Spiritual rituals are not something I am used to, at least not beyond the basics of the church, communion and so on. I had never before celebrated Passover, even this sort of “Messianic” Seder, until last Sunday. Passover was something left behind, half forgotten, mentioned as a religious, cultural practice of Israel with little relevance to contemporary Christianity. Ritual was something for the history books, a strange and artificial phenomena only performed by cults and the sorts of Christians that still had words like “miter” in their common vocabulary. Rituals were weird, uncomfortable. They required props, sacred trees or temples, and probably altars and incense and chanting.
Yet somehow I and the team find ourselves here, sitting on the floor of the team house in a circle of cushions surrounding a specific array of symbolic accoutrements, and holding sprigs of parsley. Symbolic parsley.
“I really hope we don’t start chanting something about parsley,” I find myself thinking.
“Passover is a holiday that comes in the springtime,” Michael reads, “when the earth is becoming green with life. This vegetable, called karpas,[1] represents life, created and sustained by Almighty God. But life in Egypt for the children of Israel was a life of pain, suffering, and tears, represented by this salt water. Let us take a sprig of parsley and dip it into the salt water, remembering that life is sometimes immersed in tears.”
We dip the parsley in the salt and eat. And it’s not weird. It makes sense. It’s visceral. It’s active participatory metaphor. This African life is one of enormous vitality, never far from immersion in tears. Alex Boyi, a South Sudanese friend, lost his newborn son. Workers I have managed on the team compound, without exception, have had to take time off work to attend the lengthy funerals of close relatives: daughters, brothers, mothers. I watch the refugees from the border carted through town tottering atop the dusty trucks and sleeping under the mango trees surrounded by their few possessions. Death stands at our shoulder. Poverty is close. Hunger is constant. Life is soaked in tears.
In the church calendar, we are currently drawing towards the end of the season of Lent, a time of contemplating suffering. Suffering is something that I’ve thought about a great deal in Africa. And here we are, “tasting the tears.”
Something in this action clicks. The literary gears in my mind start turning, catch the teeth of those parts of me that make sense of life only through action. The verbs and the metaphors grind together and turn the spokes towards semblance of sense.
We drink the four cups of wine as the words of remembrance of our redeemer are spoken. We light the candles to signify the light of the world. A basin is passed around the circle and we wash each other’s feet to remember the humility of Christ. Active metaphors.
“We dip the bitter herbs into kharoset[2] to remind ourselves that even the most bitter of circumstances can be sweetened by the hope we have in God”
Yet another reminder of a truth that’s been at the forefront of my mind for the last year. The sweetness in God, the hope and joy of His promises in life.
And damn if that kharoset isn’t delicious too. It’s all very significant and deep and such, but it’s also just plain tasty. We laugh. We talk. We eat the killer mashed potatoes me and Grant made. We have fun. And participate in something equally artistic and significant. At the same time.
“Haggadah means “the telling.” Passover over is a story that has been retold for thousands of years. It is a story of miraculous transitions – from slavery to freedom, from despair to hope, from darkness to light…. Let us allow our senses to fully participate, taking in the sights and smells, tasting each ingredient, listening to every word. Let us see, hear, and feel the truth of God’s love.”
So that’s it then, the seder is telling a story. And it’s a meal among friends. And a service of prayer. And a living, kinetic metaphor to help us see and feel and taste the memories of which we are a part, the redemptive epic of which we are characters in a chapter, just as the Israelites, coming out of bondage in Egypt were characters in their own chapter, just as the South Sudanese trying to make it in Mundri or on their own Exodus from the border have their part in their own chapter.
[1] parsley
[2] Sweet mixture of apple, dates, walnuts, honey and wine
South Sudan - Shaughnessy 