A Supper To Remember

Elaborating on the admission I made in my last entry to being exceedingly weird, I now confess the tradition I have added to my family. Everyone practice your blank stare.

I celebrate Passover. Yes, I know. Celebrating Passover when you are Jewish is perfectly normal and expected. Celebrating the holiday when you have not a drop of Jewish blood in your body is well... weird.

But I still feel compelled to do it. It is not exactly the Passover that you might experience in a Jewish home - and my tradition is still forming itself after only two years. But I have to say, it has made me understand and appreciate this holiday week on a deeper level.

Today Hannah and I watched "The Prince of Egypt." The symbolism of the Exodus came alive to me as I watched Yachoved take her little baby to the river, sidestepping soldiers all the way, and place her son in the basket with a soft lullaby and a prayer. Just as God sent His Son into the dangerous waters of humanity. In hiding in the wilderness, Moses chased the sheep into the cave and found God waiting in the form of a ethereal fire covering a bush, and God patiently introduced himself to the Hebrew who had spent his childhood calling himself an Egyptian prince.

Moses went back to the Pharaoh as an unlikely deliverer. Something we generally never give thought to is the fact that Moses grew up in that palace. He probably intimately knew the ruler. No wonder Moses was hesitant to face him! Can you imagine that reunion? "Hey, good to see you again, brother. I'm here to take your slave force and leave Egypt."

But the most important part of the story is the theme of Passover. God prepared His people for the final plague. The death angel would come, and those not prepared would suffer the death of their firstborn. The only remedy was the sacrifice of a lamb. The blood must be shed, and painted on the doorframe across the top and on either side. Just like a cross. If a family put themselves under the protection of that slain lamb, the angel would pass over them and no harm would come to them.

My Passover jumps from this story to another. A Passover meal, shared on the Thursday night before what we know as Good Friday. A Passover meal with a Deliverer and his disciples. Wanting them to understand the significance, he picks up the matzo bread, flat and hard and easily broken. He begins to break it, sending it around the table.

"This is my body, broken for you." he says, urgency in his voice, willing them to understand. To understand why God had the Israelites leave the yeast out of their bread that night before their glorious deliverance.

He takes the cup of dark red wine. "This is the blood of the covenant, poured out for many for the forgivness of sins."

I'm the lamb. He's saying to their hearts. I'm the reason that God passed over the houses with the blood of the lamb. There must be a sacrifice. He passes the cup around, asking them to drink. They glance at each other incredulously (or maybe a blank stare?) Why is Jesus performing an engagement ritual with a group of men? When they drink, they know they are saying yes to his proposal. But they aren't exactly sure yet what that proposal entails.

Jesus is sure. He knows what's coming next. Tomorrow. Good Friday.