In
the fourth book of the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the
Goblet of Fire, the storyline begins to take a darker turn. The evil
wizard, Voldemort, returns from being almost-but-not-quite-dead and the first
thing he does is murder a boy-wizard named Cedric Diggory. As Goblet of Fire ends, Dumbledore—if you
are unfamiliar with the books, Dumbledore is the headmaster at the wizarding
school, Hogwarts—eulogizes Cedric before the student body with these words,
"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make
a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a
boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of
Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."
The
Passover is to the Israelites what Cedric Diggory would be for the wizarding
world—minus the flying broomsticks and butterbeer. The Passover, and
accompanying Feast of Unleavened Bread, is about remembering the oppression and
cruelty of the past in order to keep from repeating them in the future. It is a
tradition that originates out of the Israelites’ slavery in Egypt and the killing of the
firstborn that finally led to their exodus. These festivals were instituted by
God to remember the cruelty of slavery so that it may not be repeated, but they
also serve a secondary purpose: they are an antidote for nostalgia.[1] Those
of you who know the story of the exodus well may remember how quickly the
Israelites are in need of this antidote. They can practically still see the Red
Sea—the site of the miraculous parting of the waters—many of them still have
the lashes of the slave-drivers, persecuted by a Pharaoh who did not know
Joseph and was therefore unaware of their history, and still those Israelites
quickly turn on Moses and wish to go back to the land of Egypt—site of the good
ol’ days. Nostalgia, even for times that were not good by any measure, is a
uniquely human response to adversity. When difficulty comes, the Israelites
need to be reminded again and again that they are fleeing from a broken past
and the journey—no matter its challenges—is worth it. The Passover bids them to
remember the past in order to set their course for the future.
The
Israelites’ situation is not that different from the one facing the wizarding
world when Voldemort returns, or, for that matter, our world today. We need
something to rally behind in order to keep from wishing away our lives forever
gazing into what has been. Why did the wizarding world need to remember Cedric
Diggory? Because they were about to be plunged into internal conflict under
questioned leadership. Why did the Israelites need a festival to remember the
Passover? Because they were about to be plunged into internal conflict under
questioned leadership. Where are we today? In constant internal conflict under
questioned political, economic, social, and religious leadership.
The
world turns, but things—whether in the wilderness, at Hogwarts or in Kittson County—hardly change; we face the same
challenges and tough choices. We are in need of an antidote for nostalgia.
There is much that is wrong with the world today and also much that we are
indebted to the past, but we make a terrible mistake when we get our destiny
backwards. God’s future for us is just that—in our future, ahead of us. History
does not move backwards toward the Garden of Eden. We are always moving forward,
like Israel, into a future
promised to us, and again—like Israel—our
entrance into it will be kicking and screaming and dragging our feet. We want
to go back. God pushes us forward.
That is why we
must remember. Remember the Passover. Remember the times when we have been
persecuted and remember when we have been the persecutors. Remember human
beings at their worst—Darfur and Auschwitz,
the Gulags, apartheid, slavery, the Inquisition, the Third Reich; it goes on
and on. Remember all our Cedric Diggorys. I’m not just talking about issues
bigger than what we can control. We need to process together all the mistakes
we have made; we need to be unafraid of what we may discover if we go deeper.
What we will
inevitably find is that at our base we are all like the Israelites, eager to
return to what is comfortable in our past. Left on our own we will do things
how we’ve done them before; if it’s not broke, don’t fix it. Even if it is
broke, pretend like it isn’t and do it just the same. We will reach back for a
past as beautiful and shiny as it is unrealistic and untrue. At our base this
is who we are, but in no small part because of the God who leads us forward we
are also much more than this. God re-orients us—God reminds us—where our true
destiny lies.
At its core that
is what festivals are about: remembering something important from our past and
remembering who we are; not so that we can repeat that past but so that we can
live into the future. Festivals tell us something true about the past in order
to tell us something true about the present, and in-so-doing they tell us that
the most important moment for the history of the faith is always right now.
It’s the only moment that includes all other moments, learns from all moments,
and bridges where we have been to where we are going. Festivals are a bridge
from the past to the future on which we stand right now with a choice before us—forward
or backward; what is right or what is easy.
Remember Cedric Diggory,
Dumbledore said, because the time will come when you have to make a choice
between what is right and what is easy. Easy, comfortable—words for a time when
there is nothing on the line—but the truth is that there is always something on
the line. The Israelites teach us that God’s people are not just a generation
away from extinction but only a moment away from turning back to the path that
is easy. We live in such a world of luxury that we actually value things that
are easy. Somehow the good life has been equated with comfortability. The
Passover tears that comfort apart.
We are not our
own, have never been our own, will never be our own. We are part of a web that
stretches back to those Israelites and forward to the advent of the Kingdom of God in which no moment in time matters
as much as here and now. We walk alongside the Israelites in the wilderness; we
walk alongside all those hurt and broken; we stand for what we believe because
of the God who works in and through us today and the God who worked in and
through our ancestors before us. There is no separating the past and the
present, just as there is no reliving what has happened before. The past is
always behind us, reminding us of where we’ve been and tempting us to return, but
the Promised Land lies ahead. Remember Cedric Diggory; remember the captivity
in Egypt;
remember the hurt you carry with you; then, allow that hurt to be the catalyst
that pushes you forward.
It won’t be easy.
That’s a promise. We have a choice—every day of our lives—between what is right
and what is easy. Cedric Diggory bids us to choose well. So does the Passover.
Amen.
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