One of the most disturbing lessons of the Post Office Horizon scandal was that telling the truth did not always bring freedom and justice to those who had been falsely accused. For years, ordinary subpostmasters insisted that something was wrong with the computer system. But instead of listening, the institution turned against them. They were blamed for losses they had not caused; reputations, livelihoods and families were destroyed.
It is a story that raises a deeper question about our society: what happens when truth challenges power? We would like to believe that institutions are willing to accept responsibility and change when presented with the evidence. But power often protects itself. It denies, delays and sometimes punishes those who refuse to remain silent.
That is the world we encounter in Exodus 5. The Israelites are slaves in Egypt, making bricks to build Pharaoh’s kingdom. God has heard their cry and sent Moses to demand their freedom. Moses obeys—but everything gets worse.
Pharaoh refuses to give way. He demands the same number of bricks while withholding the raw materials. He creates an impossible target and then punishes the workers for failing to meet it. He also succeeds in turning the people against Moses. Instead of challenging the power that oppresses them, they blame the man who came to proclaim freedom.
It is easy to understand why Terry Eagleton and other Marxist intellectuals have been drawn to this particular part of the Old Testament. It is also why I have included the image of the coal tips. Notice how much they resemble the pyramids of Egypt! The burden carried by ordinary people throughout the history of the world is the same.
Closer to home, we recognise something of this pattern. Naming a problem within a family can make relationships more complicated before they begin to heal. Refusing to participate in a dishonest culture at work can leave us on the margins. A church attempting to change its practices in order to serve its community may discover that resistance comes not only from outside, but from within as well.
None of this means that opposition proves we are right. We need enough self-awareness to ask whether we have misunderstood, spoken carelessly or treated people badly. But difficulty by itself does not prove that we are on the wrong path. Sometimes things become worse because something wrong has finally been challenged.
The question, then, is how we respond. Moses returns to God, but not with a neat and tidy prayer. He asks, “Why?” and accuses God of doing nothing to rescue his people.
Religion can teach us to conceal such feelings, as though faith meant maintaining a respectable appearance. But the Bible offers something more honest. The Psalms argue with God. The prophets are full of protest.
Honesty is not the opposite of faith. Telling God the truth can itself be an act of faith, because we are still turning towards him.
When God answers Moses, the circumstances have not yet changed. Pharaoh remains on his throne. The people remain enslaved. But God says, “I am the LORD.” He has heard, he has remembered, and he is going to act.
The heart of Christian faith is not the assurance that life will be easy. It is the assurance that Pharaoh—and the powers that imitate him today—will not have the final word. The cross appears to be the triumph of Roman power over love, but the resurrection comes as the final word.
Sometimes we are not given a map of the road ahead, only the promise that the story is not over. Perhaps that is the kind of hope we need: not cheap optimism, but the courage to tell the truth and to refuse to believe that the most worldly visible powers are in control.
