Our Passover
Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to the first Passover.
It makes sense, since we're headed into the Easter and Passover season. It's only logical that it would be on my mind. It makes sense situationally too. There are some great theological parallels to be drawn: connections between our imperfect attempts at protection through handwashing, social distancing, and homemade masks; and God's ultimate and perfect protection through the blood of the Lamb. There's a lot to unpack.
But, actually, I've been giving a lot of though to the first Passover as it must have felt to families gathered around their tables.
Everything about it must have felt terrifying, unsettling, uncertain, and exciting. They'd been told to gather their families together, to prepare a meal in haste: no yeast, no long roasting of lamb, nothing that would slow them down. They ate inside their homes--the doorways covered in lamb's blood to protect them--dressed in their coats and sandals. They stood on the edge of the defining moment in their lives, and they were asked to be ready.
How did parents talk to their children about what was happening? How did they calm their fears when their ten-year-old sons cried at the world turned upside down? How did they comfort their eight-year-old daughters who were devastated to leave their friends? How did they draw out the emotions from their stoic twelve-year-olds, knowing they were feeling their own complicated medley of sorrow and fear and absolute excitement at the adventure ahead?
What was it like to eat their meal fully dressed? To have their bags packed at the door, ready for a journey about which they knew almost nothing? To separate themselves from their neighbors? Did they even know they were in the middle of making history?
I've spent a lot of my time recently camped in Psalms. As I've read, I've been struck by how many times the Exodus story is recounted in its pages. In fact, throughout all of the Bible it's this story that's told over and over and over again. It's as though this terrifying, uncertain, world-turned-upside-down moment became the bedrock of their faith. The foundation of their cultural heritage. The foreshadowing of what Jesus would eventually do on another Passover many years later. The essence of the faith heritage we still hold on to today.
How did they parent through a moment like that?
And how do I parent through the moment in which I find myself?
We stand on the edge of something big. We don't paint our doorways with blood, but we spend our time inside our homes, away from friends and family. We sew masks and wash our hands until they are raw. Our schools and churches are closed. Our world has been turned upside-down, and we don't know what is going to happen next.
Friends, we are living in the midst of a big moment, a moment in history.
I have a hunch this moment can go one of two ways: it can be terrifyingly unknown, uncertain, tempestuous. Or it can be our defining moment. The moment to which we refer back for decades and generations to come.
It has to do with how we eat that Passover meal, how we gather our families around the dinner table. It has to do with readiness.
The Israelite families ate their meal full of expectation. They were dressed. They were ready. They anticipated that the next thing to happen would be a big thing. A God thing. They expected him to show up. They expected deliverance. They expected that this moment would change everything.
I want the same kind of expectation in our home. As we gather around our dinner table and talk about the events unfolding around us, the fears and the unknowns and the what-ifs, I want it to be with hearts that are expectant. That are ready. That anticipate that the next thing to happen will be a big thing, a God thing. Because it will.
God uses uncertain, pivotal moments to show up. He always has. If we look back over our lives, we can all recount stories of hard times, of pain, of fear, when God showed up. He moved. He delivered. He walked with us. The hard times didn't go away, but his presence with us in those times made the hard places the bedrock of our faith. The firm foundations on which everything else was built. We know it because we've lived it. But our children are just learning it. Maybe this is their first hard moment. Their first season of uncertainty. Their first time to experience for themselves a God who is closest in the hard places.
We read Psalm 96 as a family the other night, and the first verse jumped off the page at me, "Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth." All of life is like a conversation, a song, between us and God. Our stable, certain seasons are like an old familiar song. They're beautiful, but they're monotonous. New seasons, though, are an opportunity. They're a chance to sing a new song. A chance to see new facets of the God we've known, to have new experiences and reasons to trust him. They are the chance to create the song that is echoed through all the pages of our life, like the story of that first Passover and the Exodus.
Parents, let's gather our children around the table. Sure, you can wear your coats and shoes if you'd like! Let's not hide the uncertainty and the unknown from them. They know these are uncertain times. But let's not leave them there. Instead, let's gather with anticipation and expectation. Let's face the newness of all that's happening with a heart that expects God to show up. That expects him to do big things. That knows he can use the hard places, the scary places, to build bedrock faith. Let's teach our children about these moments--because, friends, this won't be the last scary experience they have! Let's take the opportunity to sing a new song, one we've never needed before. And when this is all behind us (and it will be, someday) let's call this to mind, build it into the faith heritage of our families and our communities. Let's remember how faithful he is so that the next time, we stand ready to trust him again.
This is our Passover. And if we are ready, what happens next will shape us for generations to come.
