compounds the problem is the fact that the picture presented in verses 14–16, one of fearful, servile capitulation by the nations, does not seem to square well with the account of Israel’s struggles with these people recorded in Joshua and Judges.
(1) There are a number of ways to look at the issue of anachronism. This may simply be a matter of prophecy, in which case God is giving his people a preview of what is to come. Although altercations with other nations are likely not foremost on their minds as they step out of the sea, this may be a glimpse of the future, that other nations will fare no better than the Egyptians.10 Such an explanation would yield a progressive structure to the song as a whole. It begins in the past with praise to God for what he has done and ends with the future defeat of other nations, the entrance into the land, and the eventual building of the temple.
But this explanation is not without its own problems. For one thing, the verb tenses in Hebrew are somewhat ambiguous. There are two main forms that Hebrew verbs take, commonly referred to as the perfect and imperfect. At the risk of giving a crass oversimplification, the perfect form is often (but by no means always) used in Hebrew to indicate past tense while the imperfect is often used to indicate future tense. These forms, however, in and of themselves, do not indicate tense. The particular tense any verb in Hebrew has is determined by a number of other factors (syntactical and contextual), none of which (thankfully) will be discussed here.
Why this abbreviated Hebrew lesson? Throughout the song, there is an alternation of perfect and imperfect forms. And although these forms alternate, both the perfect and imperfect are consistently used to express the past tense. A good example is verses 7–8:
7In the greatness of your majesty
you threw down those who opposed you.
You unleashed your burning anger;
it consumed them like stubble.
8By the blast of your nostrils
the waters piled up.
The surging waters stood firm like a wall;
the deep waters congealed in the heart of the sea. (italics added)
There are six verbs (italicized) in these two verses, all of which clearly refer to the past, the defeat of the Egyptians. The verbs in verse 7, however, are in the imperfect while the verbs of verse 8 are in the perfect. Verbal form, in other words, is not the definitive indicator of the tense with which that verb should be translated.
This has implications for translating verses 13–17. In the NIV the verbs of these verses are translated in the future tense even though the same alternation of perfect and imperfect forms exists here as in verses 1–12. There is, in other words, no grammatical indication that a shift in tense has taken place. If the same alternation of verbal forms appears in verses 13–17 as in verses 1–12, why should the verbs in the two sections be treated any differently in translation? One reason, of course, is that the events described in verses 13–17 are in the future from the point of view of the crossing of the sea—hence the future tense seems warranted! But here we get to the crux of the matter: On what basis can one assume that these are future events with respect to the writing of the song? They are certainly future from the point of view of those crossing the sea, but might it be the case that the song, at least as we have it here, was written later?
The question simply is this: Is it correct to assume that the song was written in its entirety soon after the crossing of the sea? This is possible in the abstract, but verbal forms that appear throughout this song militate against such a view. Why switch in translation suddenly from the past tense in verses 12 (“You stretched out [perfect] your right hand and the earth swallowed [imperfect] them”), only to revert to the future in verses 13–17? The following reproduces the NIV’s translation of verses 13–17. Perfect verbs are underlined and imperfects are in italics:
13“In your unfailing love you will lead
the people you have redeemed.
In your strength you will guide them
to your holy dwelling.
14The nations will hear and tremble;
anguish will grip the people of Philistia.
15The chiefs of Edom will be terrified,
the leaders of Moab will be seized with trembling,
the people of Canaan will melt away;
16terror and dread will fall upon them.
By the power of your arm
they will be as still as a stone—
until your people pass by, O LORD,
until the people you bought pass by.
17You will bring them in and plant them
on the mountain of your inheritance—
the place, O LORD, you made for your dwelling,
the sanctuary, O Lord, your hands established.
The translation of Hebrew verbs is tricky business, especially in poetry. But the point to be made here is that the subject matter of verses 1–12 is clearly in the past. Verses 13–17 exhibit the same alternation of verbal forms as we find in verses 1–12. If, therefore, verses 1–12 are past, the same should perhaps be said for verses 13–17.
