The Passover

The circumstances were dire enough. The Hebrews were prisoners in Egypt, held in a ghetto in Goshen. The king’s command was still in force—wipe out the Jews. There could be no hope of escape, not so long as Pharaoh’s soldiers guarded the ghetto. As for the Promised Land, all hope of that was just about gone. The kinsman-redeemer had come, but nothing had changed. Egypt had been leveled to the dust by plague after plague, but the pharaoh was still on the throne. He remained unbroken, unbowed, unbelieving, determined not to let his captive Hebrews go. Such were the circumstances. They were dire enough. And the solution was drastic enough. God’s avenging angel would smite all the firstborn of Egypt. God would give them a holocaust. It would put such fear of God in Pharaoh’s heart that, out of sheer terror, he would finally let the Hebrew captives go. The avenging angel of death would be sent forth by God to smite and kill every firstborn of man and beast throughout the length and breadth of the land. But what about the Hebrews? Hebrew homes were in Goshen, and Goshen was part of Egypt, and all Egypt was under the interdict of God. Something would have to be done. But what? God gave His people a conditional guarantee from death. The guarantee was distinct enough. A lamb must be taken, a lamb without blemish or spot. It must be slain. Its blood must be applied to the lintels and doorposts of each individual home. The avenging angel would pass over every house so marked, and the blood of the slain lambs would speak for the people of God. So the Hebrews remained in their blood-sealed homes, feasted on their Passover lambs, and made ready for the march. Now let us look at Moses. He brought the message: “When I see the blood, I will pass over you” (Exod. 12:13). A great deal of truth was intertwined with the death of the Passover Lamb. From a lamb it became the Lamb (pointing directly to Christ) and finally your lamb, injecting the personal note. A house could be too little for a lamb, but the Lamb was never too little for the house. Then, too, the Passover was a milestone. With Abel, it was a lamb for the individual. With Abraham, it was a lamb for the family. Now it is a lamb for the nation. At Calvary, it would be a lamb for the world. So Moses brought the message: “When I see the blood.” The avenging angel, however, would not be deterred by a bucket of blood on the doorstep. It had to be applied. Paint on the doorposts would not do. There was no cheap way to secure redemption. A sign, “Moses lives here,” for instance, nailed to the door, would not do. Moses was a younger son, so he was safe. But he had an elder brother, Aaron. Aaron wasn’t safe. And Moses had an eldest son, Gershom. Gershom was in peril until the blood was applied. Once the blood had been applied, however, all was well. At peace with God and sheltered by the blood, Moses could feast and face the triumphant future God had planned. To some, perhaps, even in Israel, the message of an avenging angel and salvation by blood must have seemed nonsense, repulsive even, the message of a madman. If there were such skeptics in the camp that night, and if they followed the dictates of their human reason, scorning divine revelation, they found out too late their mistake. There was the message. It was followed by the miracle. Who but God could have known, in each and every house, who the firstborns were, or have selected, in every barn and field, the firstborn of every cow or sheep or dog or cat? It was uncanny. It was unerring. It was God. And all of it, pointing with steady finger down the unborn ages to Jesus, the true Passover Lamb, who paid for our redemption with His blood.

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