It is a great joy to preach this holy night, and I thank you bishop for the privilege. Why is it such a joy? There is no dearer night, nor night as bright as this night shines with the mighty acts of God. To night we wade into the waters of the many things that captivate and enslave us; our fears, our pains, our heartaches, our mistakes and failures. We wade into the waters of our aging, our frailties, of our brutalities, our hatreds and prejudices. We wade into the waters of the abuse, misuse, torture and murderous things people do to us and we hear God’s answer!

Tonight I pray to speak like a Moses who is sent to lead us to the edge, to the banks of the deep water and to walk ahead without fear and with hope. I pray to speak like an apostle who is sent because I have seen the Lord’s resurrection working in my life. I would speak like Moses who has known the fear of seeing the fire of God, a fire that does not consume. I pray to speak like the Lord Jesus who has waded into the deep waters of death. Why is this night more important for us than any other night? It is the vigil of our hope.

The great lesson of the Easter Vigil is Israel’s deliverance at the Red Sea, The 14th chapter of Exodus. In a wonderful Midrash or rabbinic commentary on this lesson it asks, “Why does it say (14:22): “And the Israelites went into the sea on dry ground”? to teach us that only after they had gone “into the sea” up to their very nostrils did the waters divide and expose “dry Ground.” (Midrash 20) I know this truth in my own life. How many times I have felt like I was in water up to here – my nostrils. And it was only until I had come close to drowning that the ground became dry. The truth is that it was only then that I was ready for the ground to get dry and even then I needed a pillar of fire from behind to push me ahead and do the necessary things that I did not want to do or feared to do.

The things that enslave us and that hold us down, how do we count them? On this holy night I think of a night spent driving about town helping a mother look for her crack-addicted son. I realized in that evening that it was not just that fellow who was enslaved to addiction, but also his mother, family, friends and by extension even me that evening. My heart was waited down as I was dragged into the deep waters of despair and fear. That night I knew that the pharaoh that enslaved his heart was more complex, subtler and most destructive, because that pharaoh lived inside of him. I also realized that an enslaving pharaoh lives inside of each of us. We found Russell in a jail. Rehab, crack anonymous, and intensive psychiatric treatment brought him little relief until he waded into the deep waters of his own pain, anger and feelings of abandonment. Indeed he had to come close to drowning to find the dry land that lead toward hope of freedom.

On this holy night, I think of the conversations with persons who have lost their jobs or who hate their work. I think of persons who fear telling a loved one, let alone the world, the truth about themselves. I think of the physically abused and of those who live with despair that no one loves or cares for them. I think of the dying, and the very sick. I think of September 11th and of loss, pain, hate and violence, or of the gun that will be shot on a back dark street tonight and then not only of the person who will be lying on the ground bleeding, but also of the person who will be running in fear of being seen or caught. I think of the violent hatreds in the Middle East or of Afghanistan this evening.

What I know is this: that it will only be by risking wading into the waters up to our nostrils that this world will change and our lives will change. It is only by an Exodus away from the violence, hatred and hardened hearts of the pharaohs of this world that we shall know a new world. Exodus, new life means risking going through the deep waters. The participants in the Exodus found themselves surprisingly involved in the intentional formation of a new social community. That new social community was called to match the vision of God’s freedom. Getting to that promise land was neither easy nor was it direct. It required the risk of entering the waters up to the nostrils. For some freedom is a value in and of itself, but for us freedom is the foundation of our spiritual life that only finds meaning by living a life that matches God’s vision of freedom. God’s vision of freedom is a community where justice, peace, compassion and steadfast love replace oppression, exploitation, prejudice and self-service. To affect such freedom requires the risk of radical change. It requires sacrifice. This is the wading into the water that Jesus did with all of his life. He waded in up to his nostrils into our sin, our pride, our soul sick enslavements to wealth and power. He waded into our fear of letting go. He waded into our sickness and healed, our blindness and gave sight, our deafness and spoke words that we could finally hear. He led an exodus from the slavery of self-service into a community that finally matched the freedom God would give us. God’s freedom is matched by loving as Jesus loved us.

Imagine the deep waters that you and I still have to face if we are going to make it through this pilgrimage of life. How often will be turn back from the edges of the deep waters too afraid to forge ahead? If we do not risk the deep water there is no exodus to the freedom God gives. And there is for all of us one red sea that all face. It is the deep waters of death. This brings us to the other required reading of this night, the story of the resurrection in the Gospel of Mathew. This time it is God himself in Jesus who waded into the waters, and this time he waded in above his head. This is how he loved us; he waded into our sin, not just up to his nostrils but above his head, so crowded by our self-serving sin that he could no longer breath. In the face of hatreds, oppression, a lack of compassion, violence and torturous death, Jesus lead us through the waters of death so that we can risk dieing to our selves to be reborn into a community that will match the freedom of God. It is here that our hearts are given the courage to wade in up to our nostrils and then find the dry land.

So incredible was the Exodus of Jesus through death to the resurrection that the guards shook and became like dead men and the women quaked with fear. When they saw Jesus there, still marked with the wounds of death, what they saw was a freedom that they could touch without fear. It was a freedom that replaced grief, fear and confusion with joy. For now they had touched life that even the waters of death could not destroy. They ran to tell the story. They risked deeper waters to share the news, because now they could risk on the freedom of God that changes, heals and renews all life, even life that faces death.

So let us wade into the waters up to our nostrils and follow ahead with our faith. Let us follow the pillar of fire with the conviction that God shall make the path dry and the waters shall become like walls on our sides and we shall not drown. Let us know that this flame will not only lead us, but it shall go behind us to push us on ahead and protect us from behind, so that whatever in life may push you to the edges of the deep cannot truly drown you – oh no – but instead bring you to the waters of baptism, the water of new life. You can wade up to your nostrils and not fear, for God is with you. Wade in the waters.

Amen.