To make such an assertion is not to deny the reality of prophecy in the Old Testament. God certainly could have inspired a song that refers to events that have not yet happened. The point is simply, what will the text allow us to conclude? The grammar does not lend itself easily to making a sudden shift to the future in verses 13–17. Nor does it mean that the Israelites do not sing a song after crossing the sea. But should not the grammar of the text be allowed at least to invite us to consider the possibility that the song as we have it comes from a later time?
What I am suggesting is that the written version of the poem as we have it is the product of the mature reflection on the crossing of the sea from the point of view of those who have not only the Exodus but also the Conquest behind them. Moses and the Israelites did sing the Song at the Sea, but the inspired version of that song, the one that achieved canonical status, gives us, the readers of today, the added benefit of seeing how the significance of the Exodus was understood and celebrated by Israelites who lived some time after the initial event itself.11 Most important perhaps, placing such a song, with its allusions to subsequent events, in the context of the crossing of the sea apparently does not present a problem for the biblical author. However odd this may seem to us, we see once again that our expectations should not exert undue influence in how we approach, and what we see in, the biblical data.
(2) The second issue relative to anachronism concerns the manner in which the nations are depicted in verses 14–16. They seem to fall like dominoes at the sight of the Israelites. They are “as a stone” until the Israelites have safely passed by. But this does not seem to square with other biblical descriptions. Edom, for example, does not exactly quake in its boots in Numbers 20:14–21. In fact, they stand up against Israel and deny them passage through their country on the way to Canaan. Not only does Moab not tremble, but they seduce Israel into idolatry (25:1–18). As for the Philistines and Canaanites, their protracted struggles with Israel are amply recounted in a number of places in the Old Testament. What are we to make of this?
This is not nearly as difficult an issue as it might appear. For one thing, if we are right in placing the final form of the song some time after the Conquest, this may simply be an example of later Israelites looking back not so much at Israel’s initial encounters with these peoples but at the ultimate result. For the time did come when these particular peoples no longer posed any threat to the Israelites (that role was to be taken over by the Assyrians and later the Babylonians).
Another explanation, and one that is more satisfying to me (although the two are not mutually exclusive), is to see in verses 14–16 an idealized description of Israel’s encounter with her enemies. To say “idealized” is not to say “fictitious.” Rather, it gives us a bird’s-eye view—or more accurately, a God’s-eye view—of the struggle. To say that the nations shook with fear is not to ignore those passages where the opposite seems to be the case, but to transcend them. The Old Testament is blunt in recounting the struggles and defeats the Israelites encounter with respect to the peoples around them. But it is just as quick to remind them that the ultimate concern rises above these particulars.
The parade example of this is the differing descriptions of the Conquest in Joshua and Judges. Judges makes much of Israel’s protracted struggles with the Canaanites. In fact, a mark of Judges is the insistence that the expulsion of the Canaanites was not complete, but that they linger (see Judg. 1:19–36). This is what causes the problems that lead to the need for God to raise up the judges, who were military leaders called upon to lead the Israelites against their Canaanite oppressors. Although Joshua is certainly not devoid of such struggles, its emphasis is clearly on the systematic finality of the Conquest.
These differences in perspective are certainly not insuperable, as a number of scholars have maintained. They are not contradictory, but they do give different perspectives because their authors have different goals in mind. The distinction between Joshua and Judges is similar to the other “synoptic problems” we see in Scripture, namely, the relationship between Chronicles and Samuel/Kings and the relationship of the Gospels to each other. What is important to keep in mind for all of these examples is to respect their differences and even to suggest motives that may account for these differences. These differences are theological. Judges has as a constant refrain the sins of the people in disobeying God, which leads to their oppression. Joshua, on the other hand, recounts the Conquest in order to highlight the smooth transition from Moses’ leadership to that of Joshua; that is, God is with Joshua as he was with Moses.12
This difference in perspective, I suggest, is analogous to what we see in Exodus 15:14–16. The writer of this song has a different view from what we see elsewhere in the Old Testament because his purpose is different: He is teaching the Israelites to look at their circumstances from the ultimate frame of reference, God’s point of view, rather than from their own. It is a poetic expression of what we have seen in narrative form in 14:14: “The LORD will fight for you.” The battle is God’s; hence, from his vantage point, there is no struggle. To use the imagery of Psalm 2, even though the nations rage and conspire—and however disheartening this may be for those experiencing it—God sits in heaven and laughs. Even though the Edomites, Moabites, Philistines, and Canaanites confront the Israelites with military strength, they tremble and melt.
