Original Meaning

The Announcement of the Tenth Plague (11:1–10)

THE TENTH PLAGUE is the climax of the plague narrative, as God himself announces: “I will bring one more plague” (11:1). The announcement of this plague should be read in light of 4:21–23, where God had previously told Moses what would ultimately happen to Egypt. This also helps make sense of the fact that Moses and Pharaoh apparently have a conversation in 11:4–8 after they have both vowed that they will never see each other again (10:28–29). The NIV correctly translates the verb of verse 1 as a pluperfect, “Now the LORD had said to Moses,” that is, previously in 4:21–23. The conversation between Moses and Pharaoh that follows is, therefore, simply a continuation of the conversation of 10:24–29. It is as if, while leaving, Moses turns to Pharaoh and says, “Oh yes, one more thing before I go.” With the announcement of the tenth plague, the confrontation between the two is ended. They will meet once again, but only for Pharaoh to capitulate fully to Moses’ demand to release the Israelites (12:31–32).

But this plague is not an afterthought. It is the mighty act of God that finally results directly in the Israelites’ departure from Egypt, which is the goal to which the narrative has been leading. It is the only plague for which there is no hope of reversal. It is the final blow for which God has been setting Pharaoh up since his first encounter with Moses.

The significance of this plague may be seen in part that Pharaoh is considered a son of the sun god Re in Egyptian religion—a fact that lends some continuity between the ninth and tenth plagues. This plague can be construed as an attack on Pharaoh’s power. Zevit adds that it may also be an implicit attack on Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead.1 Yahweh demonstrates by killing the firstborn Egyptians that he, unlike the son of god Pharaoh, is the true God, the one who truly has power over death and life. A final hint that the tenth plague is a polemic against Egyptian religion may perhaps be seen at the end of verse 5, with explicit mention made that the cattle, too, will be affected, since cattle were “objects of Egyptian veneration.”2

In addition to the connection with the ninth plague, the death of the Egyptian firstborn takes us back to the first chapter of Exodus. In 11:4, Moses warns Pharaoh that God is coming3 at midnight to kill the firstborn of Egypt. This is clearly retribution for Pharaoh’s attempt to kill the male children of Israel in chapter 1. His decree was ultimately not against Israel’s children, but against God’s children. God will now respond in kind by putting to death the firstborn children of Egypt. God’s decree, like Pharaoh’s, will even affect the “firstborn son of the slave girl” (v. 5). He will make no distinction. Even “innocent bystanders,” such as lowly servants, will feel the sting of death.

So thorough and devastating will God’s action be that the Egyptians will beg the Israelites to leave. Moreover, they will be “favorably disposed” toward them,4 so that God’s people will leave with more than what they came with. Now it will be Egypt’s turn to “cry” because of their oppression (the use of ṣ^eʿaqah [cry] in v. 6 is an echo of Israel’s cry in 3:7). Among the Israelites, however, not even a barking dog will be heard. The tenth plague is clearly a “measure-for-measure” punishment.

Verses 9–10 summarize both what has gone before and what will soon come about. Pharaoh’s heart has been hardened by God for the very purpose that the Lord’s “wonders may be multiplied in Egypt” (v. 9). What is about to happen will fulfill his plan on a level much deeper than simply retribution for the king’s actions. Rather, Pharaoh is being used by God. His actions have been scripted so that God can execute his plan.

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S RIGHT TO THE FIRSTBORN. The tenth plague and the ensuing departure from Egypt are to be seared into the Israelites’ memories for “generations to come” (12:14). The purpose of the Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread is not a one-time celebration but a provision for the future. This future orientation can be seen by the fact that Passover and the Feast are recorded in subsequent Old Testament passages. In Numbers 9:1–5, the Israelites celebrated the Passover in the Sinai desert one year after the Exodus, thus fulfilling the commands outlined in Exodus 12 to observe the ritual on a yearly basis. The Passover regulations are reiterated in Leviticus 23:4–8; Numbers 28:16–25; and Deuteronomy 16:1–8, but there is no other record of any celebration of the meal until the entrance into the Promised Land, about forty years later.

The rebellion of the Israelites in the desert (Num. 14) prompts Yahweh to make that generation wander through the desert until every adult member has died, except for Caleb and Joshua. During this period of God’s wrath, the celebration of Passover would certainly have been out of place. Joshua 5:10 records the first Passover celebration after the forty-year desert wandering. It coincides with the crossing of the Jordan River (Josh. 3–4), where, as in the Exodus, a body of water parts to allow the Israelites to pass through to a new beginning.

Deuteronomy 16:1–8 seems to represent a shift in how the Passover is to be celebrated, for the meal is to be observed in “the place the LORD will choose as a dwelling for his Name” (16:2)—that is, in the temple in Jerusalem. The meal has moved from a family observance in homes to a pilgrimage feast that requires all Israelites to come to Jerusalem (see, as examples, 2 Chron. 30:1–31:1, during Hezekiah’s day [715–686 B.C.], and 2 Kings 23:21–23; 2 Chron. 35:1–19, during the time of Josiah [640–609 B.C.]). Second Kings 23:22 observes that the Passover as it was celebrated by Josiah had not taken place “since the days of the judges who led Israel, nor throughout the days of the kings of Israel and the kings of Judah,” a comment indicating the scrupulousness with which Josiah attempted to adhere to the Mosaic regulations of Deuteronomy. The next recorded Passover occurs in Ezra 6:19–22 (516 B.C.), after the return from Babylonian exile and the rebuilding of the temple.

In other words, despite the various twists and turns we find in the Old Testament,21 the Passover celebration is recorded in passages that reflect various stages in Israel’s journey from Egypt, to Canaan, to the Exile, and back to her homeland. Passover and the accompanying Feast of Unleavened Bread remained an abiding feature in Israel’s relationship with the God of the Exodus, a means whereby the people would remember what God had done for them. It was a celebration of Israel’s redemption from Egypt, which they ought not to forget, for their departure constituted the inception of their existence as a nation.

Nor must Israel forget the terrible means by which that redemption was enacted. The sacrifice of the Passover lamb is a constant reminder to Israel that their life came from death. They must also remember that the firstborn of the womb belongs to God. It is his by right and he may do with it as he pleases. The “destroyer” (i.e., the tenth plague) was not a random type of punishment; it was directed against the Egyptian firstborn. This is significant. Not only was the tenth plague a payback for Pharaoh’s decree to kill the Israelite children in chapter 1, but it was God’s exercising his divine right over the firstborn. The Passover is not simply a matter of a lamb replacing the Israelites’ firstborn. It is also God purchasing, so to speak, the redemption of his firstborn son Israel through the death of the Egyptian firstborn, since it was precisely this catastrophe that led Pharaoh to call for Israel’s release.

There is a further dimension of this ritual that warrants discussion. The destroyer’s mission was blind to ethnic distinctions. Had an Israelite family not painted its doorway with the lamb’s blood, the destroyer would have killed the firstborn of that household. It was on the basis of the blood, and only on that basis, that the destroyer made the distinction between Israel and Egypt. In other words, the divine right to the firstborn extended to all Israel (see 22:29–30), but that right should not be understood as some vague sense of ownership. God had the right to express his ownership over Israel by killing their firstborn as well. This, it must be admitted in view of the context of this narrative, is the full understanding of what it means for the firstborn to “belong” to God.

And this is why the consecration of the firstborn (13:1, 11–13) is integrally related to the celebration of Passover. Israel is to be redeemed from Egypt, but that redemption requires blood. Both the death of the Egyptian firstborn and the blood of the lamb on the doorposts symbolize God’s ownership of the firstborn and his provision to protect his own firstborn son, Israel. Hence, the ritual of redeeming every firstborn donkey with a lamb symbolically represents what God did for Israel in the tenth plague: The firstborn belongs to God and must be bought with a price.

The Passover is the concrete manifestation of a pattern of divine conduct reflected elsewhere in Scripture: The redemption of the firstborn son can only come through death.22 The idea of “Passover” is not restricted to explicit references to or celebrations of the meal itself. Rather, the ritual of Passover finds narrative expression at various places in the Old Testament.

The famous story of the binding of Isaac (Gen. 22) illustrates the point. This is an obvious instance of a substitute “sacrifice” being made on behalf of Isaac. Isaac, of course, is the beloved son of Abraham (22:2), and the last-minute intervention of the angel delivers Isaac from death at his own father’s hand. This story, if allowed to speak on its own terms, is alarming and should raise a number of questions in our minds. Note that God commands Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. This is not a false command. Too often we approach this text with the preunderstanding that, since child sacrifice is clearly forbidden elsewhere in Scripture, God cannot possibly mean what he seems to mean. Yet, it is a command, and Abraham proceeds dutifully to carry it out.

When we read this story in light of the Passover (and vice-versa), we begin to understand what may have motivated the God of Israel to behave in this way. The simple fact, once again, is that the firstborn is his by right, a fact stated plainly in Exodus 22:29, “You must give me the firstborn of your sons.” This command refers to both human offspring and animals, as the following verse implies: “Do the same with your cattle and your sheep” (v. 30). This right extends beyond human and animal offspring to include the produce of the land, which is why the ancient Israelites had a Feast of Firstfruits, in which the initial harvest was given to God (Lev. 23:9–14). Everything “firstborn” belongs to God and must be given over to him.

God’s command to Abraham in Genesis 22 is thus well within his pattern of conduct. In this context we see the heinousness of Pharaoh’s decree in Exodus 1 more clearly. By wanting to kill Israel’s male children, Pharaoh is not simply killing God’s people or reducing the number of potential rebels. The children whom Pharaoh has killed include the firstborn of Israel, God’s property, those who will later be shown to be special to God and who belong to him exclusively. By having them thrown into the Nile, Pharaoh is, as we have seen elsewhere, setting himself up as a god-figure. He is doing no less than usurping Yahweh’s right to the firstborn.

The episode of the sacrifice of Isaac makes sense only if there is a real possibility that the command be carried out. Abraham is commended for fearing God (Gen. 22:12), and, as Jon Levenson puts it, “it is Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son that verifies his fear of God.”23 This also helps makes sense of the apparent ease with which Abraham seems to accept the command. This is not to say that it would be easy for him, but that, as far as Abraham is concerned, the thought of God commanding such a thing is perfectly within his right and character. The redemption of Isaac by the ram (22:13), therefore, should be understood as the means by which God exercises his right to have Isaac for his own: by offering a replacement.

God’s right to the firstborn is what gives meaning to both Genesis 22 and the tenth plague: Israel is God’s firstborn, beloved son (Ex. 4:21–23), and he delivers his son from certain death. And he does so not simply by picking the Israelites up and carrying them out of Egypt. The means of their redemption follows a set pattern that culminates in the death of the Egyptian firstborn in the tenth plague, as symbolized by the blood of the lamb.

