September 7th,
2014 “Not Passing
Over” Rev. Heather Jepsen
Exodus 12:1-14
This morning we continue our story of
Moses and his journey with the people of Israel. As usual, the lectionary readings skip around
a bit and leave a lot of the story out.
Last week we read about Moses at the burning bush and the call of God
telling him that he had been chosen to lead the people of Israel out of
Egypt. This morning’s reading jumps
ahead to the very night that the people will flee.
Many of us have already read this
story or perhaps watched one of the many movie versions. We recall that prior to this point; Moses had
been in conversation and even argument with Pharaoh. Nine plagues had been brought upon the people
of Egypt as signs of God’s power and might.
From hail to locusts, blood water to boils, frogs to gnats, the people
have suffered, and yet Pharaoh has not relented. Finally God brings the final plague, death.
Our reading this morning consists
entirely of the instructions from God to the people of Israel for the
celebration of the Passover. This is a
liturgical event, a religious ritual, and it is important that things be done
just so. There is to be one lamb per
family, a sacrifice of great value in this agrarian culture, and each family is
to slaughter the lamb that night. They
are to roast it in its entirety and consume it all. Moreover, they are to take the blood of the
animal, and smear it around their door as a sign of their faith. To our modern senses, this is a gruesome and
barbaric task.
I have never liked this reading, and I
have managed to “pass-over” it many times in the lectionary and yet this week I
couldn’t get away. If I had any sense I would
have skipped it and picked something out of my folders of past sermons. I certainly had an excuse with two funerals
and a stomach bug to deal with this week.
And yet, I could not get this scripture out of my head. It bothers me, it makes me uncomfortable, it
does not feature a God I particularly like . . . how could I not preach on
it?!?
And yet, what do I say? As per my personality, let’s just tackle the
hard stuff head on. You know what is
awful about this passage? Our God, the
God of love, is suddenly the God of death.
Yahweh, the bringer of death, not on the guilty or cruel, not on the
rapists or killers, no – this is Yahweh who brings death to children. Later on we read “At midnight the Lord struck
down all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh who
sat on his throne to the firstborn of the prisoner who was in the dungeon, and
all the firstborn of the livestock. Pharaoh
arose in the night, he and all his officials and all the Egyptians; and there
was a load cry in Egypt, for there was not a house without someone dead.” Sure, some of the firstborn would have been
older, but many would have been children.
I can only think of my firstborn child, and wonder how that would ever
be just, how that would ever be right.
Sometimes I think I must not
understand this text because I come from a place of privilege. Perhaps if I came from a race and culture
that had been kept down for centuries then maybe I would read this differently. Perhaps, if I had been oppressed in Egypt, perhaps
if my children had died from being treated as slaves, perhaps if I was beaten
on a regular basis, I would find justice here.
Perhaps, I would understand then. But of course I am not in that position, so I
don’t understand, and I don’t like this God.
It is clear from the story that the
God of Exodus is not a God to be liked.
This is no “buddy Jesus”, this is not your friend. This is a God of awesome power and might, a
God to be feared. You can see that in
the way the Israelites are told to celebrate the meal. This is no thanksgiving dinner where you take
your shoes off, relax a bit, and loosen your belt buckle as you sit at the
table for hours. No, this meal is eaten
on the run. Your sandals are on, your
staff is in your hand, you gird your loins, and you eat that lamb as fast as
you can, for the God of death is coming and you better be ready to move when he
says move.
Of course, this isn’t just a story of
death; it is also a story of redemption.
The blood on the mantel is not so much a talisman to keep death away; as
it is a sign helping the people remember who they are. God knows who the Israelites are, he’s not
going to kill their children, but the people themselves need to remember. The blood is a sign of their protection,
their safety, a reminder of the promise of God to love and care for them.
In fact, this whole passage is about
memory. It is an annual celebration for
the people to remember who they were and who they are. They are the chosen ones, brought out of Egypt
with much pain and hardship. Theirs is a
nation that is born in suffering. And
this is a new birth as God declares that this is now the first month, the
beginning of the months, this is the time to celebrate. God tells Moses and Aaron to re-start the
calendar; this is a new year, a new beginning, a new act of creation. God is re-making the nation of Israel and
history begins again this day.
In this reading, God is clearly laying
out the liturgy of the people. This is a
ritualized act of the faith that is to take place at home as a family. The people are called each year to re-enact
this night of haste and anxiety, this night of horror and fear. The people are reminded that they should
never get comfortable in the place and culture in which they are a part, but
they should remember that they are always separate, always chosen. The people are to remember that theirs is a
God of death as well as a God of life, to not get so comfortable that they
forget the destructive power of their God.
As a modern, Christian, interpreter,
we could simply ignore this text. We
could brush it aside as a tale of people who are not us, a tale told a long
time ago. It would be easy to pass this
over as it certainly reflects the ideals and notions of a religious culture
that are no longer our own. Or, we could
choose not to pass over. We could haul
this text out in the light, as I have done today. We can poke the scary parts and see if they
still have the power to make us jump; and we can pull out the gems and see if
they can still give us inspiration. We
can continue to find our own story here.
For the story of Exodus 12 is not so
different from a certain story that we tell every spring. Here you find a slaughtered lamb, the death
of an innocent, the birth of a people out of bondage and into life. Is the story of Jesus’ unjust death on the
cross so different? Is the story of the
birth of our own faith not the same? Is
there not one God we worship in both Old Testament and New?
Perhaps it would be good for us to
take some of the same lessons from this reading as the Israelites were called
to take. Maybe we should live life with
a little more respect for our God and God’s awesome and frightening power. Perhaps we have become too relaxed, assuming
that our God is only some distant benevolent being who really has very little
power. We would do well to remember that
old Ann Weems poem which suggests that we come to church in crash helmets and
get strapped into our pews for fear of the awesome God whose name we invoke.
And perhaps we shouldn’t be so
comfortable in our daily lives that we all too easily sit back and loosen out
belt buckles. Maybe we should be more
aware of the world around us, of the threat of death not just to ourselves but
to the thousands of innocents we share this planet with. Perhaps we should eat with our car keys in
our hand, ready to dash out the door, should our Lord call us to action.
These are hard lessons for us, and one
of the many reasons we would be more comfortable just leaving the Bible closed
on this chapter. And yet I can’t do
that, I can’t pass this over. For that
would be easy, and whoever promised you that faith would be easy? Amen.
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