Throughout her history, checkered with stressful relationships against overpowering foes, Israel is constantly reminded to keep her focus on the God who rules these circumstances, not on the circumstances themselves. This is a lesson Israel will learn only imperfectly, yet God never grows tired of teaching it. We find this lesson taught in the Song at the Sea. The battle is the Lord’s and is therefore ultimately cosmic. The end is never in doubt.
The song concludes in a most fitting way (v. 18). The rule of God is eternal, and if the Israelites are to learn anything from the death of the Egyptians, it is that the Exodus story is about more than the Exodus. It must be understood, in the words of Terence Fretheim, “in terms of the worldwide purposes of a Creator God who is about the business of setting a chaotic, oppressive world straight.”13 The Exodus is about God and who he is. The focus of the song is not on what happens to the Israelites or the Egyptians, but on God, who “will reign for ever and ever.” The deliverance of the Israelites is an act in this cosmic drama, a drama that transcends the particulars of the world while at the same time being directly involved in that world.
God’s eternal reign is seen not apart from the world, as if God is detached from his creation, but precisely through what he does in space and time. These events are designed to teach God’s people, then and now, to look beyond events themselves. The song is about the victory of God.
This passage concludes, as noted above, with the song as it is sung by Miriam (her first explicit mention in Exodus). Verse 19 essentially recapitulates the events of chapter 14, and this is followed by the song of Miriam in verses 20–21. This sequence is interesting. In the same way that the song of verses 1–18 follows the events of chapter 14, the song of verses 20–21 follows the events described in verse 19.
It does seem as if this song of Miriam is a response to the song just sung in verses 1–18. What function does it play in the context? It may be, as Fretheim points out, that this female song highlights the importance of women in the story, so prominent in chapters 1–2.14 I do not think, however, that this view represents the thrust of its purpose. The author could simply have recorded the song once (vv. 1–18) and made some notation at the outset that it was sung by the Israelites and then followed (if the antiphonal explanation has any value here) by the women. So why record the opening line of the song a second time in verse 21?
It is not recorded a second time simply because it happened. There are many things that “happen” to the Exodus generation, but not everything is recorded. If anything describes the nature of Old Testament narrative, it is economy of speech. The problem readers throughout history have regularly encountered in the Old Testament is not too much information but too little! So, when something is repeated like this, there is a reason for it. The authors are selective. So why select this? The text itself, of course, rarely makes explicit what that reason might be. Nevertheless, it is appropriate to suggest possibilities, particularly if they are in keeping with things we have seen elsewhere in the book.
Hence, I suggest that the repetition of the song in verse 21 is another look toward the future, as we have seen in the Passover regulations and even in verses 1–18 (esp. vv. 14–16). The song is recorded not merely to preserve some artifact from the past, but to bring the past to bear on the present. We have already noted that verses 1–18 make this fairly explicit, since these verses mention events that are only relevant for future generations. We have also seen this with respect to the Passover: It is future-oriented. Something similar is happening here with the Song at the Sea. Built into Scripture is the notion that the song should be repeated.15 The fact that it is repeated so soon after its premiere performance hints that it should be sung not just once more, but again and again. We have, in other words, a reminder of the liturgical and ritualistic function of the song. It is a repeated celebration of God’s deliverance, of which God’s people must be reminded continually.
Bridging Contexts
SONGS OF REDEMPTION. There are a number of themes in this passage we have already considered: the divine warrior, the creation connection, and looking at one’s situation from God’s point of view rather than our own. Each section of this book does not have its own unique theme that can be conveniently isolated from the surrounding story. Rather, its many themes overlap. Hence, it is only fitting to be selective as to which themes will be discussed at each turn.
