Have you noticed that some of the biggest turning points in life leave you strangely quiet? You come out the other side of something you thought would break you, a diagnosis, a betrayal, a season of fear, a weight you did not think you could carry, and instead of rejoicing, you simply move on. You slip back into routine. You do not stop long enough to recognise that God actually did something extraordinary. Exodus 15 confronts that silence. It shows us a people who, having walked through an impossible situation, stop everything to remember, to praise, to declare with full lungs what God has done. And the question for us is simple. When God brings you through the sea, do you sing?
Exodus 15:1–21 (ESV)
Then Moses and the people of Israel sang this song to the Lord, saying,
I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously, the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea.
The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation, this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him.
The Lord is a man of war, the Lord is his name.
Pharaoh’s chariots and his host he cast into the sea, and his chosen officers were sunk in the Red Sea.
The floods covered them, they went down into the depths like a stone.
Your right hand, O Lord, glorious in power, your right hand, O Lord, shatters the enemy.
In the greatness of your majesty you overthrow your adversaries, you send out your fury, it consumes them like stubble.
At the blast of your nostrils the waters piled up, the floods stood up in a heap, the deeps congealed in the heart of the sea.
The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil, my desire shall have its fill of them. I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.
You blew with your wind, the sea covered them, they sank like lead in the mighty waters.
Who is like you, O Lord, among the gods. Who is like you, majestic in holiness, awesome in glorious deeds, doing wonders.
You stretched out your right hand, the earth swallowed them.
You have led in your steadfast love the people whom you have redeemed, you have guided them by your strength to your holy abode.
The peoples have heard, they tremble, pangs have seized the inhabitants of Philistia.
Now are the chiefs of Edom dismayed, trembling seizes the leaders of Moab, all the inhabitants of Canaan have melted away.
Terror and dread fall upon them, because of the greatness of your arm, they are still as a stone, till your people, O Lord, pass by, till the people pass by whom you have purchased.
You will bring them in and plant them on your own mountain, the place, O Lord, which you have made for your abode, the sanctuary, O Lord, which your hands have established.
The Lord will reign forever and ever.
For when the horses of Pharaoh with his chariots and his horsemen went into the sea, the Lord brought back the waters of the sea upon them, but the people of Israel walked on dry ground in the midst of the sea.
Then Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women went out after her with tambourines and dancing.
And Miriam sang to them, Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously, the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea.
Israel stands on the far shore of the Red Sea. The water is still swirling behind them. The bodies of Pharaoh’s army are washing up on the sand. But instead of rushing forward into the new life ahead of them, instead of setting up camp or getting organised or making plans, they stop. They sing. They worship. And that tells us something vital about the heart of genuine faith. Salvation is meant to be sung about, not quietly filed away as something God once did.
Let us be honest. We are not naturally singers in moments like this. We assume we would be. We say things like, if God did a miracle like that for me, I would praise him. But would we. God has done miracle after miracle in your own life. Forgiveness of sins. Answered prayers. Preservation in hardship. Being carried through dark valleys. And yet most days we barely whisper a thank you. We move straight on, and the silence becomes a breeding ground for amnesia. Our hearts, if left unattended, wander back toward Egypt, back toward the very things that enslaved us.
Pharaoh’s army behind Israel is a picture of that pull. The old life does not politely stay behind. It chases you. It pursues you. It insists that you belong to it. And the world, the flesh and the devil still operate the same way. They promise familiarity. They whisper that you were happier back there. They tell you that faith is too costly, too narrow, too intense. Come home, they say. But God steps in. He parts seas. He makes a way where no way exists. He brings you through the chaos, not around it, and then he buries the old life so thoroughly that it cannot claim you again.
And what should our response be. The same as Israel’s. You sing. You declare. You name the salvation for what it is. Worship is not the emotional garnish we sprinkle onto faith. It is the warfare by which we resist the old life. It is how we remember. It is how God reorders our desires and redirects our fears. Worship is how faith breathes when fear tries to suffocate.
So Israel sings. And their song is not a gentle hum. It is a full bodied proclamation. The Lord is my strength and my song. Who is like you. You have redeemed us. You will plant us. The same way Habakkuk praised God while Babylon marched toward Jerusalem, Israel praises God with the saltwater still drying on their skin. They know that the God who saved them yesterday will lead them tomorrow.
Then we come to Miriam. She takes a tambourine. The women follow her. And suddenly the shoreline becomes a worship service. Why a tambourine. Because salvation demands a physical response. Because joy is not meant to stay locked inside your chest. Because when God rescues, his people move. They sing. They celebrate. It is not emotional manipulation. It is not mindless repetition. It is the response of a people who refuse to forget what God has done.
That is the real challenge for us. If you do not teach your heart to sing after God saves you, the world will teach your heart to forget. Many Christians live as though Pharaoh is still in charge, even though the sea has collapsed behind them. They intellectually acknowledge salvation but emotionally live like slaves. Exodus 15 calls us out of that fog. It tells us that the Christian life is not driven by the echoes of Egypt but by the memory of deliverance.
So the question stands. Has God brought you through something, and have you stopped to sing.
Prayer
Father, help us to remember. Help us to see the seas you have parted, the enemies you have defeated, the sins you have buried and the future you have promised. Draw us out of silence and into praise. Make us a people who sing not because life is easy but because you are faithful. Let our hearts echo Israel on the shore and Miriam with her tambourine, rejoicing in the salvation that you alone have accomplished. You are our strength, our song and our salvation. In Jesus name, Amen.