Christ died on the cross, that bread and juice remind me. The small familiar cup tells the story of his death, his blood, saving me. I twirl the empty cup in my fingers, brush crumbs from my lap and remember.
Before the cross, Christ remembered, too. The first passing over, the blood on the doors, the escaping to the desert. Hurry, there’s no time to for the bread to rise. Don’t forget the wine. Don’t forget. Don’t forget the blood that saved you.
And we sit down for Seder to remember the Passover.
We receive blessings, wash our hands, eat the Karpas. Remember the tears of the Israelites enslaved. Remember the tears that washed His feet.
We break the middle matzah, tell the story, ask the questions. Remember. Why do we eat matzot? Why only bitter herbs? Why do we dip our food twice?
Why do we recline? It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
We hear questions of the sons and we learn. The plagues, ten. D’tzach Adash B’achav.
And then the Dayenu; my favorite. The song, it tells us that it’s enough. The deliverance out of slavery, the miracles for the journey, the presence of God. Even one small piece is enough. Enough to feel Your mercy, enough to see Your power, enough to experience Your love. One crumb of manna, one crumb from Your table, it would have been enough to thank You. Dayenu. It’s enough.
More wine is poured, more blessings given. We wash our hands again and remember. Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
The matzot is passed, the bitter maror, the sweet charoset, the maror again. And then we feast.
We find the afikoman, open the door for Elijah and breeze through the Hallel. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. And the Passover meal is over.
His love endures forever.
I remember taking the bread and juice as a girl; head down in shame, knowing my sin. I know my sin now still. His love washes over me, a hurricane of wind and mercy.
There’s pride in forgetting. In forgetting what His death meant. How it saves me. Take and eat, drink. Remember.