The theme we will focus on here is both theological (as is every theme) and literary: the role of song in redemptive history. When the sweep of Scripture as a whole is taken into account, it is not surprising to see the Israelites singing at the sea. Singing is what God’s people do in response to what he has done for them. Many of the Psalms, for example, praise God not in the abstract but for some concrete act of deliverance, whether on a personal or a national level. The author of Psalm 40, after recounting how God gave him “a firm place to stand” (40:2), writes, “He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God” (v. 3; for similar expressions, see 28:7; 33:3; 69:30; 96:1; 98:1; 144:9; 149:1). In fact, the book of Psalms as a whole may be thought of as Israel’s melodic response to who God is and what he has done.
Exodus 15, however, is not just another psalm. It differs in that it occurs in a narrative context. It is a break in the action, so to speak—a hymnic interlude in the midst of a story of deliverance. We see this same phenomenon elsewhere in the Old Testament. Numbers 21:17–18, for example, is a song praising God for his provision of water in the desert (see v. 16), an issue that was certainly on Israel’s mind for the duration of the desert journey (see Ex. 15:22–27; 17:1–7). The similarity between Numbers 21:17–18 and Exodus 15:1–18 extends beyond the mere fact of the singing of a song. In Hebrew, the introductions to both are strikingly similar.
Exodus 15:1 ʾaz yašir—mošeh ubene yiśraʾel ʾet—hašširah hazzoʾt
Numbers 21:17 ʾaz yašir yiśraʾel ʾet—hašširah hazzoʾt
Trans. “Then sang [Moses and] the Israelites this song.”
The only difference between these two is that Moses is explicitly mentioned as a singer in the first song. (He is clearly implied as a singer in Numbers 21.) The main point is that God is with the Israelites in the desert as he was with them in their departure from Egypt. In one instance he has brought them through the water; in the other he has provided them water to drink. On both occasions of deliverance, the people respond in song.
A particularly close parallel to Exodus 15 is Judges 5. Judges 4 recounts the death of Sisera, commander of the army of Canaan, and the defeat of Jabin, Canaan’s king. Judges 5 is the song sung by Deborah and Barak in response to this act of deliverance. Like Exodus 15, its content is what has just been described in narrative form in the previous chapter (although some of the details are different, as is also the case in Ex. 15).16 The main point to stress here is that the type of song we see in Exodus 15 is not unique to the Old Testament. Songs are means by which God is praised for his saving acts.
Another close parallel to Exodus 15 is 2 Samuel 22:1–51 (also Ps. 18:1–50). This song, too, is set in the context of a narrative, although no one specific act of deliverance is in mind. Rather, it is likely a song sung toward the end of David’s life (his last words are recounted in 2 Sam. 23), praising God for his deliverance in a variety of circumstances. As 22:1 puts it:
David sang to the LORD the words of this song [hašširah hazzoʾt; see Ex. 15:1] when the Lord delivered him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul.
The general structure of the song is reminiscent of the Song at the Sea. David’s song is much longer than Exodus 15, so we should expect it to exhibit a greater variety than Moses’ song. For example, in 2 Samuel 22:21–30 David recounts his own righteousness as the basis for God’s deliverance of him, a theme missing from Exodus 15. Still, the general focus of the song is on God’s faithfulness in defeating David’s enemies. It begins with praise to Yahweh, as does Exodus 15, and ends with a statement of eternal perpetuity, which reminds the reader that God’s deliverance extends beyond the circumstances that prompted the song in the first place. Both songs recognize that specific instances of God’s deliverance have far-reaching ramifications.
As to the imagery of David’s song, a number of elements call to mind Exodus 15. We read about David’s deliverance in terms of cosmic upheavals: earthquakes, dark clouds, rain, and lightning (2 Sam. 22:8–20). The Exodus, of course, is the story of the grand cosmic upheaval, with the chaotic waters parting to provide a safe passage for God’s people. David describes his deliverance in similar terms in verses 16–20:
The valleys of the sea were exposed
and the foundations of the earth laid bare
at the rebuke of the LORD,
at the blast of breath from his nostrils.
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.
They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the LORD was my support.
He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in me.
