Sadness settled over her, leaking out her eyes and weighing down her heart as she gently rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tiny fingers clutching hers. They didn’t have a lot of time left. Before long, she’d have to give him back. Give him up, actually. God had originally given him to her. She’d carried him in her womb, birthed him in her home, kept him quiet, hidden, safe. For the first three months of his life, no one outside her family and closest friends had known he existed. It was too dangerous to spread the joyous news. Too possible the wrong person would overhear. Too likely a thunderous fist would land on her door, demanding her infant son be executed. Pharaoh’s decree had made it so.
Moved by his own insecurities, the newest Egyptian leader had come down hard on the Israelite encampment. The number of years they had peacefully coexisted meant nothing to him. His fear of their escalating population and the far-fetched possibility they would overthrow his throne had him scrambling to implement every possible method to keep them under his control. He turned them into slaves, setting taskmasters to oversee the work and monitor the goings on among them. He forced them to build store cities for himself. He made their lives bitter, their situation untenable. When the effects of all his efforts only served to make the Israelites more prolific, Pharaoh settled on one final, fateful idea. Calling the Israelite midwives to him, he issued the arrogant command to kill every Hebrew male child at the moment of his birth.
They had no idea whom Pharaoh thought he was talking to, but they weren’t going to do it. Weren’t even going to try. He may make others shake and quake in their sandals, but Shiphrah and Puah were made of much sterner stuff. Killing wasn’t part of their job description. Never had been. Never would be. But they needed a plan. They needed to convince Pharaoh they were helpless to curtail the live births of male children. Contemplating their predicament the entire way back to their homes, they carefully devised a plan. An excuse, really. It might not even have been untrue. The Hebrew women had solid constitutions. They worked hard, weren’t quitters, and everything they did was done with efficiency. It would surely come as no surprise that they would give birth the same way. Quickly. Efficiently. Independently. At least that is what they told Pharaoh. (Exodus 1:15-19)
It didn’t satisfy his bloodlust or calm his fears. Instead, Pharaoh was enraged. Violently angry that his orders hadn’t been followed. In towering fury, he issued the command to his own people that every Hebrew boy born must be thrown into the Nile river, only the girls should live. Had Pharaoh held the great intellect with which he surely credited himself, he wouldn’t have missed the fact he had just been outsmarted by quick-thinking girls. It wouldn’t be the last time. Into this unwelcoming social climate, a clever Hebrew woman named Jochebed birthed the boy child that would grow up to lead the great exodus from Egypt. (Exodus 1:8-22, 6:20)
For three months she kept him secreted away in the safe haven of her home. Three beautiful months of cuddles and care. She knew it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. His cooing and babbling would grow louder. His cries would become more robust. He would begin to roll about, then crawl, then toddle. It was too dangerous to strap him to her back and carry him with her as she had Miriam and Aaron. She had to find another way. She had to keep her son safe. She had to protect him, even if it meant hiding him in plain sight. The rushes of the Nile River.
Painstakingly she worked, crafting a basket of papyrus large enough to fit her growing son. Carefully she waterproofed it with tar and pitch, sealing the cracks where water could leak through and cause the basket to sink. With trembling hands and a pitching stomach, she placed her son in the basket and carried it to the edge of the river. Glancing about to ensure no one was watching, she set it afloat among the reeds and posted his older sister, Miriam, as guard and informant should things go awry. She wasn’t naive enough to believe her basket would go unnoticed. The river was a popular place. It was only a matter of time. The only question remaining was who would spot it first. Soldier or slave. Egyptian or Hebrew. Pauper or Princess. Her heart could hardly handle the thoughts.
Walking away from the river, leaving only Miriam to protect her son was the hardest thing Jochebed had ever done. Miriam was little more than a toddler herself. How much protection could she provide? Still. It had to be done. Sparing herself only one backward glance, Jochebed headed off to the day’s labor. Her heart was heavy. Her eyes were drenched. The lump in her throat seemed like it would never dissolve. Her stomach was in knots. She had no idea if she’d ever see her son again. Yet still she went, willing God to protect her children.
Miriam didn’t have long to wait. It was a bath day for Pharaoh’s daughter. She approached the river with her entourage, a group of attendants and her personal servant, each one scanning every nuance of the landscape for dangers both man and beast. Spotting the basket floating among the reeds, she sent her female servant to retrieve it. A wail erupted from within. Carefully opening the lid, Pharaoh’s daughter was instantly enamored with the red, screwed-up face of a howling infant boy. She knew he was Hebrew. She knew about her father’s decree. It wasn’t going to happen. Not today. He was going to be thwarted by a woman again. No way was she throwing this cutie in the Nile. She was keeping him. Her father would have to adjust. She had a more pressing concern. The child wasn’t weaned. Wouldn’t be for some time, it appeared. Who could she get to nurse the child until he was old enough to be weaned?
