Come into the Darkness: Bo

All I’ve been hearing about, besides the pandemic, over the past two weeks is January 6th. As I write today, it’s January 6th, a new day to commemorate in U.S. history, and all I can think about is darkness.

As the ninth plague, after the locusts eat all the greenery and before the death of the firstborn, a darkness descends upon Egypt so thick, it is described as “palpable.” It is a darkness so heavy, the people are paralyzed; no one can see “his fellow.” They do not move for three whole days!

It’s a darkness worse than winter, maybe like the darkness of the pandemic, the darkness of our global climate crisis, the darkness of our political situation.

And so many of us are so caught up in day to day and moment by moment survival, we can not see beyond our own noses. We are almost paralyzed. For sure, we can not “see our fellow.” We also cannot hear our fellow. We can’t even talk to our fellow.

My father would have said, “That’s exactly where they want us.”

By “they” he meant, “The Ruling Class.” He would explain: “If everyone is so poor, competing with each other, blaming other groups for their problems, there’s no time or energy for organizing.”—At least not the kind of organizing that brings people together.

What we saw on January 6th was exactly that; the “other” is causing our problem.

In other words, it’s a kind of slavery, but a very clever kind of slavery, hidden from view. “They” have us exactly where “they” want us: tied up in our technology and shut away in our houses to the extent that that can happen, while “they” are happily inventing more distractions for us, keeping us scrambling—not to mention hopeless and in despair at the enormity of the world’s problems.

But there’s something else in this week’s parsha; before we even know how the story ends, before we even walk to freedom, there’s a hint that this story will not end badly.

Despite the oppression, despite the darkness and death all around, God tells the Israelites that there will be a holiday commemorating this time in history; their children will one day ask about this, and they must be ready with an answer. It’s actually spelled out here.

Though the worst is perhaps still to come, there is a story of victory in the end.

This story, so central to Judaism, was the story that kept African American slaves going; it was a story of liberation they needed to hear, and it was their faith in God that kept them going, moving, trying, fighting. It was a faith cultivated over generations, not overnight.

That’s the kind of faith we need right now to keep moving, trying, fighting. It’s faith we need in order to talk to, see and hear each other despite the darkness.

We can afford to stop for a few days to rest, but we can’t afford to be paralyzed by the darkness.

And let us say Amen.