Such imagery is obviously not to be taken literally. These are purposeful allusions to the Exodus. As king of Israel and leader of his people, David is extolling God for his Exodus-like victory against the enemies of God’s people. God pulled David out of the “deep waters” and brought him to a “spacious place.”
Furthermore, in 2 Samuel 22:44–46 we find a statement that echoes Exodus 15:14–16 concerning the attitude of the nations regarding Israel:
You have delivered me from the attacks of my people;
you have preserved me as the head of nations.
People I did not know are subject to me,
and foreigners come cringing to me;
as soon as they hear me, they obey me.
They all lose heart;
they come trembling from their strongholds.
It is not clear to what specific event or events David might be referring, but the confident description of his enemies’ abject fear of him seems to fit better an ideal state, as we saw with Exodus 15:14–16, than with each and every detail of David’s military exploits. The degree of David’s success against his enemies was certainly not uniform, but the above verses give a divine perspective (or perhaps in this case, the perspective from the end of David’s life) on the ultimate status of the nations when confronted with God’s power.
In discussing 13:17–14:31, we noted the close theological relationship between the Exodus and the return from exile in Babylon. Both are acts of God’s deliverance of his people from captivity in a foreign land. Another area where these two great events overlap is in the singing of a song. In Isaiah 42:9, for example, the prophet declares that God is about to do a “new thing” for his people (see also 43:19)—the deliverance of Israel from Babylon. What follows in 42:10–17 is a “new song” that God’s people are to offer him for this great act that will soon come to pass. The song praises God for his victory over his enemies in a manner reminiscent of Exodus 15:
The LORD will march out like a mighty man,
like a warrior17 he will stir up his zeal;
with a shout he will raise the battle cry
and will triumph over his enemies. (Isa. 42:13)
I will lay waste the mountains and hills
and dry up all their vegetation;
I will turn rivers into islands
and dry up the pools.
I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,
along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;
I will turn the darkness into light before them
and make the rough places smooth. (Isa. 42:15–16)
Whether such imagery was an intentional allusion to the Exodus in Isaiah’s mind is impossible to tell. Certainly the references to cosmic upheavals, drying up of waters, leading along unfamiliar paths, and light in the midst of darkness (pillar of fire?) would trigger the Exodus in any careful reader’s mind.
In Isaiah 44:23 we read of the cosmos itself joining in the singing:
Sing for joy, O heavens, for the LORD has done this;
shout aloud, O earth beneath.
Burst into song, you mountains,
you forests and all your trees,
for the LORD has redeemed Jacob,
he displays his glory in Israel.18
It is perhaps fitting that this great act of deliverance is accompanied by cosmic participation in singing praise to God. God used the cosmos to bring destruction to his enemies, whether the Egyptians or the Babylonians: mountains shake and waters dry up and form walls that come crashing down. We should recall here again the succession of ten cosmic upheavals, the plagues. Creation has been God’s tool for destroying his enemies, but now it has ceased being an instrument of punishment and joins in jubilant praise to God.
One final Old Testament example of this praise theme is Hannah’s prayer in 1 Samuel 2:1–10.19 Although a prayer (see v. 1), we can include it for a number of reasons. For one thing, the categories of prayer and song are not mutually exclusive. The Psalms, for example, are prayers, but many of them are also introduced with directions as to their musical accompaniment (e.g., Ps. 4; 6; 39; 40; 51; 54; 55; 61; 67; 76). Hannah’s prayer is not just a spontaneous, one-time prayer in our sense of the word. Its highly poetic structure indicates that it came to have abiding significance. Moreover, the words of Hannah in the canonical form of the prayer have a strong song-like quality. Moreover, the manner in which it is recorded suggests that it had a liturgical significance for the Israelites.
The main point for bringing 1 Samuel 2:1–10 into this discussion is clear: It is a song of praise to Yahweh for yet another act of deliverance, namely, God’s granting Hannah a child despite her apparent barrenness. When God gives her a child, whom she names Samuel, she keeps her promise and gives her son over to a lifetime of service to God. The content of the song that follows is interesting. Having just been “delivered” by God through her child, she praises God: “My mouth boasts over my enemies” (v. 1). Just how we are to understand this somewhat unexpected reference to “enemies” is hard to tell. Perhaps it refers to those who had ridiculed her for her barrenness (e.g., the rival wife Peninnah, cf. 1:2, 7), though the remainder of the song is not easy to reconcile with the events of chapter 1.