Perhaps she voiced the question aloud. Maybe one of her attendants reminded her of the need. Perhaps, before anyone raised the issue, God simply prompted tiny Miriam to boldly approach Pharaoh’s daughter with the offer of help. Regardless how it happened, the offer was graciously accepted. Without knowing it, Pharaoh’s daughter placed Jochebed’s son back in her arms.
It wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. Jochebed knew that. She’d have to give him back. As grateful as she was to have him in her arms again, she tried to keep the truth in the forefront of her mind. She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom what God was doing. Didn’t know why she had to let her son go. Couldn’t answer why he was chosen to receive royal favor. Try as she might, her finite mind couldn’t grasp why he had to go. Her heart ached. Her head wondered. Her eyes flooded with tears as she gazed at the cherubic sleeping face peeking from the blanket in her arms. She’d let him go. She had to. But she couldn’t understand it.
We do, though. We look back through history, read the entire accounts recorded in Exodus, and understand that God was raising up a rescuer for his enslaved people. Still, knowing all we do, our hearts pinch at the thought of Jochebed holding the hand of a toddling Moses as they walked up the palace steps that fateful day. We feel the pain of placing that little person in the arms of Pharaoh’s daughter. Our stomachs tighten at the cries of the child as the woman who raised him, loved him, cared for him turned and walked away. We feel the crippling ache in Jochebed’s soul as she does the only thing she can do. Offer her son as a gift to a princess and hope she understood how priceless the offering. (Exodus 2-6)
Centuries later, in a different time, a different place, another mother would bear a child sent to be a rescuer of enslaved people. From His heavenly throne between the cherubim, God the Father watched as His Son, Jesus, was born to Mary. Although she was told His true identity, the full impact of that truth eluded her. She didn’t expect what was coming. She never dreamed the Savior of the world would have to die to redeem humanity. She never planned to watch her son brutalized and murdered. She could never have imagined the crippling pain as the Father turned His face away and the cry, “It is finished!” rent the air. Her mother’s heart would have done anything to prevent the pain and agony her Son felt at that moment. Because she couldn’t, she did the only thing she could. She let Him go, watched Him die, and hoped selfish humanity understood how priceless the offering. (Luke 1:26-38; 2:6-7; Matthew 1:18-24; John 19:25-26; John 3:16; Romans 5:8; II Corinthians 5:21)
I wonder if we do. As easy as it is to read the accounts of Jesus’ birth and death, resting in the knowledge that He doesn’t stay dead, do we really grasp the enormity of the offering Jesus made on Calvary? Do we get it? Really get it? With our hearts, not just our heads. Are we overwhelmed by the grace and love that caused the Father to send His only Son to earth, knowing a painful death awaited Him, so that abjectly unworthy humanity could be blessed with forgiveness of sins and granted eternal life? The thought alone should wreck your soul every time you read it, hear it, think it. The God who owed you nothing, gave up everything, so that you might gain the one thing worth having. “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” In joyous response to the truth of this proclamation may we find ourselves willingly, selflessly letting go, giving up, surrendering all to the God whose way is perfect. (Colossians 1:27; Deuteronomy 32:4; Romans 8:32; I Corinthians 10:24; Matthew 25:40)
As the gift of letting go echoes through Biblical history, it begs us to do the same. In return for what Christ has done for us, we must open our hands and hearts and give back to Him. We aren’t good at it. Control freaks, all of us, we tend to close our fists around the things we want to supervise and keep them for ourselves. Please, let’s stop. It does us no good to hold onto the things God can use. It doesn’t do anyone else any good either. So let them go. Let go and let God work with what you give. Yourself, your time, your talents. Give your wealth for the work of the Lord. Surrender yourself, your hopes and wishes. Offer up your children and grandchildren to be instruments of God’s purpose and plan. As a gift to yourself. As a gift to others. As a sacrifice to God. Let go of anything that stands in the way of God’s kingdom flourishing, and let God be God. Knowing that everything you have and are came first from God’s open hand, may we open our own hands and gift back to Him the things He has given us. May we find peace in the giving. May we find the gift of rest in letting go. (Matthew 16:24-25; Luke 14:33; Romans 8:28; Matthew 19:29; III John 1:4; I Chronicles 29:14; Proverbs 3:9-10; Romans 12:1)