Another example of this theme concerns the dedication of the Levites to God. According to Numbers 8:5–26, the Levites are to take the place of the firstborn Israelite males (esp. vv. 16–19). True, the passage does not spell out explicitly what it would mean for the Israelite males to be “given” to God and thus in what sense the Levites are taking their place.24 But the reason the Levites take the place of the firstborn sons is the assumption that the firstborn is God’s by right, and in order for God to relinquish that right, a substitute must be provided. In the case of Isaac it is a sacrificial ram. In the case of the Israelite males, it is the Levites who are in charge of the sacrificial system. In the Exodus, God’s beloved firstborn son, Israel as a whole, is redeemed through the death of the firstborn of the Egyptians, an event to be commemorated through all time by the yearly, ritualistic sacrifice of a lamb at Passover.

Such an understanding of Passover helps give some sense to that strangest of passages, Exodus 4:24–26, discussed earlier. It is perhaps no accident that the place where Israel’s status as firstborn son is propounded (4:21–23) is followed by the circumcision at the lodging place in 4:24–26. The general point to be kept in mind is that through the blood of Moses’ son, his circumcision, Moses escapes death. What unites this story and the Passover is that blood is necessary to circumvent a sure death. The story at the lodging place, as noted above, is a preview of sorts of the Passover and release from Egypt. Already here the pattern is hinted at: Without blood, God’s purposes will not go forth. The departure from Egypt will not be without a price; a sacrifice will have to be made.

Passover has remained an important, indeed defining, element in Judaism through the centuries. It is likewise with Christianity. There are clear reflexes of the Passover and the consecration of the firstborn in the New Testament.

(1) The Gospel writers closely associate the Last Supper with the Passover.25 As the Passover was to be a lasting ritualistic representation of God’s deliverance of Israel from bondage, the Last Supper is to be a lasting reminder of God’s final act of deliverance from a bondage more terrible than slavery to a human despot. This last meal with Jesus’ disciples must be seen in light of his death and resurrection, which follow immediately, just as the Exodus followed the Passover meal. There is no lamb at this meal, however, for Christ is the Lamb, something we are told already at the beginning of his earthly ministry (John 1:29). Rather than the typical diet of lamb and bitter herbs, this consummate Passover meal consists of bread and wine, which represent the body and blood of Christ, the new Lamb. Now that the final Passover Lamb has come, a new meal with new elements is in order.

Moreover, this last meal points not only to the imminent sacrifice of the Lamb of God, but to a future meal, an end-time banquet that will celebrate the final victory of the sacrificed and risen Lamb (Mark 14:25). Israel’s redemption, going back to the evening of the tenth plague, begins with a meal and is destined to end so.

(2) The sacrifice of Christ also fulfills the other important element of this theme, the consecration of the beloved firstborn son. Christ is the only Son of his Father. He, like Israel, is the firstborn son in whom the Father’s favor rests (cf. Mark 1:11). But here we note an important twist. In the Old Testament it is the beloved son who is redeemed through a substitution of some sort. But Christ, the firstborn Son, is the means of redemption. It is in Christ that God actually claims fully his right to the firstborn son—he belongs to God. By sacrificing the firstborn Son of God, God’s redemption of Israel is now complete.

The great irony is that the true firstborn Son is not protected as was Israel, but he has become the enemy of God, as was Egypt. In his death, God’s firstborn Son is more like Egypt than Israel in that he bears God’s wrath. But three days later he rises to exaltation to fulfill another purpose, the exaltation of Israel. Through this special Son, God fulfills another purpose, the redemption not of Israel the firstborn, but of Israel the “lateborn” (as Levenson puts it). With Christ’s death and resurrection the true spiritual pedigree of God’s people comes to light. The people of God are not firstborn, but they become firstborn through their union with Christ, the true firstborn Son.

This exaltation theme is true of God’s people even in the Old Testament, as we see already at Israel’s beginning. Jacob is not the firstborn of Isaac. Yet he is exalted in God’s eyes by choice. The nation of Israel is named after the younger brother of Esau (Gen. 32:28), whom God favors and exalts over the older brother. This is not an isolated theme in the Old Testament. The list of “lateborn” sons who are favored by God reads like a “who’s who” of biblical characters: Abel, Isaac, Jacob (Israel), Joseph, David, Gideon, Solomon, to name just a few. Each of these was other than firstborn but was exalted over older siblings for one reason or another.

The death of Christ, the firstborn Son, is what allows God’s people, the lateborn son, to be raised to the primary status of the firstborn son. This is why Christ is referred to as the “firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor. 15:20; cf. also Rom. 8:29, where he is called the “firstborn among many brothers”). The resurrection is the first installment of what is waiting for us. It is by his resurrection that we have become co-heirs with Christ; in other words, we have become, like Christ, firstborn children. Redemption is about election, the election of a people who are not firstborn, who are not of any favored status, and the sacrificial death of the true firstborn Son, through whom these lateborn people are adopted to receive the status of the firstborn. The Passover blessing of Israel has been extended to the world. All those who are in Christ, the Passover Lamb, have become God’s children.

Contemporary Significance

THE POWER OF RITUAL. The most obvious point of application of the Passover is instituted by Christ himself and concerns the church as a whole: the regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper by Christians around the world and through all time. This is not the place to enter into a prolonged discussion of the nature of the Lord’s Supper and the most faithful way to celebrate it. Christians have disagreed for centuries about whether the elements are in some mysterious sense the actual body and blood of Christ, merely represent Christ, or serve simply as reminders of Christ. Also, the frequency of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper continues to be discussed. In the congregation of which I am a member and serve as an elder, the topic has once again come up whether it is most biblical to serve Communion weekly, monthly, or quarterly. Indeed, if the Passover model is to be followed woodenly, an argument could be made for yearly communion (!), but this does not do justice to the New Testament’s transformation of the ritual.

The church’s redemption from her “slavery” is a weekly one. Every Sunday we remember the death and resurrection of Christ, our Passover Lamb, so it would seem appropriate to commemorate this redemptive reality by joining it to the appropriate ritual, the Lord’s Supper. Jesus, unfortunately, did not make explicit how often we are to “do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19), so it is certainly the wisest course of action not to be dogmatic here.

The broader, more basic aspect should be kept in the foreground. As we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are celebrating our redemption through Christ and the glory that awaits us. But we should also remember that the Lord’s Supper is itself a fulfillment of that Israelite meal at an earlier stage of God’s redemptive work. By partaking in Communion, we are participating in the effects of God’s redemptive work that he began to execute in Israel’s day and that came to completion on Easter Sunday. It seems, then, that we, like the Israelites, in celebrating the Lord’s Supper, are not merely remembering what God has done. By partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we are, in some mysterious sense, participating in his death and resurrection.

Like successive generations of Jews called to think of themselves as participating in the Exodus, so, too, does the church participate in the work of Christ by virtue of her union with him. This, of course, is a theological participation, but that does not make it an abstract one. The reality of the church’s new, resurrected life in Christ is so powerful, so real, that that fact can only be fittingly branded onto our hearts through an outward act, a symbol, in which we physically participate. The Lord’s Supper is not merely a symbol of our union with the resurrected Christ, something that is nice to do but is really a “less real” representation of some other reality. It is a ritual founded by Christ, in which we as believers bear witness to ourselves and the world that we are one.

However individual congregations and denominations work out the particulars, the Lord’s Supper is serious business. This is why it is good practice to remind us of what we are doing and for whom the meal is intended. It is not something to be taken lightly by those who are in Christ, nor should it be taken at all by those who do not know him. It is a redemptive meal. I must confess wholeheartedly that I need to be reminded of what the Lord’s Supper is and why we partake. We do so not simply because Christ commanded it and we have to do it. It goes deeper. We must understand why Christ commanded it. It is something that in principle God’s people have been doing since that great redemptive act in the Old Testament, the Exodus, and it receives its fuller significance in Christ. Communion is the symbolic representation of the fact that we, in Christ, stand at the highest mountain peak of God’s redemptive plan.

Some have argued that the clear debt the Lord’s Supper owes to the Passover suggests that this is fruitful common ground for discussing Jewish-Christian relations. I know people on both sides of the equation who are working to understand better the religion of the other. It is, I can say from my own experience (much of my graduate work was under the direction of Jewish scholars), an emotional, complicated, and even unsettling discussion. I do not want to complicate the issue further by making a few reductionistic statements here. Still, I would want to argue that, however much the Lord’s Supper and Passover have obvious theological overlap, they cannot be considered so “common” that their distinctives become blurred. For one thing, to suggest that the Lord’s Supper can be seen as a point of contact between Christianity and Judaism, since the former arose out of the latter is like arguing that the Jewish Passover should be a point of contact with Canaanite religion, its own likely source (see discussion above).26

Nevertheless, it is vital to a proper understanding of the Lord’s Supper to see it as a transformation of the Passover more than simply as a Christian reflection of Passover. Judaism and Christianity are, after all, two different religions despite their common heritage. Nothing is gained and everything is lost if we obliterate those aspects of the Lord’s Supper that make it distinctly Christian—that is, those things that it does not and cannot share with Judaism, namely, a celebration of redemption not only through the God who sent plagues to Egypt, but also through the God who raised Christ from the dead. Although the Lord’s Supper is not distinctly Christian in terms of its origins, it is quintessentially Christian in terms of its meaning.

Perhaps the greatest source of commonality between Passover and the Lord’s Supper lies in their future orientation: Neither meal is merely for the historical moment in which it was first instituted. These rituals are to be observed for successive generations. Although this is not a constant refrain in the Lord’s Supper (the narrative is much briefer than with Passover), Jesus’ command that the meal be done in remembrance of him (Luke 22:19) suggests as much. Moreover, the eschatological references in Luke 22:16 and 18 (which refer to the coming of the kingdom of God) imply a continued observance until such time (see also 1 Cor. 11:17–34).

One thing we can learn from this is the importance the Bible places on ritual. The Old Testament repeatedly refers to teaching Israelite children who God is and what he has done.27 This teaching occurs in the context of ritual, whether it concerns the keeping of the law or the regular observance of Passover. Ritual breeds familiarity. It seeps into one’s subconscious and, however subtly, begins to exert a formative influence.

I am reminded here of a graduate school experience that has made a lasting impression on me. I was amazed to see that my Jewish professors had the Pentateuch memorized completely in Hebrew, as well as large portions of the rest of the Old Testament. When asked about a particular passage, one of my professors would pause momentarily, look up at the ceiling, and then recite the passage from memory. I finally asked him how he could memorize so much of the Hebrew Bible. The reason was that from his childhood he had chanted (sung) the Torah in the synagogue. His pause after being asked a question was to chant the passage to himself before he repeated it to the class in prose form! Memorization through chant is not something that happens by means of a mnemonic trick or an interactive Bible CD for your PC to make it “easy.” It is gained only through repetition, particularly during one’s formative years.