Reference to “warriors” in 1 Samuel 2:4 brings to mind another state of affairs. Hannah’s song is not just a thankful mother responding to God’s faithfulness. Rather, it introduces a number of themes that will be played out in 1 and 2 Samuel.20 More broadly considered, it is another victory song extolling God’s might in the midst of seemingly insurmountable odds. God has once again come to the aid of his people, and singing is the proper response.
Hannah’s song, in addition to being a personal reflection, extends well beyond the bounds of her private experience. The birth of this child is the initial act of God in installing his chosen king over Israel. This one birth has national implications. To put it another way, the act by which God “delivers” Hannah (cf. again 1 Sam. 2:1) is ultimately intended to deliver the entire nation. It is through Samuel’s ministry that God bypasses Saul and chooses David as his representative in governing his people. It is through Samuel’s mediation that, to use the words of Psalm 2:7, the king has become God’s son, and God his father.
Understood in this sense, it is no surprise that Hannah’s song is often viewed in close connection to Mary’s song in Luke 1:46–55. Not unlike Hannah, Mary has a child through unexpected circumstances. During Mary’s visit to her relative Elizabeth, she recites words that, like Hannah’s, have an unmistakable song-like quality. The strongest similarity between them is that they both praise God for things that extend well beyond the bounds of the birth of a child. True, part of Mary’s song concerns God’s dealings with her individually (vv. 46–49), but this quickly crosses over to images that have a more far-reaching significance (vv. 50–55). In fact, the song ends with a reference to Abraham and God’s covenant promise to be faithful:
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
even as he said to our fathers.
The theological similarities between these two songs should not be lost. What is most important to point out here, however, is that both acts of redemption (which have personal and national ramifications) are celebrated in song. Just as God’s acts of deliverance in the Old Testament are often accompanied by song, it is fitting that Christ’s coming should be as well.
Our theme comes to a climax, as do so many biblical themes, in the last book of the Bible. Revelation 5:9 and 14:3 record a “new song” sung to the Lamb. I do not understand these passages to refer to the end time, to Christ’s second coming. I see them rather as a picture of present reality: Christ is sitting on his throne and his people sing praise to him. In the case of 5:9, the singers are the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders (5:8), the latter likely representing the heavenly saints.21 The song of 14:3 is sung by the 144,000, who represent true believers. The main point once again is that God is praised in song because of his deliverance. Specifically, it is the Lamb who is praised in these songs. He alone is worthy to open the seals of the scroll, thus unleashing the judgments of God beginning in chapter 6, because he was “slain,” thereby purchasing “men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation” (5:9).
The deliverance in view here is not national redemption, such as we have in Exodus 15 and the other Old Testament examples mentioned above, but reconciliation to God. The song continues in Revelation 5:12, and now the creatures and elders are joined by countless angels:
Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
and honor and glory and praise!
A moment later, every creature in heaven, earth, under the earth, and in the sea joins in the singing (Rev. 5:13–14). The song sung by oppressed Israelites in the Old Testament is now universal, for Christ has come, and through him all creation is brought back to God. The song ends, as does the Song at the Sea, with the announcement that God will reign forever and ever.
That deliverance is clearly the theme of this new song is seen not only in Revelation 5:9–14 but also in 14:1–5. The 144,000 are the only ones who can learn the song, for it is they who have been “purchased from among men” (14:4). It is a song to be sung only by the redeemed.
The clearest reflex of Exodus 15 in the New Testament is found in Revelation 15:3–4, which is called “the song of Moses the servant of God and the song of the Lamb” (v. 3). This song is much shorter than Exodus 15, but they share at least three elements. (1) The focus is on God and what he has done, his “great and marvelous” deeds (Rev. 15:3). (2) God’s lasting rule is extolled (“King of the ages,” v. 3). (3) Verse 4 focuses on one important element of the Song at the Sea, namely, the recognition on the part of the nations that God is to be feared. In fact, this is an element that appears in a number of the songs we have seen. The redeemed sing to God for what he has done in purchasing them, and they alone are to be those who join in the song.
