I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this much work to put on the first Passover meal.
You know, the one in Egypt, just before a million or more Israelites grabbed their mixing bowls, herded their sheep and goats and children into line, and headed out on foot for the Promised Land. Back then, the menu was simple: lamb, bitter herbs, and yeastless bread. And there was no cleaning out leaven from every corner of your house. (There’s something to be said for being homeless, and on the move).
But now…oh, the labors! If you’re from New England, you know all about spring cleaning already. Mopping, and dusting, and window-washing, and even painting (if need be). Sending the carpets to the cleaners and paying attention to all the nooks and crannies because who knows whether Junior was munching Bamba in bed, or bread behind the couch, or muffins in front of the computer?
It tends to be a family affair, this blitz on leaven. My Hebrew study partner, a college student, was pressed into service by his mother. Today I was helping my hostess-to-be, while her neighbors (father, mother, teenaged daughter and little son) joined in the fray…er, fun. And I know how all of them feel: all sore, and tired and satisfied and a little anxious because whew, there’s still more to be done!
Like the shopping. And getting ready for out of town guests. Because the fervent Jewish wish at the close of every Passover meal is “Next year in Jerusalem!” All over the city, folks pull out fresh sheets, and squeeze a few more in.
Passover in Jerusalem couldn’t have been a whole lot different in Jesus’ time, with numbers swelling, and muscles aching, and minds spinning with guest lists and menu plans, and occasional twinges of childlike anticipation.
Because a holy-day (a holiday!) is like an oasis in time. A party-tent set up smack-dab in the middle of everyday life. A passing-through but honored guest, worthy of polished silver and fine china and rich food and the very best of company. To entertain and reenact God’s redemptive work in history (Him! Here! at work on earth! in Exodus — and Resurrection) is privilege and joy.
And reenacting we truly are, because the external preparations mirror internal motion. This week, as I shopped and scrubbed and planned, I’ve pondered: “Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my inward thoughts. See if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” So when tiredness stirs up fears or selfish words or cranky thoughts, I know the Deep-cleaner is hard at work, and I’m quietly glad. He heard; He’s preparing my heart.
For joy.
Elisabeth Adams 