The influence of the familiar on our lives is something that advertisers never forget. The point of advertising is to capitalize on real needs or to create needs and then to provide a product to fill that need. This symbiotic relationship between the perception of need and the perception that that need is filled by purchasing a particular product does not happen by chance. Advertisers work hard at finding out why we spend our money the way we do. The seemingly endless repetition of the same commercials is designed not simply to present a product for our consideration. Rather, they are attempting to do nothing less than create a world in which their product holds an important, if not central, place. I am certain that most conservative Christians in America would have an easier time recalling ten commercial jingles by heart, perhaps ones they have not heard for twenty or thirty years, than ten psalms (or five, or three, or one).

Repetition and familiarity work. What is repeated becomes familiar, and this becomes a part of us. Our own culture understands this, but alas, not always the church. Far too many equate ritual with spiritual dryness.28 True, ritual and liturgy can be dead—even using the terms can raise hackles—but only when the significance and power of those rituals are forgotten. Spiritual death is not a property of ritual itself. To the contrary, ritual has always been and will always be a means of securing for future generations the power and reality of the gospel.

The one ritual that is clearly instituted in the New Testament, and which follows closely upon its rich Old Testament counterpart, is the Lord’s Supper. It is a powerful ritual. When we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are to think of ourselves as “participating” in Christ. We are to understand ourselves as “being there”—not physically, nor even in our imaginations, but in the most powerful way, theologically. Again, this is not “theology” understood as an abstract, academic concept, a subject in school. It is the means by which we are connected to Christ through the centuries as a person who once instituted the meal with his small group of followers. So too, whenever we celebrate the same meal, we are part of the group.

Ritual is important because it affects us on a level deeper than other things can. We do not always appreciate this in our world today (although, again, advertisers do). In our secular world, despite deft use of its own kind of “rituals,” religious symbols and rituals are seen as poor substitutes for ultimate reality, a relic of a bygone, prescientific age, a crutch for those who cannot come to terms with the notion that “what’s real is what you see.” Sadly, this is not only something we see in the secular world, but in the church as well. Perhaps it is the stress on personal salvation and one’s own personal experience of Christ that must be initiated without the mediation of rituals of the past. But the Lord’s Supper teaches the exact opposite: Rituals are good, and they are instituted and used by God to “connect” his people with him. We learn through ritual that the church is not just made up of individuals, but is a corporate body. It is not just about personal salvation, but a group of people, the people of God, who are bound to one another and to the faithful through the generations.

One must be careful not to extend the principle of ritual haphazardly beyond this specific example of the New Testament, but one point comes to mind that seems appropriate. In my church, as in many today, we have had some sensitive discussions concerning worship style, particularly the type of music to use in the worship service. As everyone with experience in this subject knows, the matter is complex and requires great patience and love on the part of all involved. The two general poles of the debate can be justly summarized: (1) Traditional worship and older hymns are tried and true and therefore more conducive to worship; (2) contemporary worship and newer songs are more conducive to worship because they connect better to the people where they are.

I admit there are nuances of opinion between these poles. But both extremes should be avoided. Those who espouse the former view have forgotten that something is not good simply because it has been done for a long time.29 If its meaning has been forgotten, it is transformed quickly from ritual, which is something good, into dead ritual. Likewise, we do not celebrate the Lord’s Supper simply because it is something that Christians do. There is a deeper purpose behind the act, and understanding that purpose allows us to connect with the ritual itself.

Those who hold to the other opinion, however, are more prevalent in this discussion. Many of this group are younger believers who have had secular upbringings, and, consequently, have not been taught an appreciation of the past. Others may have been brought up in Christian homes, but where tradition was equated with dead ritualism. Hence, any talk of the importance of tradition falls on rocky soil or connotes “dryness.” They have never seen the vitality that can come from a proper respect for tradition, one that does not adhere slavishly to the things of the past, but respects that God’s Spirit has been speaking to his people in all generations. Perhaps the former group should learn the same lesson, that since God does have every generation of believers close to his heart, new is not necessarily bad.

Ritual is vital for the life of the church, and the regular, thoughtful celebration of the Lord’s Supper is the most concrete reminder of that fact. The principle Christ enacted in the Lord’s Supper should be cautiously applied to the life of the church in other areas, while allowing fully for differences of opinion in how that principle should be applied. But whatever is done, the church should have in its view successive generations of believers. We must think ahead, as we are taught to do in the Passover and Lord’s Supper. The purpose of ritual is not simply to maintain tradition for its own sake, but, like the Lord’s Supper, to drive home in our hearts the experience of being united with the risen Christ. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, which is reflected in the differing traditions among the various Christian denominations.

Catechism, for instance, was important in my own upbringing. It impressed on me that I am part of a line of believers that extends back for centuries and even millennia. We memorized, among other things, the Nicene and Apostles’ Creeds, those great confessions of faith that have withstood the test of time and are recited every Sunday throughout the world. Of course, nothing can lend itself more quickly to dead ritualism than the rote droning of a congregation’s recitation of “God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God,” but this is not the necessary outcome of maintaining rituals.

When we turn to the topic of the application of Passover, attention must be given to 1 Corinthians 5:7–8, for it is here that Paul himself hints, albeit briefly, at this very matter:

Get rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth.

The context of this passage concerns the expulsion of an immoral Christian from the church in Corinth. The influence of one such person on the others is like yeast that works through and leavens the entire batch of dough (the rest of the church). The basis for expelling the immoral brother is the fact that Christ, the Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed. In keeping with the regulations in Exodus 12, the Feast of Unleavened Bread follows immediately upon the Passover meal. The analogy Paul is making is that the sacrifice of Christ is in the past, and the church now is in the process of celebrating the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which, to complete Paul’s analogy, should be characterized by moral purity (no yeast).

Yet this is no simple moralism on Paul’s part. He is not telling them to give it their best try to live right. If that were the case, he would be using a strange passage to support such a notion! Rather, the basis for their morality is twofold: Christ’s death has atoned for their sin and, perhaps more important, in Christ, the people are already a new batch without yeast. They are to act like what they are, which is not the result of their own efforts but the result of Christ’s efforts.

I do not think Paul’s (nearly allegorical?) use of the Passover exhausts all the theological significance of the Passover or the Lord’s Supper, nor is it entirely clear why to make this particular moral point he employs the Passover in support. The general point, however, is clear: What Christ has done on the cross, which the Gospel writers tie overtly to Passover, should influence how we live. This, like so many of Paul’s arguments, is not crystal clear in its details, but the main thrust rings true.

As we celebrate the Feast of Unleavened Bread every day, in the wake of the sacrifice of the Passover Lamb, we must be ever vigilant to maintain the high standard of conduct to which we, as co-heirs with Christ, are called. In the same way as the Israelites were faithful to carry on their backs batches of dough without yeast as they left Egypt, we are to be mindful of the haste with which we have left the Egypt of sin and death and remain obedient to the God who gave his beloved firstborn Son to be our Passover Lamb.

Original Meaning

The Departure From Egypt (12:29–42)

THE LENGTHY, REPETITIVE account of the regulations for the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread gives way once again to the narrative of the departure from Egypt.13 As with the accounts of the other plagues, we are told that God’s threat is made good (vv. 29–30). Loud wailing (ṣ^eʿaqah, see v. 6; also 3:6) is heard throughout Egypt. This prompts Pharaoh, once again, to call for Israel’s release (vv. 31–32). He has done so before (9:27–28; 10:16), but here there is a new sense of urgency, for he calls to them at night, right then and there, without a moment to lose, saying as it were: “Just get out! Take what you want, but just get out!”

This is total capitulation on Pharaoh’s part. Even the people “urge” the Israelites to leave at once (v. 33), which they do, but not before they plunder the Egyptians. The precise nature of this plundering has been debated since before the time of Christ. Some consider it was improper for Israelites, a holy people, to plunder anyone, even the Egyptians. Some, however, retort that any material gain the Israelites might receive is a fitting reward for their years of abject slavery.14 The general thrust of this statement should not be lost, however: The Israelites march out of Egypt through the front door, with dignity—not like dogs crawling through the back fence, but like God’s people. This exaltation of Israel is another humiliation for Egypt.

It is important to note that bread made without yeast is mentioned again in verses 34 and 39. The repetition of the regulations for both the Passover and the Feast throughout 12:1–28, in addition to Israel’s obedience in following the commands regarding the unleavened bread, underscore how inextricably bound the rituals are to the departure itself. This is especially striking in verses 37–42, which at first glance seem simply to summarize the initial stages of Israel’s departure (vv. 37–38) and the length of Israel’s stay in Egypt as a whole (vv. 40–41). This summary is twice “interrupted” by remarking how faithfully the Israelites follow their new rituals. The theology of this narrative will not allow us to separate the departure from Egypt from the rituals that remind the people of the lasting significance of that event.

Two numbers are mentioned in this summary statement, both of which have engendered discussion. (1) We are told that “six hundred thousand men” leave, not including women and children (v. 37). This number is probably not symbolic, but a round number for 603,550 (38:26; see also Num. 1:46).15 Most commentators, however, mention that such a large number would require a total population of roughly two million, a number that the archaeological data do not support. So, is this number inaccurate, an exaggeration designed to bolster Israelite morale? N. Sarna offers an interesting solution, arguing that the number represents an accurate, historical picture, but of the population at the time of the united monarchy.16 Like most of Sarna’s observations, this is worthy of thoughtful consideration, but it is not clear how this solution supports the historicity of Exodus 12:37, since there the six hundred thousand are clearly connected to the departure from Egypt.

If anything, Sarna’s solution reminds us just how difficult this number is to reconcile with our notions of historical accuracy. That a large number of Israelites departs is expected, since it was their rapid growth that caused Pharaoh to panic in the first place (ch. 1). But what are we to make of this number? It seems best for us to remain agnostic on this matter.

(2) The second number is the 430-year stay in Egypt. Is this an exact number? It seems so, since the four hundred years spoken of in Genesis 15:13 (cf. Acts 7:6) is most likely a round number. Note too the emphatic point made that the Israelites left Egypt 430 years “to the very day” after they entered (Ex. 12:41). But if this is an exact number, it raises the question why a round number six hundred thousand has just been used above. We have come to expect our author to use nonliteral numbers. Recall, too, the genealogy of chapter 6, which refers to four generations from Levi to Aaron—clearly an example of a telescoped genealogy. When all is said and done, how these numbers are to be understood is not clear.17

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S RIGHT TO THE FIRSTBORN. The tenth plague and the ensuing departure from Egypt are to be seared into the Israelites’ memories for “generations to come” (12:14). The purpose of the Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread is not a one-time celebration but a provision for the future. This future orientation can be seen by the fact that Passover and the Feast are recorded in subsequent Old Testament passages. In Numbers 9:1–5, the Israelites celebrated the Passover in the Sinai desert one year after the Exodus, thus fulfilling the commands outlined in Exodus 12 to observe the ritual on a yearly basis. The Passover regulations are reiterated in Leviticus 23:4–8; Numbers 28:16–25; and Deuteronomy 16:1–8, but there is no other record of any celebration of the meal until the entrance into the Promised Land, about forty years later.

