Passover and Passion

Enacting the last supper gives us context for remembering the pivotal weekend of the history of our planet, perhaps of our universe. Under the full moon we gathered by candlelight, to break the matzah and fill the four cups of sanctification, remembering the plagues of Egypt, redemption and praise. We had two dozen in our community, a little band of people who find themselves in the middle of what God is doing in an African outpost just like the small band of disciples in the Roman backwater of Jerusalem. I could empathize with Jesus' followers, coming to the evening sensing the tension of danger in the air, expectation, confusion. Like them, we so not see clearly God's plan and power in the apparent setbacks of life. Like them, we wonder what Jesus is up to. A moment of peace and sharing food comes as a welcome respite, but like the disciples we carry grief in our hearts from the day's failures and disappointments, from the brokenness of relationship, from impending separation, from divergence of vision.

Yet that is just the point. Jesus celebrated this meal with ordinary people, who did not fully comprehend the plan, who had their own agendas, whose concern for their reputation crept into their community and tainted their love. The beauty of Passover lies in the remembering of what God has done, not in discovering that we are strong. The same God who did not refrain from engaging the enslaving and cruel no-gods of Egypt is present here, in Bundibugyo, today, engaging the principalities and powers of witchcraft and greed and corruption and abuse. The same God who provided a sacrificial lamb at ultimate cost to Himself comes into our community with His love, to transform our paltry affections into lay-down-your-life courage.

And so we remember, with a meal and music and readings. With fellowship and prayer we testify that it is not by the might or the wonder of our community, but by the reality of a living God that we go forward into the world.