Photo credit: https://better.net/chicago/life/family/benefits-family-dinner-easy-ways-make-priority/
It makes sense, since we're headed into the Easter and Passover season. It's only logical that it would be on my mind. It makes sense situationally too. There are some great theological parallels to be drawn: connections between our imperfect attempts at protection through handwashing, social distancing, and homemade masks; and God's ultimate and perfect protection through the blood of the Lamb. There's a lot to unpack.
But, actually, I've been giving a lot of though to the first Passover as it must have felt to families gathered around their tables.
Everything about it must have felt terrifying, unsettling, uncertain, and exciting. They'd been told to gather their families together, to prepare a meal in haste: no yeast, no long roasting of lamb, nothing that would slow them down. They ate inside their homes--the doorways covered in lamb's blood to protect them--dressed in their coats and sandals. They stood on the edge of the defining moment in their lives, and they were asked to be ready.
How did parents talk to their children about what was happening? How did they calm their fears when their ten-year-old sons cried at the world turned upside down? How did they comfort their eight-year-old daughters who were devastated to leave their friends? How did they draw out the emotions from their stoic twelve-year-olds, knowing they were feeling their own complicated medley of sorrow and fear and absolute excitement at the adventure ahead?
What was it like to eat their meal fully dressed? To have their bags packed at the door, ready for a journey about which they knew almost nothing? To separate themselves from their neighbors? Did they even know they were in the middle of making history?
I've spent a lot of my time recently camped in Psalms. As I've read, I've been struck by how many times the Exodus story is recounted in its pages. In fact, throughout all of the Bible it's this story that's told over and over and over again. It's as though this terrifying, uncertain, world-turned-upside-down moment became the bedrock of their faith. The foundation of their cultural heritage. The foreshadowing of what Jesus would eventually do on another Passover many years later. The essence of the faith heritage we still hold on to today.
How did they parent through a moment like that?
And how do I parent through the moment in which I find myself?
We stand on the edge of something big. We don't paint our doorways with blood, but we spend our time inside our homes, away from friends and family. We sew masks and wash our hands until they are raw. Our schools and churches are closed. Our world has been turned upside-down, and we don't know what is going to happen next.
Friends, we are living in the midst of a big moment, a moment in history.
I have a hunch this moment can go one of two ways: it can be terrifyingly unknown, uncertain, tempestuous. Or it can be our defining moment. The moment to which we refer back for decades and generations to come.
It has to do with how we eat that Passover meal, how we gather our families around the dinner table. It has to do with readiness.
The Israelite families ate their meal full of expectation. They were dressed. They were ready. They anticipated that the next thing to happen would be a big thing. A God thing. They expected him to show up. They expected deliverance. They expected that this moment would change everything.
I want the same kind of expectation in our home. As we gather around our dinner table and talk about the events unfolding around us, the fears and the unknowns and the what-ifs, I want it to be with hearts that are expectant. That are ready. That anticipate that the next thing to happen will be a big thing, a God thing. Because it will.
God uses uncertain, pivotal moments to show up. He always has. If we look back over our lives, we can all recount stories of hard times, of pain, of fear, when God showed up. He moved. He delivered. He walked with us. The hard times didn't go away, but his presence with us in those times made the hard places the bedrock of our faith. The firm foundations on which everything else was built. We know it because we've lived it. But our children are just learning it. Maybe this is their first hard moment. Their first season of uncertainty. Their first time to experience for themselves a God who is closest in the hard places.
We read Psalm 96 as a family the other night, and the first verse jumped off the page at me, "Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth." All of life is like a conversation, a song, between us and God. Our stable, certain seasons are like an old familiar song. They're beautiful, but they're monotonous. New seasons, though, are an opportunity. They're a chance to sing a new song. A chance to see new facets of the God we've known, to have new experiences and reasons to trust him. They are the chance to create the song that is echoed through all the pages of our life, like the story of that first Passover and the Exodus.
Parents, let's gather our children around the table. Sure, you can wear your coats and shoes if you'd like! Let's not hide the uncertainty and the unknown from them. They know these are uncertain times. But let's not leave them there. Instead, let's gather with anticipation and expectation. Let's face the newness of all that's happening with a heart that expects God to show up. That expects him to do big things. That knows he can use the hard places, the scary places, to build bedrock faith. Let's teach our children about these moments--because, friends, this won't be the last scary experience they have! Let's take the opportunity to sing a new song, one we've never needed before. And when this is all behind us (and it will be, someday) let's call this to mind, build it into the faith heritage of our families and our communities. Let's remember how faithful he is so that the next time, we stand ready to trust him again.
This is our Passover. And if we are ready, what happens next will shape us for generations to come.
Photo credit: https://better.net/chicago/life/family/benefits-family-dinner-easy-ways-make-priority/
