Pass Over
So, here I stand, looking out over the Promised Land. The land our ancestors once wandered in. The land God promised our ancestors they would someday inherit. What a lot of faith they had, to live their whole lives and never see the fulfillment of that promise. But still they trusted that this day would come, that one day those who came after them would finally enter the land for good.
Not me, though. I won't be going. Joshua will take care of that. Me, I'm going to die here on this mountain. God has told me so. And if I've learned anything over these years, it's not to question what God tells you. God keeps his promises.
It was a long battle, a verbal battle that is, with my former half-brother, now the Pharaoh, when I went back to Egypt to ask him to set the people free. And I understand. What leader worth their salt is willing to just set loose their whole work force? I mean, if he let the Hebrews go, some Egyptians would have to work doing what the Hebrews were once doing. So, no, he wasn't willing to just let them go. Until a horrible thing happened.
You see, in order to convince Pharaoh that he was indeed God over all, God sent various plagues on the land, each one of them designed to show that the Egyptian gods were no gods at all. Every one of the plagues tackled a particular Egyptian god—gods I had grown up hearing about. At first, the Egyptian magicians were able to do the same thing as God did, but then came a point where they couldn't. Pharaoh tried to explain away what was happening—but some things you just can't wish away. Some things have to be dealt with head-on.
That was especially true of the last plague. It was the worst. Death of the firstborn. I can barely even stand to say the words. Every firstborn child in Egypt died, to show that God had the power of life over death. But in Goshen, where my people were living, they had been given special instructions. A lamb would be killed instead of the child, and the blood would be put on the doorposts. That would be a sign, God said, for the angel of death to pass over that house. It was an ugly, brutal, bloody time. It was a dark night, in every sense of those words. And yet, we made it through. When the sun shone again, I was called in to Pharaoh.
My heart melted when I saw his brokenness. His son, his heir, had died, too. He was an utterly broken man. I don't know if I'll ever understand why God did what he did, but at this point, Pharaoh was completely demoralized. He was done. "Get out" were the only words he said to me. I knew what he meant. Not just for me to get out of his presence, but for our people to get out of his land. I nodded, wishing I could say something that would comfort him, and then I left. And I told the people to just take what they could carry. Pharaoh might change his mind at any time. We had to hurry.
As I stand here, looking out over the land, I wonder if the rescue could have been accomplished some other way. But I suppose if there were another way, God would have done it that way. But I'll never forget the brokenness and the hatred in the eyes of a man I once called brother. That has haunted me every day until this day. Because, if there's anything I've wondered over these last forty years, it's this: why us? Why this people? They are as stubborn a people as you will ever meet. The fact that it's taken us forty years to get to the Promised Land ought to tell you that. It really isn't that long of a trip! So why us? The only thing I've been able to settle on is this: God made a promise to Abraham, and God always keeps his promises. No matter how long it takes or how much it costs. God always keeps his promises.
Not me, though. I won't be going. Joshua will take care of that. Me, I'm going to die here on this mountain. God has told me so. And if I've learned anything over these years, it's not to question what God tells you. God keeps his promises.
It was a long battle, a verbal battle that is, with my former half-brother, now the Pharaoh, when I went back to Egypt to ask him to set the people free. And I understand. What leader worth their salt is willing to just set loose their whole work force? I mean, if he let the Hebrews go, some Egyptians would have to work doing what the Hebrews were once doing. So, no, he wasn't willing to just let them go. Until a horrible thing happened.
You see, in order to convince Pharaoh that he was indeed God over all, God sent various plagues on the land, each one of them designed to show that the Egyptian gods were no gods at all. Every one of the plagues tackled a particular Egyptian god—gods I had grown up hearing about. At first, the Egyptian magicians were able to do the same thing as God did, but then came a point where they couldn't. Pharaoh tried to explain away what was happening—but some things you just can't wish away. Some things have to be dealt with head-on.
That was especially true of the last plague. It was the worst. Death of the firstborn. I can barely even stand to say the words. Every firstborn child in Egypt died, to show that God had the power of life over death. But in Goshen, where my people were living, they had been given special instructions. A lamb would be killed instead of the child, and the blood would be put on the doorposts. That would be a sign, God said, for the angel of death to pass over that house. It was an ugly, brutal, bloody time. It was a dark night, in every sense of those words. And yet, we made it through. When the sun shone again, I was called in to Pharaoh.
My heart melted when I saw his brokenness. His son, his heir, had died, too. He was an utterly broken man. I don't know if I'll ever understand why God did what he did, but at this point, Pharaoh was completely demoralized. He was done. "Get out" were the only words he said to me. I knew what he meant. Not just for me to get out of his presence, but for our people to get out of his land. I nodded, wishing I could say something that would comfort him, and then I left. And I told the people to just take what they could carry. Pharaoh might change his mind at any time. We had to hurry.
As I stand here, looking out over the land, I wonder if the rescue could have been accomplished some other way. But I suppose if there were another way, God would have done it that way. But I'll never forget the brokenness and the hatred in the eyes of a man I once called brother. That has haunted me every day until this day. Because, if there's anything I've wondered over these last forty years, it's this: why us? Why this people? They are as stubborn a people as you will ever meet. The fact that it's taken us forty years to get to the Promised Land ought to tell you that. It really isn't that long of a trip! So why us? The only thing I've been able to settle on is this: God made a promise to Abraham, and God always keeps his promises. No matter how long it takes or how much it costs. God always keeps his promises.
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| Rameses, possibly the Pharaoh of the Exodus (Memphis, Egypt, 2012) |
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