The Promise of Rescue and Freedom

For as long as my dad was alive, I had no idea who he voted for. No idea which way he leaned on issues. No idea if he was a Republican or a Democrat. He could debate up a storm on any topic, but, in the end, I was clueless as to who or what he supported. And every time I asked, he gave no answer. Except to say that this was his right. It was what he fought for as a B52 pilot in World War 2. It was his freedom to vote as he pleased and keep it to himself.

My dad never sat me down or stood me up to teach me about freedom or the American way. Not in lectures or books, anyways. But he lived and spoke of his time in the Air Force regularly. And he demonstrated his values through his life and his choices to the point where, being my dad’s daughter, I grew up to be patriotic and to value freedom. All because of my dad’s influence on me.

This week is Passover. It’s a ritual that was commanded by God to be remembered and celebrated. 

"On the seventh day you must explain to your children, ‘I am celebrating what the Lord 

did for me when I left Egypt.’ This annual festival will be a visible sign to you, like a 

mark branded on your hand or your forehead. Let it remind you always to recite this

 teaching of the Lord: ‘With a strong hand, the Lord rescued you from Egypt.’ So 

observe the decree of this festival at the appointed time each year."

And this year I feel especially compelled to celebrate Passover again. Because freedom is at risk. Now, let me say very clearly, that I am not a political being. I couldn’t argue or debate the Middle East issues nor do I care to. It’s too big and too confusing. But I find myself praying and beseeching God to, once again, protect and rescue his people. I’m reminded of what our Israeli tour guide shared with me when I was in Israel 8 years ago. Jews never relax, they’re always on guard. Because they never know when they’ll next be persecuted, removed from a country or eliminated altogether.  

And so I will come to the Passover table this year with a heart that is heavy and longing for safety and freedom for my Jewish brothers and sisters, the family into which I was adopted. Asking God to make himself known to them in their hearts, in their homes and in the neighborhoods. That he would assure them, as he’s had to since he first picked them to be his people, that he has heard their cry and he will, at the appointed time, rescue them and offer them freedom. Once again. 

God must have known what they were entering into as his chosen people. Because as soon as he got them out of Egypt, he immediately commanded them to always remember that he rescues. Even if it’s 400 years in the making, God rescues. God rescues the lonely, the hurting, the broken, the fearful, the threatened, the lost. Always. Forever. Until the end of time. 

So, along with Jews throughout the world, I will join them in this remembrance. That God is a God of rescue and freedom and healing and hope. Thus, I will raise my glass at the end of Passover, as I join with others around the world, making a statement that is, hands down, one of the most hopeful statements of rescue and freedom ever said, “Next year in Jerusalem.”