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“Passover”
“A (Needed) Slap in the Face”
Savvy clergyperson that I am, I am always very aware when both Easter and Passover roll around that springtime is the natural time of year for us to celebrate themes of resurrection and breaking loose into freedom. A number of people complained to me that there’s not supposed to be snow around at Easter time. Easter didn’t feel like Easter. Well, Passover begins tonight, and it’s right on target!
Springtime is a drama queen of a season: observe the crocuses blossoming, the herring spawning, the summer birds suddenly taking wing – the earth is being renewed and the fetters of winter’s grip are being dramatically broken. The message: we too can break out of the slumber of our souls and remove the shackles of winter habits that have been maintained too long. We can breathe deeply again and sense in our bones that the best is yet to be! The message is being brought to life all around us. Suddenly life seems more spacious and full of possibility – the vision of a promised land of Milk and Honey beckons.
But I am not here this morning to talk about spring as stunning and lovely as this one may be. Whether we see it through the lens of Easter or of Passover, this lovely season of renewal writ large is a messenger from God, from Life with a capital ‘L,’ and from the ground of being.
I have taken the title for today’s sermon from words of Reb Tirzah Firestone, who notes that the season of change which we observe all around us and the holiday which is being observed, combine together to confront us. She says:
“If we are awake to this season, and if the holiday of Passover is doing its job, we should feel slapped across the face: A loving slap, but a slap nonetheless: "Wake up!" it shouts. "And don't go back to sleep! Remember who you are and what you are here for: Your ancestors, your parents, and now you, yes you: you are here to ask, to challenge, to wrestle with God, to be heretical if necessary, to cross boundaries of your own comfort, to look beyond yourself to the bigger picture.”
You heard Laurie recount the story of Passover this morning. The Passover story recounts how, with the help of Moses, the Jews did wake up. They made their commitment; packed their bags and lived in readiness. When the right moment came they fled their long captivity, leaving silence, submission and shackles behind. They soughttheir freedom. When the Israelites saw the waters of the Red Sea sweep away the Pharaoh's army they knew they were finally free. That movement out of exile into freedom is the history that Passover celebrates.
And the lesson of the story is encouraging. It is a story Judaism wants deep in the bones of its people. Its message has meaning for all people: “You too are called! God does not want you enslaved. You too can break free!
But what I love about Passover is that – miracle of the parting of the Red Sea aside – it’s very true to life. Freedom doesn’t turn out to be the shiny, happy ending but is, rather, the beginning of a long and hard journey in the desert. They had no global positioning system that could tell them where to go. So it is for us again and again.
The Israelites endured a painful existence under the Egyptians, but, it was known and, in some respects, secure. It is true for many us living today that we are willing to “settle” for a situation that is very imperfect for our hearts and souls because that is preferable to stirring up our fear the unknown. Passover says, “Confront your fears and go for it. Make changes in your life trusting in God that you can get closer to God, trusting in Life that you can live life more deeply. Passover says, “Go on, wake up, time to get a move on. Trust the journey.”
My predecessor here, Elizabeth Tarbox wrote a meditation about this pain. It’s called “Moving Day.”
The day I moved from the beach
I took a last walk along the spray-soaked pier.
The dawn came softly to Captain’s Hill, and the birds overlooked my tears.
I felt other losses, which ones I cannot say; just memories, blunted now, no longer drawing blood, but wrapped like philo dough around the place I call my soul.
I need these times, though I’d just as soon avoid them. I need them to teach me things about myself I’d rather never know. These are the growing times, when I push myself to loosen the knots that tie me to old agonies and bad habits, to strengthen worn loyalties, and to find new paths to walk.
I took one last walk along the wooden pier. The tide was coming in. I’ll not forget the way it looked that day.
For all of us, the challenge to face our Passover fears and to step out into freedom is relevant. It’s true for you if you’re a college student at twenty and for me now at fifty-five and for some of you who are eighty.
Now some of you may be thinking that you’re not in a painful place, so, at least for now this story is not aimed at you. But – not so fast…..
An odd thing about human beings is that it is possible for us to be suffering from failure to thrive, stunted in our spiritual growth and yet not sense or recognize a spiritual problem as the root of our unhappiness. It is possible to be unconsciously captive to habits of the heart or movements of the soul that simply repeat too comfortably. This comfort can bind and when it does we pay a price for it in boredom with our lives or in quiet depression or in aspirations that have fallen too low. “Wake up!” Passover shouts.
We try to feel good about ourselves. You may remember the Saturday Night Live skit with Stuart Smiley sitting in front of the mirror saying "I'm good enough; I'm smart enough and doggone-it, people like me!" We try to like ourselves and we’re taught that self-acceptance is healthy – of course it is – but it comes with the responsibility of meeting the challenge to grow.
There is a cartoon that the Buddhist teacher Pema Chodren talks about in one of her meditation lectures that has a man kneeling by his bed looking upward with his hands folded, and he is saying: “I asked you as nicely as I could to make me a better person – but apparently you couldn’t be bothered!”
The job is ours. And all of us have times when, spiritually speaking, we are asleep on the job. Can you think of a million reasons why you can’t change your job but you’d like to? The spirit of Passover calls you to break your self-imposed bonds.
Is your life full enough, are there people you love and both jobs and recreation that feel right and good – and yet still in the quiet moments you are restless for something more? Perhaps for you there should be more to life than love and lattes. Perhaps your heart is calling you to be of service in some deeper way. Your restlessness is like an alarm clock. Wake up to it.
Passover annually invites us – no, challenges us to think about our lives and to trust that there are ways we can grow and water our soul. Did you ever sleep too much or nap too heavily during the day and then find yourself in that uncomfortable state from too much sleep? Passover suggests that for some of us this state is our waking life. Waking up more fully requires effort, courage and self-confrontation, and no one is going to do it for us.
Rabbi Firestone says, “This is the reason that each spring, our senses are filled up with the potent tastes, sounds and smells of Passover. They are programmed into the hard drive of our people to help us wake up…the crunch of matza, the peculiar taste on the tongue of salt water and spring greens…then there is the kosher wine – unforgettable! Each year our sinuses quiver at the first whiff of…horseradish root, and our memories are triggered by the age old words of the Haggadah… all designed to wake us up so we can pass-over into new consciousness.”
This waking up fits well with our religious self-understanding – Unitarian Universalism itself embraces the notion of needing to be continuously open to change and growth. We value, and here I use Reb. Firestone’s words: “the ability to break with tradition, to watch, question, and if necessary to smash the "sacred cows" of our comfort and our narcissism, both of the culture within and beyond ourselves when it strangles life.”
So wake up, oh you captives. Do not be afraid, from time to time when it is needed, to cross the familiar boundaries of your own comfort into new consciousness. When you do your reward may be that you blossom into living life more deeply and more generously.