The rebellion of the Israelites in the desert (Num. 14) prompts Yahweh to make that generation wander through the desert until every adult member has died, except for Caleb and Joshua. During this period of God’s wrath, the celebration of Passover would certainly have been out of place. Joshua 5:10 records the first Passover celebration after the forty-year desert wandering. It coincides with the crossing of the Jordan River (Josh. 3–4), where, as in the Exodus, a body of water parts to allow the Israelites to pass through to a new beginning.

Deuteronomy 16:1–8 seems to represent a shift in how the Passover is to be celebrated, for the meal is to be observed in “the place the LORD will choose as a dwelling for his Name” (16:2)—that is, in the temple in Jerusalem. The meal has moved from a family observance in homes to a pilgrimage feast that requires all Israelites to come to Jerusalem (see, as examples, 2 Chron. 30:1–31:1, during Hezekiah’s day [715–686 B.C.], and 2 Kings 23:21–23; 2 Chron. 35:1–19, during the time of Josiah [640–609 B.C.]). Second Kings 23:22 observes that the Passover as it was celebrated by Josiah had not taken place “since the days of the judges who led Israel, nor throughout the days of the kings of Israel and the kings of Judah,” a comment indicating the scrupulousness with which Josiah attempted to adhere to the Mosaic regulations of Deuteronomy. The next recorded Passover occurs in Ezra 6:19–22 (516 B.C.), after the return from Babylonian exile and the rebuilding of the temple.

In other words, despite the various twists and turns we find in the Old Testament,21 the Passover celebration is recorded in passages that reflect various stages in Israel’s journey from Egypt, to Canaan, to the Exile, and back to her homeland. Passover and the accompanying Feast of Unleavened Bread remained an abiding feature in Israel’s relationship with the God of the Exodus, a means whereby the people would remember what God had done for them. It was a celebration of Israel’s redemption from Egypt, which they ought not to forget, for their departure constituted the inception of their existence as a nation.

Nor must Israel forget the terrible means by which that redemption was enacted. The sacrifice of the Passover lamb is a constant reminder to Israel that their life came from death. They must also remember that the firstborn of the womb belongs to God. It is his by right and he may do with it as he pleases. The “destroyer” (i.e., the tenth plague) was not a random type of punishment; it was directed against the Egyptian firstborn. This is significant. Not only was the tenth plague a payback for Pharaoh’s decree to kill the Israelite children in chapter 1, but it was God’s exercising his divine right over the firstborn. The Passover is not simply a matter of a lamb replacing the Israelites’ firstborn. It is also God purchasing, so to speak, the redemption of his firstborn son Israel through the death of the Egyptian firstborn, since it was precisely this catastrophe that led Pharaoh to call for Israel’s release.

There is a further dimension of this ritual that warrants discussion. The destroyer’s mission was blind to ethnic distinctions. Had an Israelite family not painted its doorway with the lamb’s blood, the destroyer would have killed the firstborn of that household. It was on the basis of the blood, and only on that basis, that the destroyer made the distinction between Israel and Egypt. In other words, the divine right to the firstborn extended to all Israel (see 22:29–30), but that right should not be understood as some vague sense of ownership. God had the right to express his ownership over Israel by killing their firstborn as well. This, it must be admitted in view of the context of this narrative, is the full understanding of what it means for the firstborn to “belong” to God.

And this is why the consecration of the firstborn (13:1, 11–13) is integrally related to the celebration of Passover. Israel is to be redeemed from Egypt, but that redemption requires blood. Both the death of the Egyptian firstborn and the blood of the lamb on the doorposts symbolize God’s ownership of the firstborn and his provision to protect his own firstborn son, Israel. Hence, the ritual of redeeming every firstborn donkey with a lamb symbolically represents what God did for Israel in the tenth plague: The firstborn belongs to God and must be bought with a price.

The Passover is the concrete manifestation of a pattern of divine conduct reflected elsewhere in Scripture: The redemption of the firstborn son can only come through death.22 The idea of “Passover” is not restricted to explicit references to or celebrations of the meal itself. Rather, the ritual of Passover finds narrative expression at various places in the Old Testament.

The famous story of the binding of Isaac (Gen. 22) illustrates the point. This is an obvious instance of a substitute “sacrifice” being made on behalf of Isaac. Isaac, of course, is the beloved son of Abraham (22:2), and the last-minute intervention of the angel delivers Isaac from death at his own father’s hand. This story, if allowed to speak on its own terms, is alarming and should raise a number of questions in our minds. Note that God commands Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. This is not a false command. Too often we approach this text with the preunderstanding that, since child sacrifice is clearly forbidden elsewhere in Scripture, God cannot possibly mean what he seems to mean. Yet, it is a command, and Abraham proceeds dutifully to carry it out.

When we read this story in light of the Passover (and vice-versa), we begin to understand what may have motivated the God of Israel to behave in this way. The simple fact, once again, is that the firstborn is his by right, a fact stated plainly in Exodus 22:29, “You must give me the firstborn of your sons.” This command refers to both human offspring and animals, as the following verse implies: “Do the same with your cattle and your sheep” (v. 30). This right extends beyond human and animal offspring to include the produce of the land, which is why the ancient Israelites had a Feast of Firstfruits, in which the initial harvest was given to God (Lev. 23:9–14). Everything “firstborn” belongs to God and must be given over to him.

God’s command to Abraham in Genesis 22 is thus well within his pattern of conduct. In this context we see the heinousness of Pharaoh’s decree in Exodus 1 more clearly. By wanting to kill Israel’s male children, Pharaoh is not simply killing God’s people or reducing the number of potential rebels. The children whom Pharaoh has killed include the firstborn of Israel, God’s property, those who will later be shown to be special to God and who belong to him exclusively. By having them thrown into the Nile, Pharaoh is, as we have seen elsewhere, setting himself up as a god-figure. He is doing no less than usurping Yahweh’s right to the firstborn.

The episode of the sacrifice of Isaac makes sense only if there is a real possibility that the command be carried out. Abraham is commended for fearing God (Gen. 22:12), and, as Jon Levenson puts it, “it is Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son that verifies his fear of God.”23 This also helps makes sense of the apparent ease with which Abraham seems to accept the command. This is not to say that it would be easy for him, but that, as far as Abraham is concerned, the thought of God commanding such a thing is perfectly within his right and character. The redemption of Isaac by the ram (22:13), therefore, should be understood as the means by which God exercises his right to have Isaac for his own: by offering a replacement.

God’s right to the firstborn is what gives meaning to both Genesis 22 and the tenth plague: Israel is God’s firstborn, beloved son (Ex. 4:21–23), and he delivers his son from certain death. And he does so not simply by picking the Israelites up and carrying them out of Egypt. The means of their redemption follows a set pattern that culminates in the death of the Egyptian firstborn in the tenth plague, as symbolized by the blood of the lamb.

Another example of this theme concerns the dedication of the Levites to God. According to Numbers 8:5–26, the Levites are to take the place of the firstborn Israelite males (esp. vv. 16–19). True, the passage does not spell out explicitly what it would mean for the Israelite males to be “given” to God and thus in what sense the Levites are taking their place.24 But the reason the Levites take the place of the firstborn sons is the assumption that the firstborn is God’s by right, and in order for God to relinquish that right, a substitute must be provided. In the case of Isaac it is a sacrificial ram. In the case of the Israelite males, it is the Levites who are in charge of the sacrificial system. In the Exodus, God’s beloved firstborn son, Israel as a whole, is redeemed through the death of the firstborn of the Egyptians, an event to be commemorated through all time by the yearly, ritualistic sacrifice of a lamb at Passover.

Such an understanding of Passover helps give some sense to that strangest of passages, Exodus 4:24–26, discussed earlier. It is perhaps no accident that the place where Israel’s status as firstborn son is propounded (4:21–23) is followed by the circumcision at the lodging place in 4:24–26. The general point to be kept in mind is that through the blood of Moses’ son, his circumcision, Moses escapes death. What unites this story and the Passover is that blood is necessary to circumvent a sure death. The story at the lodging place, as noted above, is a preview of sorts of the Passover and release from Egypt. Already here the pattern is hinted at: Without blood, God’s purposes will not go forth. The departure from Egypt will not be without a price; a sacrifice will have to be made.

Passover has remained an important, indeed defining, element in Judaism through the centuries. It is likewise with Christianity. There are clear reflexes of the Passover and the consecration of the firstborn in the New Testament.

(1) The Gospel writers closely associate the Last Supper with the Passover.25 As the Passover was to be a lasting ritualistic representation of God’s deliverance of Israel from bondage, the Last Supper is to be a lasting reminder of God’s final act of deliverance from a bondage more terrible than slavery to a human despot. This last meal with Jesus’ disciples must be seen in light of his death and resurrection, which follow immediately, just as the Exodus followed the Passover meal. There is no lamb at this meal, however, for Christ is the Lamb, something we are told already at the beginning of his earthly ministry (John 1:29). Rather than the typical diet of lamb and bitter herbs, this consummate Passover meal consists of bread and wine, which represent the body and blood of Christ, the new Lamb. Now that the final Passover Lamb has come, a new meal with new elements is in order.

Moreover, this last meal points not only to the imminent sacrifice of the Lamb of God, but to a future meal, an end-time banquet that will celebrate the final victory of the sacrificed and risen Lamb (Mark 14:25). Israel’s redemption, going back to the evening of the tenth plague, begins with a meal and is destined to end so.

(2) The sacrifice of Christ also fulfills the other important element of this theme, the consecration of the beloved firstborn son. Christ is the only Son of his Father. He, like Israel, is the firstborn son in whom the Father’s favor rests (cf. Mark 1:11). But here we note an important twist. In the Old Testament it is the beloved son who is redeemed through a substitution of some sort. But Christ, the firstborn Son, is the means of redemption. It is in Christ that God actually claims fully his right to the firstborn son—he belongs to God. By sacrificing the firstborn Son of God, God’s redemption of Israel is now complete.

The great irony is that the true firstborn Son is not protected as was Israel, but he has become the enemy of God, as was Egypt. In his death, God’s firstborn Son is more like Egypt than Israel in that he bears God’s wrath. But three days later he rises to exaltation to fulfill another purpose, the exaltation of Israel. Through this special Son, God fulfills another purpose, the redemption not of Israel the firstborn, but of Israel the “lateborn” (as Levenson puts it). With Christ’s death and resurrection the true spiritual pedigree of God’s people comes to light. The people of God are not firstborn, but they become firstborn through their union with Christ, the true firstborn Son.