But the topic of the song is not merely salvation, but God’s universal rule that will sooner or later be recognized by all the nations. This element reiterates a point we have seen from time to time in previous sections: God’s act in delivering his people is never simply a matter of saving a small group of people from a bad situation. It is also a means by which he asserts his right of rule over all creation. This notion is prominent not only here and in Exodus 15, but in Hannah’s song as well, which quickly moves the reader to consider the God of Hannah as the one whose reach extends to “the ends of the earth” (1 Sam. 2:10).
Contemporary Significance
“SING PSALMS, HYMNS and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God” (Col. 3:16). Singing has universal appeal. The Creator made us that way. We sing for different reasons. Sometimes we are happy, other times miserable. Sometimes we know why we sing, other times it just comes out. We sing to remember good times and to take our minds off bad times. Singing changes our moods as well as simply reflects them. What we sing can have a tremendous influence in how we subsequently think or behave. Song can enter portals of our being that prose and logic cannot. The capacity to sing and to react to song is part of the human experience, so much so that without it, we would truly be less than human.
Singing is such a characteristically human trait because it is divine as well. I do not know whether God sings,22 but he has certainly woven song into the fabric of creation. It is a means not only of reflecting or changing our moods, but it is also a means by which we “connect” with God, or to put it in more traditional language, it is a means by which we worship God. We do not have an “order of worship” anywhere in the Bible, although there are sufficient clues as to the types of things that probably went on in both Old and New Testament worship. But by God’s good will, we do have a fairly extensive record of one thing they most certainly did: singing. The Bible records a lot of singing; there is even an entire book devoted to the subject (Psalms).
What we see in Exodus 15 and the other songs discussed above is worship, pure and simple. Most Christians I know, including myself, find worship to be a frustratingly elusive thing. It is something we know we are supposed to do, but often we just can’t seem to get a handle on it. It is something we are supposed to feel like doing, but, to be honest, we would often rather be off doing something else. But this is where these songs can help us.
Although neither I nor anyone else can prove the point, I do not think that the songs of the Old Testament were spontaneous outpourings of worship quickly jotted down and then preserved in a glass jar for future generations to gawk at. They are rather models for worship. They were written down precisely so that they could be pondered, studied, and reflected on—and not just for ancient Israelites, but for those who live in the light of the resurrection of God’s Son. They are not trophies on a mantel but inspired examples, not so much because they have to be followed word for word, but because they give us a glimpse of who God is and, therefore, what our proper stance toward him should be.
One thing that strikes me about the biblical songs we have discussed is the lack of focus on oneself. And any attention that is paid to the one uttering the song (as in the case of Mary’s song) quickly recedes into the background to let the true focus of the song come through—praise to the Lord. Songs in Scripture are about what God has done for his people. Although many psalms offer praise to God for more “abstract” things (though that is hardly a fair characterization), such as his creation, this is not the case for the songs examined here. They are songs filled with thanksgiving, gratitude, awe, and power because God has shown himself to be mighty in some situation, and his might is to be recognized throughout all the earth. To put it another way, these songs are thoroughly theocentric. Our worship of God in song should be equally theocentric and, ever since Easter morning, Christocentric as well.
I resist with all my heart making simplistic, blanket statements, but the biblical model for “hymnic worship,” as we may call it, should cause us to think long and hard about the state of music in the church today. Different kinds of music reflect different personalities and create different kinds of moods, and it is a hopeless task to get any ten people to agree on what kinds are and are not appropriate for worship. My point here, however, has little to do with the musical dimension, but with the content of the songs.
Does worship really happen when stanza after stanza of a hymn or other type of song focuses on the personal status of the worshiper rather than the nature, character, and acts of God? I have become more sensitive to this over the years. When I hear myself singing “I,” “me,” or “we” too often, I begin thinking that our emphasis at that moment is misplaced. I am not suggesting that songs in worship should make no reference to the worshiper. I am simply suggesting that we remain in an “analytical” (but not judgmental) mode in order better to discern what is right and what is wrong in how we worship God.23
At the risk of getting too specific, allow me to provide an example.
