Once We Were Slaves: The Journey from Bondage to Freedom

The story of Exodus is more than an ancient tale of plagues and parted seas. It's a profound narrative about liberation, transformation, and the heart of a God who hears the cries of His people. When we journey through these pages, we discover not just the story of the Israelites, but our own story reflected back at us.

The opening chapters of Exodus introduce us to a troubling reality: a powerful Pharaoh consumed by fear. The Israelites had grown numerous within Egypt's borders, and this new king saw them not as people, but as a threat. "What if they revolt?" he wondered. "What if they join our enemies? What if they leave and collapse our economy?"

Fear is a powerful force. When combined with power and control, it becomes dangerous. This Pharaoh didn't just fear—he weaponized that fear, turning it into hatred and oppression. The Israelites became slaves. And in one of history's darkest moments, he ordered every newborn Hebrew male to be thrown into the Nile River.

We might ask ourselves: What kind of person does such things? What kind of people go along with it?

The uncomfortable truth is that people will do irrational and inconceivable things when gripped by fear. History has shown us this pattern repeatedly—from Jim Jones and his followers who fled to South America only to meet a tragic end, to Hitler's systematic dehumanization of the Jews that led to the Holocaust. Many who participated in these atrocities were ordinary people, even Christians, who allowed fear to override love.

The gospel reminds us that "perfect love drives out fear." We are called to let love champion over fear in our hearts, our communities, and our world. Where do we see fear operating today? Where are we tempted to dehumanize others because we're afraid? These are questions worth asking.

Into this world of tyranny and oppression, Moses was born. Through the courage of Hebrew midwives and the compassion of Pharaoh's own daughter, this Hebrew baby ended up being raised in the Egyptian palace. He had the finest education, servants, privilege—everything Egypt could offer.

Yet his people suffered in bondage just outside the palace walls.

This internal tension eventually erupted. In a moment of passion, Moses killed an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew slave. He thought he could hide his crime in the sand, keep it secret. But secrets have a way of surfacing. When his act became known, Moses fled for his life, spending the next forty years in the wilderness of Midian.

Here's the profound truth: before God could use Moses to free the Israelites from Egyptian slavery, God had to free Moses from his own bondage—his sin, his shame, his secrets, his running.

There's a powerful project called "PostSecret" where a man distributed 3,000 postcards throughout a city, inviting people to anonymously share their secrets. The responses were heartbreaking and revealing:

"For years, I hurt myself so that He would notice me."

"I still haven't told my father that I have the same disease that killed my mother."

"I was seven years old the first time I attempted suicide."

One person tucked a note into a copy of the PostSecret book at a bookstore: "I have so many secrets I don't even know them all. Some are lies. Some are truths. One day they'll all come out. I just don't know when." Then in parentheses: "(I want to be free.)"

On the back of that card were two Scripture verses—evidence that this was a Christian struggling to find freedom.

This is the human story. We all carry secrets, wounds, and bondages. We've all had moments where we missed the mark, tried to hide something, and lived in fear of being found out. Moses' story is our story.

Moses spent forty years in Midian—a rugged, mountainous, rock-filled wilderness. His first forty years had been spent learning politics, administration, finance, and eloquent speech in the polished world of Egyptian royalty. Now he became a shepherd, learning perseverance, discipline, and how to live with almost nothing.

We often use "wilderness" metaphorically—"I'm going through a wilderness right now." But for Moses, the wilderness wasn't just a metaphor. It was literal. He lived in a hard place for forty years because God had work to do in him.

The question for us is this: Are we willing to allow God to do the deeper work in us when we have to go through the hard, hard place?

God does His deepest work in our wilderness seasons.

After those forty years, something extraordinary happened. Exodus 3 tells us: "The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God. God heard their groaning and He remembered His covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them."

While tending sheep, Moses encountered a bush that burned but wasn't consumed. When he turned aside to investigate, God called out: "Moses! Moses!"

Moses replied: "Here I am."

This is the beginning of the redemption story. And it reveals God's heart: He hears the cries of His people. He remembers His covenant. He wants to liberate them from their pain.

There are only seven places in Scripture where God calls someone's name twice. This repetition signals something significant—a divine moment of calling and commissioning.

Two profound truths emerge from this narrative:

First, God hears your cries and knows your pain. If you're in a wilderness moment right now, know that He responds. He always has and He always will.

Second, whenever God wants to do something, He uses people to accomplish it. And they're never perfect people. They're never people who have it all together. But He uses people who will say, "Here I am."

The Exodus story is the redemption narrative of the Old Testament. At the Passover Seder, Jewish families declare: "Once we were slaves, now we are free."

But there's another redemption story—one that fulfills and completes the Exodus narrative. It's the story of a cross, of a body broken and blood shed, of death defeated and new life offered. It's the story that says God is still a liberating God, still freeing His children from bondage.

The same God who heard the cries of Hebrew slaves in Egypt hears your cries today. The same God who called Moses from a burning bush is calling you. He wants to free you from whatever holds you captive—fear, shame, secrets, addiction, bitterness, or despair.

Once we were slaves. Now we are free.

The question is: Will you say, "Here I am"?