This exaltation theme is true of God’s people even in the Old Testament, as we see already at Israel’s beginning. Jacob is not the firstborn of Isaac. Yet he is exalted in God’s eyes by choice. The nation of Israel is named after the younger brother of Esau (Gen. 32:28), whom God favors and exalts over the older brother. This is not an isolated theme in the Old Testament. The list of “lateborn” sons who are favored by God reads like a “who’s who” of biblical characters: Abel, Isaac, Jacob (Israel), Joseph, David, Gideon, Solomon, to name just a few. Each of these was other than firstborn but was exalted over older siblings for one reason or another.

The death of Christ, the firstborn Son, is what allows God’s people, the lateborn son, to be raised to the primary status of the firstborn son. This is why Christ is referred to as the “firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor. 15:20; cf. also Rom. 8:29, where he is called the “firstborn among many brothers”). The resurrection is the first installment of what is waiting for us. It is by his resurrection that we have become co-heirs with Christ; in other words, we have become, like Christ, firstborn children. Redemption is about election, the election of a people who are not firstborn, who are not of any favored status, and the sacrificial death of the true firstborn Son, through whom these lateborn people are adopted to receive the status of the firstborn. The Passover blessing of Israel has been extended to the world. All those who are in Christ, the Passover Lamb, have become God’s children.

Contemporary Significance

THE POWER OF RITUAL. The most obvious point of application of the Passover is instituted by Christ himself and concerns the church as a whole: the regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper by Christians around the world and through all time. This is not the place to enter into a prolonged discussion of the nature of the Lord’s Supper and the most faithful way to celebrate it. Christians have disagreed for centuries about whether the elements are in some mysterious sense the actual body and blood of Christ, merely represent Christ, or serve simply as reminders of Christ. Also, the frequency of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper continues to be discussed. In the congregation of which I am a member and serve as an elder, the topic has once again come up whether it is most biblical to serve Communion weekly, monthly, or quarterly. Indeed, if the Passover model is to be followed woodenly, an argument could be made for yearly communion (!), but this does not do justice to the New Testament’s transformation of the ritual.

The church’s redemption from her “slavery” is a weekly one. Every Sunday we remember the death and resurrection of Christ, our Passover Lamb, so it would seem appropriate to commemorate this redemptive reality by joining it to the appropriate ritual, the Lord’s Supper. Jesus, unfortunately, did not make explicit how often we are to “do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19), so it is certainly the wisest course of action not to be dogmatic here.

The broader, more basic aspect should be kept in the foreground. As we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are celebrating our redemption through Christ and the glory that awaits us. But we should also remember that the Lord’s Supper is itself a fulfillment of that Israelite meal at an earlier stage of God’s redemptive work. By partaking in Communion, we are participating in the effects of God’s redemptive work that he began to execute in Israel’s day and that came to completion on Easter Sunday. It seems, then, that we, like the Israelites, in celebrating the Lord’s Supper, are not merely remembering what God has done. By partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we are, in some mysterious sense, participating in his death and resurrection.

Like successive generations of Jews called to think of themselves as participating in the Exodus, so, too, does the church participate in the work of Christ by virtue of her union with him. This, of course, is a theological participation, but that does not make it an abstract one. The reality of the church’s new, resurrected life in Christ is so powerful, so real, that that fact can only be fittingly branded onto our hearts through an outward act, a symbol, in which we physically participate. The Lord’s Supper is not merely a symbol of our union with the resurrected Christ, something that is nice to do but is really a “less real” representation of some other reality. It is a ritual founded by Christ, in which we as believers bear witness to ourselves and the world that we are one.

However individual congregations and denominations work out the particulars, the Lord’s Supper is serious business. This is why it is good practice to remind us of what we are doing and for whom the meal is intended. It is not something to be taken lightly by those who are in Christ, nor should it be taken at all by those who do not know him. It is a redemptive meal. I must confess wholeheartedly that I need to be reminded of what the Lord’s Supper is and why we partake. We do so not simply because Christ commanded it and we have to do it. It goes deeper. We must understand why Christ commanded it. It is something that in principle God’s people have been doing since that great redemptive act in the Old Testament, the Exodus, and it receives its fuller significance in Christ. Communion is the symbolic representation of the fact that we, in Christ, stand at the highest mountain peak of God’s redemptive plan.

Some have argued that the clear debt the Lord’s Supper owes to the Passover suggests that this is fruitful common ground for discussing Jewish-Christian relations. I know people on both sides of the equation who are working to understand better the religion of the other. It is, I can say from my own experience (much of my graduate work was under the direction of Jewish scholars), an emotional, complicated, and even unsettling discussion. I do not want to complicate the issue further by making a few reductionistic statements here. Still, I would want to argue that, however much the Lord’s Supper and Passover have obvious theological overlap, they cannot be considered so “common” that their distinctives become blurred. For one thing, to suggest that the Lord’s Supper can be seen as a point of contact between Christianity and Judaism, since the former arose out of the latter is like arguing that the Jewish Passover should be a point of contact with Canaanite religion, its own likely source (see discussion above).26

Nevertheless, it is vital to a proper understanding of the Lord’s Supper to see it as a transformation of the Passover more than simply as a Christian reflection of Passover. Judaism and Christianity are, after all, two different religions despite their common heritage. Nothing is gained and everything is lost if we obliterate those aspects of the Lord’s Supper that make it distinctly Christian—that is, those things that it does not and cannot share with Judaism, namely, a celebration of redemption not only through the God who sent plagues to Egypt, but also through the God who raised Christ from the dead. Although the Lord’s Supper is not distinctly Christian in terms of its origins, it is quintessentially Christian in terms of its meaning.

Perhaps the greatest source of commonality between Passover and the Lord’s Supper lies in their future orientation: Neither meal is merely for the historical moment in which it was first instituted. These rituals are to be observed for successive generations. Although this is not a constant refrain in the Lord’s Supper (the narrative is much briefer than with Passover), Jesus’ command that the meal be done in remembrance of him (Luke 22:19) suggests as much. Moreover, the eschatological references in Luke 22:16 and 18 (which refer to the coming of the kingdom of God) imply a continued observance until such time (see also 1 Cor. 11:17–34).

One thing we can learn from this is the importance the Bible places on ritual. The Old Testament repeatedly refers to teaching Israelite children who God is and what he has done.27 This teaching occurs in the context of ritual, whether it concerns the keeping of the law or the regular observance of Passover. Ritual breeds familiarity. It seeps into one’s subconscious and, however subtly, begins to exert a formative influence.

I am reminded here of a graduate school experience that has made a lasting impression on me. I was amazed to see that my Jewish professors had the Pentateuch memorized completely in Hebrew, as well as large portions of the rest of the Old Testament. When asked about a particular passage, one of my professors would pause momentarily, look up at the ceiling, and then recite the passage from memory. I finally asked him how he could memorize so much of the Hebrew Bible. The reason was that from his childhood he had chanted (sung) the Torah in the synagogue. His pause after being asked a question was to chant the passage to himself before he repeated it to the class in prose form! Memorization through chant is not something that happens by means of a mnemonic trick or an interactive Bible CD for your PC to make it “easy.” It is gained only through repetition, particularly during one’s formative years.

The influence of the familiar on our lives is something that advertisers never forget. The point of advertising is to capitalize on real needs or to create needs and then to provide a product to fill that need. This symbiotic relationship between the perception of need and the perception that that need is filled by purchasing a particular product does not happen by chance. Advertisers work hard at finding out why we spend our money the way we do. The seemingly endless repetition of the same commercials is designed not simply to present a product for our consideration. Rather, they are attempting to do nothing less than create a world in which their product holds an important, if not central, place. I am certain that most conservative Christians in America would have an easier time recalling ten commercial jingles by heart, perhaps ones they have not heard for twenty or thirty years, than ten psalms (or five, or three, or one).

Repetition and familiarity work. What is repeated becomes familiar, and this becomes a part of us. Our own culture understands this, but alas, not always the church. Far too many equate ritual with spiritual dryness.28 True, ritual and liturgy can be dead—even using the terms can raise hackles—but only when the significance and power of those rituals are forgotten. Spiritual death is not a property of ritual itself. To the contrary, ritual has always been and will always be a means of securing for future generations the power and reality of the gospel.

The one ritual that is clearly instituted in the New Testament, and which follows closely upon its rich Old Testament counterpart, is the Lord’s Supper. It is a powerful ritual. When we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are to think of ourselves as “participating” in Christ. We are to understand ourselves as “being there”—not physically, nor even in our imaginations, but in the most powerful way, theologically. Again, this is not “theology” understood as an abstract, academic concept, a subject in school. It is the means by which we are connected to Christ through the centuries as a person who once instituted the meal with his small group of followers. So too, whenever we celebrate the same meal, we are part of the group.

Ritual is important because it affects us on a level deeper than other things can. We do not always appreciate this in our world today (although, again, advertisers do). In our secular world, despite deft use of its own kind of “rituals,” religious symbols and rituals are seen as poor substitutes for ultimate reality, a relic of a bygone, prescientific age, a crutch for those who cannot come to terms with the notion that “what’s real is what you see.” Sadly, this is not only something we see in the secular world, but in the church as well. Perhaps it is the stress on personal salvation and one’s own personal experience of Christ that must be initiated without the mediation of rituals of the past. But the Lord’s Supper teaches the exact opposite: Rituals are good, and they are instituted and used by God to “connect” his people with him. We learn through ritual that the church is not just made up of individuals, but is a corporate body. It is not just about personal salvation, but a group of people, the people of God, who are bound to one another and to the faithful through the generations.

One must be careful not to extend the principle of ritual haphazardly beyond this specific example of the New Testament, but one point comes to mind that seems appropriate. In my church, as in many today, we have had some sensitive discussions concerning worship style, particularly the type of music to use in the worship service. As everyone with experience in this subject knows, the matter is complex and requires great patience and love on the part of all involved. The two general poles of the debate can be justly summarized: (1) Traditional worship and older hymns are tried and true and therefore more conducive to worship; (2) contemporary worship and newer songs are more conducive to worship because they connect better to the people where they are.

I admit there are nuances of opinion between these poles. But both extremes should be avoided. Those who espouse the former view have forgotten that something is not good simply because it has been done for a long time.29 If its meaning has been forgotten, it is transformed quickly from ritual, which is something good, into dead ritual. Likewise, we do not celebrate the Lord’s Supper simply because it is something that Christians do. There is a deeper purpose behind the act, and understanding that purpose allows us to connect with the ritual itself.

Those who hold to the other opinion, however, are more prevalent in this discussion. Many of this group are younger believers who have had secular upbringings, and, consequently, have not been taught an appreciation of the past. Others may have been brought up in Christian homes, but where tradition was equated with dead ritualism. Hence, any talk of the importance of tradition falls on rocky soil or connotes “dryness.” They have never seen the vitality that can come from a proper respect for tradition, one that does not adhere slavishly to the things of the past, but respects that God’s Spirit has been speaking to his people in all generations. Perhaps the former group should learn the same lesson, that since God does have every generation of believers close to his heart, new is not necessarily bad.