Jesus, we just want to thank You (3×)
Thank You for being so good.
Jesus, we just want to praise You (3×)
Praise you for being so good.
Jesus, we just want to tell You (3×)
We love You for being so good.
Savior, we just want to serve You (3×)
Serve You for being so good.
Jesus, we know you are coming (3×)
Take us to live in Your home.24
The point here is not the quality of the music or the question of whether repetition is an aid or hindrance to worship. (It could be both. Ps. 119, for example, is very repetitive.) Nor am I addressing whether such a song would be profitable in a setting other than a worshipful one. But the focus of this song is clear: It is on the worshipers, on what we are doing (thanking, praising, telling, serving, knowing). Again, this is not to say that there should be no mention of the worshiper. That would be equally ridiculous. Even the Song at the Sea begins, “I will sing to the LORD.” The difference, however, is that this biblical song shifts quickly to the object of praise, God, rather than lingering on the one giving the praise. I am not saying the above song is not appropriate for worship and should be excluded from the hymnal. Still, when I look at the songs of old—not just the hymns of recent centuries, but of the Old Testament—I cannot help but wonder if we could do better.
There is another aspect of this hymn that stands in stark contrast to the biblical examples. It is, for all intents and purposes, devoid of any specific content. Why is Jesus good? Is such a basis for praise too vague? Another example will make the point even clearer.
Jesus is the sweetest name I know,
And He’s just the same as His lovely name,
And that’s the reason I love Him so;
Oh, Jesus is the sweetest name I know.25
Again, I am not saying that such songs should not be sung, but it does raise some questions. Why is Jesus’ name so “sweet”? And just what is a “sweet” name? I am not calling for a full-blown, Latin oration every time we open our mouths in song. Different levels of content are appropriate for different Christians. It is a matter of wisdom rather than applying black-and-white categories that will contribute to the discussion. But when I think of how praise is offered to God in the Bible, there is more meat to them. Skimming the biblical songs we have looked at above shows the types of things God is praised for: his universal rule, power, eternality, incomparability, love, faithfulness to his people, and coming universal recognition.
It is not too much, I am sure, to expect the church’s worship of God to be thoughtful, biblical,26 and awe-inspiring. Our natural tendency throughout the week is to focus on ourselves. This should not be the case for Christians when we gather together in order to worship God; rather, we should make a decided effort to turn from ourselves and toward him who is truly worthy not just of our attention but of our adoration. It is perhaps in this context that we can come to a deeper understanding of passages such as Colossians 3:16: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.”
The “word of Christ,” which we can safely equate with Scripture, is to dwell in us richly, not only as we teach and admonish each other, but as we sing to God “with gratitude” in our hearts. We show this gratitude by making the focus of our singing the nature and work of God in calling us to be his own. We need constant reminders of who God is and what he has done. What we sing should, like the biblical examples, reflect these things.
This is all the more true in light of our high calling in Christ. We participate in an act of God that is far greater than the Exodus, for it is God’s climactic act of deliverance. Focusing our attention in worship relentlessly on God is not mundane nor tedious. Rather, it places the focus where it ought to be. This is the great “content” that is the acceptable form of worship for the church, not only in its teaching, preaching, and missions statements, but also in its music. We do not sing in worship to reflect our moods any more than our sermons and Sunday school lessons should reflect our pet theories on the gospel. Rather, quite bluntly, we sing in an effort to take us away from what we think and draw us toward what we ought to think, feel, experience. We sing to create a mood more than to reflect one.
This is why the content of what we sing is so vital. Our songs are, like the songs of the Bible, reminders of who God is and what he has done. This is not to say that only one type of song fits this description—for example, the “classic” hymns of the church. To argue as I have done is not to close off discussion on the subject because the issue is now settled. Rather, the discussion can truly be opened when we have all agreed at the outset that, like the biblical examples, who we sing to and what we sing about is a matter worthy of constant reflection and spiritual energy.