Ritual is vital for the life of the church, and the regular, thoughtful celebration of the Lord’s Supper is the most concrete reminder of that fact. The principle Christ enacted in the Lord’s Supper should be cautiously applied to the life of the church in other areas, while allowing fully for differences of opinion in how that principle should be applied. But whatever is done, the church should have in its view successive generations of believers. We must think ahead, as we are taught to do in the Passover and Lord’s Supper. The purpose of ritual is not simply to maintain tradition for its own sake, but, like the Lord’s Supper, to drive home in our hearts the experience of being united with the risen Christ. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, which is reflected in the differing traditions among the various Christian denominations.

Catechism, for instance, was important in my own upbringing. It impressed on me that I am part of a line of believers that extends back for centuries and even millennia. We memorized, among other things, the Nicene and Apostles’ Creeds, those great confessions of faith that have withstood the test of time and are recited every Sunday throughout the world. Of course, nothing can lend itself more quickly to dead ritualism than the rote droning of a congregation’s recitation of “God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God,” but this is not the necessary outcome of maintaining rituals.

When we turn to the topic of the application of Passover, attention must be given to 1 Corinthians 5:7–8, for it is here that Paul himself hints, albeit briefly, at this very matter:

Get rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth.

The context of this passage concerns the expulsion of an immoral Christian from the church in Corinth. The influence of one such person on the others is like yeast that works through and leavens the entire batch of dough (the rest of the church). The basis for expelling the immoral brother is the fact that Christ, the Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed. In keeping with the regulations in Exodus 12, the Feast of Unleavened Bread follows immediately upon the Passover meal. The analogy Paul is making is that the sacrifice of Christ is in the past, and the church now is in the process of celebrating the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which, to complete Paul’s analogy, should be characterized by moral purity (no yeast).

Yet this is no simple moralism on Paul’s part. He is not telling them to give it their best try to live right. If that were the case, he would be using a strange passage to support such a notion! Rather, the basis for their morality is twofold: Christ’s death has atoned for their sin and, perhaps more important, in Christ, the people are already a new batch without yeast. They are to act like what they are, which is not the result of their own efforts but the result of Christ’s efforts.

I do not think Paul’s (nearly allegorical?) use of the Passover exhausts all the theological significance of the Passover or the Lord’s Supper, nor is it entirely clear why to make this particular moral point he employs the Passover in support. The general point, however, is clear: What Christ has done on the cross, which the Gospel writers tie overtly to Passover, should influence how we live. This, like so many of Paul’s arguments, is not crystal clear in its details, but the main thrust rings true.

As we celebrate the Feast of Unleavened Bread every day, in the wake of the sacrifice of the Passover Lamb, we must be ever vigilant to maintain the high standard of conduct to which we, as co-heirs with Christ, are called. In the same way as the Israelites were faithful to carry on their backs batches of dough without yeast as they left Egypt, we are to be mindful of the haste with which we have left the Egypt of sin and death and remain obedient to the God who gave his beloved firstborn Son to be our Passover Lamb.

Original Meaning

Additional Regulations (12:43–13:16)

IN 12:43–49 WE are given additional Passover regulations. Here again the narrative of the departure is interwoven with liturgical stipulations. The regulations concerning foreigners seem to reflect the fact that non-Israelites left Egypt along with the Israelites (see 12:38: “Many other people went up with them”).18 The Hebrew word translated “other people” is ʿereb, which likely indicates an ethnic mixture of peoples. Non-Israelites are not excluded from the meal simply on the basis of their ethnicity. They must, however, put themselves under the sign of the covenant (i.e., circumcision) in order to participate.

We have here an attractive mixture of exclusivism and, ultimately, universalism. This is another hint that God’s purpose for bringing the Israelites out of Egypt is for a broader purpose. Although God has throughout made a distinction between the Israelites and the Egyptians, those who are willing may nevertheless partake of this holy celebration, thus forming a “mixed crowd” (12:38, NRSV). The appeal to circumcision also emphasizes that, although the meal is to be celebrated inside the home, it is more properly considered a community affair. This is not private worship. It is a community of believers bound by circumcision to their covenant God.

The regulations concerning foreigners clearly pertain to the Israelites only after they have left Egypt. Like so much of this chapter, these regulations are future-oriented. For example, mention of foreign slaves, temporary residents, and hired workers is not applicable to the Israelites while they are slaves themselves. In light of this, 12:50–51 does not seem to refer to Israel’s obedience regarding the regulations that are given immediately before. Rather, this statement seems intended as an object lesson for future generations, for whom the foregoing regulations are actually relevant. Future generations, looking back at the forebears’ obedience, are expected to follow suit, a factor that may suggest a point in time in which this narrative was written down in its final form.19

After the reiteration and expansion of the Passover regulations in 12:43–49, 13:1–16 reiterates and expands on the regulations concerning the Feast of Unleavened Bread (vv. 3–10) and the future consecration of the firstborn (vv. 11–16). However redundant such repetition may seem to us, these regulations form the heart of the Exodus story. This section specifies that the new first month is the month of Abib (12:2), corresponding to our late March and early April. Verse 5 articulates what has been hinted at earlier, that these more detailed regulations are for future generations: “When the LORD brings you into the land of the Canaanites . . . you are to observe this ceremony in this month.” They do not enter the land for another forty years, and when they do, only Joshua and Caleb are left from those who witnessed the Exodus.

The Feast of Unleavened Bread is to be scrupulously observed, and its meaning is to be impressed on the children from generation to generation. The ceremony will be “like a sign on your hand and a reminder on your forehead” (v. 9). It will be a mark, for all to see, of who they are. This statement gave rise to the use of phylacteries (see Matt. 23:5), which are still used by observant Jews today.20 They are always to remember who they are—or better, whose they are. Israel’s identity is a function of what God has done for them.

Likewise, after they enter the land, they must be careful to consecrate to God the firstborn of every womb in Israel, whether human or animal, a point made plain later in 22:29–30. We should understand this ritual in light of the tenth plague itself: Israel as God’s son (see 4:22) was redeemed (delivered from Egypt) by the death of Egypt’s firstborn sons. There is also a parallel between the tenth plague and the mention of the donkey in 13:13. Rather than being sacrificed itself, a donkey is to be redeemed (replaced) with the sacrifice of a lamb, just as Israel was redeemed (replaced) with the blood of a lamb. In fact, the parallel can be taken a step further. We may think of the Egyptian firstborn as “redeeming” (replacing) the Israelites (for more on this, see the Bridging Contexts section).

The point is that the firstborn of every womb belongs to God, but in the case of the Israelites he will not claim his right fully; a substitute will take their place. These ceremonies are to be observed through all generations as a reminder, in this case a graphic reminder, of the lengths God will go to save his children—his firstborn son, Israel. We see, then, a hint of what becomes clearer almost fifteen hundred years later on a cross near Jerusalem: Life comes from death, or better, life can only come from death. The tenth plague was not a divine temper tantrum where God flexes his muscles before the Egyptians and really lets them have it. It is the necessary implementation of a redemptive pattern, one that requires death as a means to fuller life. The consecration of the firstborn, therefore, is a reminder of the once-for-all substitutionary death of the beloved firstborn son who is to come.

Bridging Contexts

GOD’S RIGHT TO THE FIRSTBORN. The tenth plague and the ensuing departure from Egypt are to be seared into the Israelites’ memories for “generations to come” (12:14). The purpose of the Passover and Feast of Unleavened Bread is not a one-time celebration but a provision for the future. This future orientation can be seen by the fact that Passover and the Feast are recorded in subsequent Old Testament passages. In Numbers 9:1–5, the Israelites celebrated the Passover in the Sinai desert one year after the Exodus, thus fulfilling the commands outlined in Exodus 12 to observe the ritual on a yearly basis. The Passover regulations are reiterated in Leviticus 23:4–8; Numbers 28:16–25; and Deuteronomy 16:1–8, but there is no other record of any celebration of the meal until the entrance into the Promised Land, about forty years later.

The rebellion of the Israelites in the desert (Num. 14) prompts Yahweh to make that generation wander through the desert until every adult member has died, except for Caleb and Joshua. During this period of God’s wrath, the celebration of Passover would certainly have been out of place. Joshua 5:10 records the first Passover celebration after the forty-year desert wandering. It coincides with the crossing of the Jordan River (Josh. 3–4), where, as in the Exodus, a body of water parts to allow the Israelites to pass through to a new beginning.

Deuteronomy 16:1–8 seems to represent a shift in how the Passover is to be celebrated, for the meal is to be observed in “the place the LORD will choose as a dwelling for his Name” (16:2)—that is, in the temple in Jerusalem. The meal has moved from a family observance in homes to a pilgrimage feast that requires all Israelites to come to Jerusalem (see, as examples, 2 Chron. 30:1–31:1, during Hezekiah’s day [715–686 B.C.], and 2 Kings 23:21–23; 2 Chron. 35:1–19, during the time of Josiah [640–609 B.C.]). Second Kings 23:22 observes that the Passover as it was celebrated by Josiah had not taken place “since the days of the judges who led Israel, nor throughout the days of the kings of Israel and the kings of Judah,” a comment indicating the scrupulousness with which Josiah attempted to adhere to the Mosaic regulations of Deuteronomy. The next recorded Passover occurs in Ezra 6:19–22 (516 B.C.), after the return from Babylonian exile and the rebuilding of the temple.

In other words, despite the various twists and turns we find in the Old Testament,21 the Passover celebration is recorded in passages that reflect various stages in Israel’s journey from Egypt, to Canaan, to the Exile, and back to her homeland. Passover and the accompanying Feast of Unleavened Bread remained an abiding feature in Israel’s relationship with the God of the Exodus, a means whereby the people would remember what God had done for them. It was a celebration of Israel’s redemption from Egypt, which they ought not to forget, for their departure constituted the inception of their existence as a nation.

Nor must Israel forget the terrible means by which that redemption was enacted. The sacrifice of the Passover lamb is a constant reminder to Israel that their life came from death. They must also remember that the firstborn of the womb belongs to God. It is his by right and he may do with it as he pleases. The “destroyer” (i.e., the tenth plague) was not a random type of punishment; it was directed against the Egyptian firstborn. This is significant. Not only was the tenth plague a payback for Pharaoh’s decree to kill the Israelite children in chapter 1, but it was God’s exercising his divine right over the firstborn. The Passover is not simply a matter of a lamb replacing the Israelites’ firstborn. It is also God purchasing, so to speak, the redemption of his firstborn son Israel through the death of the Egyptian firstborn, since it was precisely this catastrophe that led Pharaoh to call for Israel’s release.

There is a further dimension of this ritual that warrants discussion. The destroyer’s mission was blind to ethnic distinctions. Had an Israelite family not painted its doorway with the lamb’s blood, the destroyer would have killed the firstborn of that household. It was on the basis of the blood, and only on that basis, that the destroyer made the distinction between Israel and Egypt. In other words, the divine right to the firstborn extended to all Israel (see 22:29–30), but that right should not be understood as some vague sense of ownership. God had the right to express his ownership over Israel by killing their firstborn as well. This, it must be admitted in view of the context of this narrative, is the full understanding of what it means for the firstborn to “belong” to God.

And this is why the consecration of the firstborn (13:1, 11–13) is integrally related to the celebration of Passover. Israel is to be redeemed from Egypt, but that redemption requires blood. Both the death of the Egyptian firstborn and the blood of the lamb on the doorposts symbolize God’s ownership of the firstborn and his provision to protect his own firstborn son, Israel. Hence, the ritual of redeeming every firstborn donkey with a lamb symbolically represents what God did for Israel in the tenth plague: The firstborn belongs to God and must be bought with a price.

The Passover is the concrete manifestation of a pattern of divine conduct reflected elsewhere in Scripture: The redemption of the firstborn son can only come through death.22 The idea of “Passover” is not restricted to explicit references to or celebrations of the meal itself. Rather, the ritual of Passover finds narrative expression at various places in the Old Testament.

The famous story of the binding of Isaac (Gen. 22) illustrates the point. This is an obvious instance of a substitute “sacrifice” being made on behalf of Isaac. Isaac, of course, is the beloved son of Abraham (22:2), and the last-minute intervention of the angel delivers Isaac from death at his own father’s hand. This story, if allowed to speak on its own terms, is alarming and should raise a number of questions in our minds. Note that God commands Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. This is not a false command. Too often we approach this text with the preunderstanding that, since child sacrifice is clearly forbidden elsewhere in Scripture, God cannot possibly mean what he seems to mean. Yet, it is a command, and Abraham proceeds dutifully to carry it out.

When we read this story in light of the Passover (and vice-versa), we begin to understand what may have motivated the God of Israel to behave in this way. The simple fact, once again, is that the firstborn is his by right, a fact stated plainly in Exodus 22:29, “You must give me the firstborn of your sons.” This command refers to both human offspring and animals, as the following verse implies: “Do the same with your cattle and your sheep” (v. 30). This right extends beyond human and animal offspring to include the produce of the land, which is why the ancient Israelites had a Feast of Firstfruits, in which the initial harvest was given to God (Lev. 23:9–14). Everything “firstborn” belongs to God and must be given over to him.

God’s command to Abraham in Genesis 22 is thus well within his pattern of conduct. In this context we see the heinousness of Pharaoh’s decree in Exodus 1 more clearly. By wanting to kill Israel’s male children, Pharaoh is not simply killing God’s people or reducing the number of potential rebels. The children whom Pharaoh has killed include the firstborn of Israel, God’s property, those who will later be shown to be special to God and who belong to him exclusively. By having them thrown into the Nile, Pharaoh is, as we have seen elsewhere, setting himself up as a god-figure. He is doing no less than usurping Yahweh’s right to the firstborn.

The episode of the sacrifice of Isaac makes sense only if there is a real possibility that the command be carried out. Abraham is commended for fearing God (Gen. 22:12), and, as Jon Levenson puts it, “it is Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son that verifies his fear of God.”23 This also helps makes sense of the apparent ease with which Abraham seems to accept the command. This is not to say that it would be easy for him, but that, as far as Abraham is concerned, the thought of God commanding such a thing is perfectly within his right and character. The redemption of Isaac by the ram (22:13), therefore, should be understood as the means by which God exercises his right to have Isaac for his own: by offering a replacement.

God’s right to the firstborn is what gives meaning to both Genesis 22 and the tenth plague: Israel is God’s firstborn, beloved son (Ex. 4:21–23), and he delivers his son from certain death. And he does so not simply by picking the Israelites up and carrying them out of Egypt. The means of their redemption follows a set pattern that culminates in the death of the Egyptian firstborn in the tenth plague, as symbolized by the blood of the lamb.

Another example of this theme concerns the dedication of the Levites to God. According to Numbers 8:5–26, the Levites are to take the place of the firstborn Israelite males (esp. vv. 16–19). True, the passage does not spell out explicitly what it would mean for the Israelite males to be “given” to God and thus in what sense the Levites are taking their place.24 But the reason the Levites take the place of the firstborn sons is the assumption that the firstborn is God’s by right, and in order for God to relinquish that right, a substitute must be provided. In the case of Isaac it is a sacrificial ram. In the case of the Israelite males, it is the Levites who are in charge of the sacrificial system. In the Exodus, God’s beloved firstborn son, Israel as a whole, is redeemed through the death of the firstborn of the Egyptians, an event to be commemorated through all time by the yearly, ritualistic sacrifice of a lamb at Passover.

Such an understanding of Passover helps give some sense to that strangest of passages, Exodus 4:24–26, discussed earlier. It is perhaps no accident that the place where Israel’s status as firstborn son is propounded (4:21–23) is followed by the circumcision at the lodging place in 4:24–26. The general point to be kept in mind is that through the blood of Moses’ son, his circumcision, Moses escapes death. What unites this story and the Passover is that blood is necessary to circumvent a sure death. The story at the lodging place, as noted above, is a preview of sorts of the Passover and release from Egypt. Already here the pattern is hinted at: Without blood, God’s purposes will not go forth. The departure from Egypt will not be without a price; a sacrifice will have to be made.

Passover has remained an important, indeed defining, element in Judaism through the centuries. It is likewise with Christianity. There are clear reflexes of the Passover and the consecration of the firstborn in the New Testament.

(1) The Gospel writers closely associate the Last Supper with the Passover.25 As the Passover was to be a lasting ritualistic representation of God’s deliverance of Israel from bondage, the Last Supper is to be a lasting reminder of God’s final act of deliverance from a bondage more terrible than slavery to a human despot. This last meal with Jesus’ disciples must be seen in light of his death and resurrection, which follow immediately, just as the Exodus followed the Passover meal. There is no lamb at this meal, however, for Christ is the Lamb, something we are told already at the beginning of his earthly ministry (John 1:29). Rather than the typical diet of lamb and bitter herbs, this consummate Passover meal consists of bread and wine, which represent the body and blood of Christ, the new Lamb. Now that the final Passover Lamb has come, a new meal with new elements is in order.

Moreover, this last meal points not only to the imminent sacrifice of the Lamb of God, but to a future meal, an end-time banquet that will celebrate the final victory of the sacrificed and risen Lamb (Mark 14:25). Israel’s redemption, going back to the evening of the tenth plague, begins with a meal and is destined to end so.

(2) The sacrifice of Christ also fulfills the other important element of this theme, the consecration of the beloved firstborn son. Christ is the only Son of his Father. He, like Israel, is the firstborn son in whom the Father’s favor rests (cf. Mark 1:11). But here we note an important twist. In the Old Testament it is the beloved son who is redeemed through a substitution of some sort. But Christ, the firstborn Son, is the means of redemption. It is in Christ that God actually claims fully his right to the firstborn son—he belongs to God. By sacrificing the firstborn Son of God, God’s redemption of Israel is now complete.

The great irony is that the true firstborn Son is not protected as was Israel, but he has become the enemy of God, as was Egypt. In his death, God’s firstborn Son is more like Egypt than Israel in that he bears God’s wrath. But three days later he rises to exaltation to fulfill another purpose, the exaltation of Israel. Through this special Son, God fulfills another purpose, the redemption not of Israel the firstborn, but of Israel the “lateborn” (as Levenson puts it). With Christ’s death and resurrection the true spiritual pedigree of God’s people comes to light. The people of God are not firstborn, but they become firstborn through their union with Christ, the true firstborn Son.

This exaltation theme is true of God’s people even in the Old Testament, as we see already at Israel’s beginning. Jacob is not the firstborn of Isaac. Yet he is exalted in God’s eyes by choice. The nation of Israel is named after the younger brother of Esau (Gen. 32:28), whom God favors and exalts over the older brother. This is not an isolated theme in the Old Testament. The list of “lateborn” sons who are favored by God reads like a “who’s who” of biblical characters: Abel, Isaac, Jacob (Israel), Joseph, David, Gideon, Solomon, to name just a few. Each of these was other than firstborn but was exalted over older siblings for one reason or another.

The death of Christ, the firstborn Son, is what allows God’s people, the lateborn son, to be raised to the primary status of the firstborn son. This is why Christ is referred to as the “firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor. 15:20; cf. also Rom. 8:29, where he is called the “firstborn among many brothers”). The resurrection is the first installment of what is waiting for us. It is by his resurrection that we have become co-heirs with Christ; in other words, we have become, like Christ, firstborn children. Redemption is about election, the election of a people who are not firstborn, who are not of any favored status, and the sacrificial death of the true firstborn Son, through whom these lateborn people are adopted to receive the status of the firstborn. The Passover blessing of Israel has been extended to the world. All those who are in Christ, the Passover Lamb, have become God’s children.

Contemporary Significance

THE POWER OF RITUAL. The most obvious point of application of the Passover is instituted by Christ himself and concerns the church as a whole: the regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper by Christians around the world and through all time. This is not the place to enter into a prolonged discussion of the nature of the Lord’s Supper and the most faithful way to celebrate it. Christians have disagreed for centuries about whether the elements are in some mysterious sense the actual body and blood of Christ, merely represent Christ, or serve simply as reminders of Christ. Also, the frequency of the celebration of the Lord’s Supper continues to be discussed. In the congregation of which I am a member and serve as an elder, the topic has once again come up whether it is most biblical to serve Communion weekly, monthly, or quarterly. Indeed, if the Passover model is to be followed woodenly, an argument could be made for yearly communion (!), but this does not do justice to the New Testament’s transformation of the ritual.

The church’s redemption from her “slavery” is a weekly one. Every Sunday we remember the death and resurrection of Christ, our Passover Lamb, so it would seem appropriate to commemorate this redemptive reality by joining it to the appropriate ritual, the Lord’s Supper. Jesus, unfortunately, did not make explicit how often we are to “do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19), so it is certainly the wisest course of action not to be dogmatic here.

The broader, more basic aspect should be kept in the foreground. As we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are celebrating our redemption through Christ and the glory that awaits us. But we should also remember that the Lord’s Supper is itself a fulfillment of that Israelite meal at an earlier stage of God’s redemptive work. By partaking in Communion, we are participating in the effects of God’s redemptive work that he began to execute in Israel’s day and that came to completion on Easter Sunday. It seems, then, that we, like the Israelites, in celebrating the Lord’s Supper, are not merely remembering what God has done. By partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we are, in some mysterious sense, participating in his death and resurrection.

Like successive generations of Jews called to think of themselves as participating in the Exodus, so, too, does the church participate in the work of Christ by virtue of her union with him. This, of course, is a theological participation, but that does not make it an abstract one. The reality of the church’s new, resurrected life in Christ is so powerful, so real, that that fact can only be fittingly branded onto our hearts through an outward act, a symbol, in which we physically participate. The Lord’s Supper is not merely a symbol of our union with the resurrected Christ, something that is nice to do but is really a “less real” representation of some other reality. It is a ritual founded by Christ, in which we as believers bear witness to ourselves and the world that we are one.

However individual congregations and denominations work out the particulars, the Lord’s Supper is serious business. This is why it is good practice to remind us of what we are doing and for whom the meal is intended. It is not something to be taken lightly by those who are in Christ, nor should it be taken at all by those who do not know him. It is a redemptive meal. I must confess wholeheartedly that I need to be reminded of what the Lord’s Supper is and why we partake. We do so not simply because Christ commanded it and we have to do it. It goes deeper. We must understand why Christ commanded it. It is something that in principle God’s people have been doing since that great redemptive act in the Old Testament, the Exodus, and it receives its fuller significance in Christ. Communion is the symbolic representation of the fact that we, in Christ, stand at the highest mountain peak of God’s redemptive plan.

Some have argued that the clear debt the Lord’s Supper owes to the Passover suggests that this is fruitful common ground for discussing Jewish-Christian relations. I know people on both sides of the equation who are working to understand better the religion of the other. It is, I can say from my own experience (much of my graduate work was under the direction of Jewish scholars), an emotional, complicated, and even unsettling discussion. I do not want to complicate the issue further by making a few reductionistic statements here. Still, I would want to argue that, however much the Lord’s Supper and Passover have obvious theological overlap, they cannot be considered so “common” that their distinctives become blurred. For one thing, to suggest that the Lord’s Supper can be seen as a point of contact between Christianity and Judaism, since the former arose out of the latter is like arguing that the Jewish Passover should be a point of contact with Canaanite religion, its own likely source (see discussion above).26

Nevertheless, it is vital to a proper understanding of the Lord’s Supper to see it as a transformation of the Passover more than simply as a Christian reflection of Passover. Judaism and Christianity are, after all, two different religions despite their common heritage. Nothing is gained and everything is lost if we obliterate those aspects of the Lord’s Supper that make it distinctly Christian—that is, those things that it does not and cannot share with Judaism, namely, a celebration of redemption not only through the God who sent plagues to Egypt, but also through the God who raised Christ from the dead. Although the Lord’s Supper is not distinctly Christian in terms of its origins, it is quintessentially Christian in terms of its meaning.

Perhaps the greatest source of commonality between Passover and the Lord’s Supper lies in their future orientation: Neither meal is merely for the historical moment in which it was first instituted. These rituals are to be observed for successive generations. Although this is not a constant refrain in the Lord’s Supper (the narrative is much briefer than with Passover), Jesus’ command that the meal be done in remembrance of him (Luke 22:19) suggests as much. Moreover, the eschatological references in Luke 22:16 and 18 (which refer to the coming of the kingdom of God) imply a continued observance until such time (see also 1 Cor. 11:17–34).

One thing we can learn from this is the importance the Bible places on ritual. The Old Testament repeatedly refers to teaching Israelite children who God is and what he has done.27 This teaching occurs in the context of ritual, whether it concerns the keeping of the law or the regular observance of Passover. Ritual breeds familiarity. It seeps into one’s subconscious and, however subtly, begins to exert a formative influence.

I am reminded here of a graduate school experience that has made a lasting impression on me. I was amazed to see that my Jewish professors had the Pentateuch memorized completely in Hebrew, as well as large portions of the rest of the Old Testament. When asked about a particular passage, one of my professors would pause momentarily, look up at the ceiling, and then recite the passage from memory. I finally asked him how he could memorize so much of the Hebrew Bible. The reason was that from his childhood he had chanted (sung) the Torah in the synagogue. His pause after being asked a question was to chant the passage to himself before he repeated it to the class in prose form! Memorization through chant is not something that happens by means of a mnemonic trick or an interactive Bible CD for your PC to make it “easy.” It is gained only through repetition, particularly during one’s formative years.

The influence of the familiar on our lives is something that advertisers never forget. The point of advertising is to capitalize on real needs or to create needs and then to provide a product to fill that need. This symbiotic relationship between the perception of need and the perception that that need is filled by purchasing a particular product does not happen by chance. Advertisers work hard at finding out why we spend our money the way we do. The seemingly endless repetition of the same commercials is designed not simply to present a product for our consideration. Rather, they are attempting to do nothing less than create a world in which their product holds an important, if not central, place. I am certain that most conservative Christians in America would have an easier time recalling ten commercial jingles by heart, perhaps ones they have not heard for twenty or thirty years, than ten psalms (or five, or three, or one).

Repetition and familiarity work. What is repeated becomes familiar, and this becomes a part of us. Our own culture understands this, but alas, not always the church. Far too many equate ritual with spiritual dryness.28 True, ritual and liturgy can be dead—even using the terms can raise hackles—but only when the significance and power of those rituals are forgotten. Spiritual death is not a property of ritual itself. To the contrary, ritual has always been and will always be a means of securing for future generations the power and reality of the gospel.

The one ritual that is clearly instituted in the New Testament, and which follows closely upon its rich Old Testament counterpart, is the Lord’s Supper. It is a powerful ritual. When we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, we are to think of ourselves as “participating” in Christ. We are to understand ourselves as “being there”—not physically, nor even in our imaginations, but in the most powerful way, theologically. Again, this is not “theology” understood as an abstract, academic concept, a subject in school. It is the means by which we are connected to Christ through the centuries as a person who once instituted the meal with his small group of followers. So too, whenever we celebrate the same meal, we are part of the group.

Ritual is important because it affects us on a level deeper than other things can. We do not always appreciate this in our world today (although, again, advertisers do). In our secular world, despite deft use of its own kind of “rituals,” religious symbols and rituals are seen as poor substitutes for ultimate reality, a relic of a bygone, prescientific age, a crutch for those who cannot come to terms with the notion that “what’s real is what you see.” Sadly, this is not only something we see in the secular world, but in the church as well. Perhaps it is the stress on personal salvation and one’s own personal experience of Christ that must be initiated without the mediation of rituals of the past. But the Lord’s Supper teaches the exact opposite: Rituals are good, and they are instituted and used by God to “connect” his people with him. We learn through ritual that the church is not just made up of individuals, but is a corporate body. It is not just about personal salvation, but a group of people, the people of God, who are bound to one another and to the faithful through the generations.

One must be careful not to extend the principle of ritual haphazardly beyond this specific example of the New Testament, but one point comes to mind that seems appropriate. In my church, as in many today, we have had some sensitive discussions concerning worship style, particularly the type of music to use in the worship service. As everyone with experience in this subject knows, the matter is complex and requires great patience and love on the part of all involved. The two general poles of the debate can be justly summarized: (1) Traditional worship and older hymns are tried and true and therefore more conducive to worship; (2) contemporary worship and newer songs are more conducive to worship because they connect better to the people where they are.

I admit there are nuances of opinion between these poles. But both extremes should be avoided. Those who espouse the former view have forgotten that something is not good simply because it has been done for a long time.29 If its meaning has been forgotten, it is transformed quickly from ritual, which is something good, into dead ritual. Likewise, we do not celebrate the Lord’s Supper simply because it is something that Christians do. There is a deeper purpose behind the act, and understanding that purpose allows us to connect with the ritual itself.

Those who hold to the other opinion, however, are more prevalent in this discussion. Many of this group are younger believers who have had secular upbringings, and, consequently, have not been taught an appreciation of the past. Others may have been brought up in Christian homes, but where tradition was equated with dead ritualism. Hence, any talk of the importance of tradition falls on rocky soil or connotes “dryness.” They have never seen the vitality that can come from a proper respect for tradition, one that does not adhere slavishly to the things of the past, but respects that God’s Spirit has been speaking to his people in all generations. Perhaps the former group should learn the same lesson, that since God does have every generation of believers close to his heart, new is not necessarily bad.

Ritual is vital for the life of the church, and the regular, thoughtful celebration of the Lord’s Supper is the most concrete reminder of that fact. The principle Christ enacted in the Lord’s Supper should be cautiously applied to the life of the church in other areas, while allowing fully for differences of opinion in how that principle should be applied. But whatever is done, the church should have in its view successive generations of believers. We must think ahead, as we are taught to do in the Passover and Lord’s Supper. The purpose of ritual is not simply to maintain tradition for its own sake, but, like the Lord’s Supper, to drive home in our hearts the experience of being united with the risen Christ. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, which is reflected in the differing traditions among the various Christian denominations.

Catechism, for instance, was important in my own upbringing. It impressed on me that I am part of a line of believers that extends back for centuries and even millennia. We memorized, among other things, the Nicene and Apostles’ Creeds, those great confessions of faith that have withstood the test of time and are recited every Sunday throughout the world. Of course, nothing can lend itself more quickly to dead ritualism than the rote droning of a congregation’s recitation of “God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God,” but this is not the necessary outcome of maintaining rituals.

When we turn to the topic of the application of Passover, attention must be given to 1 Corinthians 5:7–8, for it is here that Paul himself hints, albeit briefly, at this very matter:

Get rid of the old yeast that you may be a new batch without yeast—as you really are. For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed. Therefore let us keep the Festival, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with bread without yeast, the bread of sincerity and truth.

The context of this passage concerns the expulsion of an immoral Christian from the church in Corinth. The influence of one such person on the others is like yeast that works through and leavens the entire batch of dough (the rest of the church). The basis for expelling the immoral brother is the fact that Christ, the Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed. In keeping with the regulations in Exodus 12, the Feast of Unleavened Bread follows immediately upon the Passover meal. The analogy Paul is making is that the sacrifice of Christ is in the past, and the church now is in the process of celebrating the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which, to complete Paul’s analogy, should be characterized by moral purity (no yeast).

Yet this is no simple moralism on Paul’s part. He is not telling them to give it their best try to live right. If that were the case, he would be using a strange passage to support such a notion! Rather, the basis for their morality is twofold: Christ’s death has atoned for their sin and, perhaps more important, in Christ, the people are already a new batch without yeast. They are to act like what they are, which is not the result of their own efforts but the result of Christ’s efforts.

I do not think Paul’s (nearly allegorical?) use of the Passover exhausts all the theological significance of the Passover or the Lord’s Supper, nor is it entirely clear why to make this particular moral point he employs the Passover in support. The general point, however, is clear: What Christ has done on the cross, which the Gospel writers tie overtly to Passover, should influence how we live. This, like so many of Paul’s arguments, is not crystal clear in its details, but the main thrust rings true.

As we celebrate the Feast of Unleavened Bread every day, in the wake of the sacrifice of the Passover Lamb, we must be ever vigilant to maintain the high standard of conduct to which we, as co-heirs with Christ, are called. In the same way as the Israelites were faithful to carry on their backs batches of dough without yeast as they left Egypt, we are to be mindful of the haste with which we have left the Egypt of sin and death and remain obedient to the God who gave his beloved firstborn Son to be our Passover Lamb.