Passover, Lent, & Surviving on Manna

“On the day after the passover, on that very day, they ate the produce of the land, unleavened cakes and parched grain. The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land.” - Joshua 5:11-12a

Today we are about three weeks away from Passover, which in the Jewish tradition celebrates, honors, and remembers the pivotal moment of the Israelites’ liberation from slavery in Egypt. Whether those now-ancient people knew it or not, this moment would be followed by a period of 40 years wandering through a desert wilderness before finding anything resembling stability and security. While it varies for different individuals and communities, there is often a period of intention and mindfulness in the weeks leading up to the Passover feast, during which many of the Jewish faith prepare their hearts and homes for this holiday.

We are also in the midst of the season of Lent, which in the Christian tradition celebrates, honors, and remembers the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness of the desert for 40 days and nights. There are many ways people who partake in this season observe it, ranging from foregoing chocolate and eating fish on Fridays to giving up truly harmful vices, and/or leaning more intentionally into spiritual practices that help them feel grounded, whole, and connected to God.

This short verse and a half from Joshua reminds me that I so often find myself in a wilderness without even realizing it. I can't tell you how many times I've left bad relationships, jobs, friendships, and other circumstances only to find myself reeling a bit. It happens more than I'd care to admit that my day gets hijacked by distractions that don’t actually serve me in any way whatsoever. And, of course, it’s hard not to think of this seemingly unending pandemic as a shared wilderness we’ve all been wandering through together.

Usually when I’m in my own version of a wilderness, I don’t realize it until after I’ve come through the other side. While manna is something I can survive on, a hearty meal of real, fresh produce is what I need in order to thrive. Sure, Zoom calls with friends are fine, but it hardly compares to hugging that friend and sitting down across an actual dinner table from them. These lines remind me of those days when I get so wrapped up in a project that I forget to eat. When I finally sit down to a meal, that first bite stings in the back of my teeth and my stomach comes out of its comatose state, as if to say “Finally! I’ve been trying to get your attention all day!”

I find these two parallel pre-feast seasons we’re in fascinating. While they may be times of fasting in one way or another for many observers, those same people are often simultaneously savoring a bounty of spiritual nourishment. It seems paradoxical that anyone could fast and feast at the same time. Maybe, in a way, this is neither a time of feasting nor fasting, but rather of cultivating. After all, the manna (good enough to survive, but not to thrive) is heaven-sent and a literal gift from G-d in the story of the Israelites’ 40 year journey. But growing, harvesting, and preparing produce and crops for a meal that tastes of true freedom requires both work and something beyond human power. Whether you call it science, nature, magic, G-d/God, something else entirely, or some combination of these, no human being - no matter how good of a gardener nor how many resources they have available - can tell you for certain when they plant a seed exactly how many apples an apple tree will produce or how many ears of corn a field will give them. So, even while putting in the work, an element of faith in something must also be present.

So, whether this moment comes when you’re celebrating Passover, Easter, or your own personal milestone of stability and success, I invite you to pause and notice the beautiful sting that comes with the first bite of your feast, the long-awaited hug of a loved one you’ve missed, the purchase of your first house, the first night you lay your head on a pillow knowing you won’t be hungover the next day, whatever that “thing” is that lets you know for certain that you’ve made it. Give thanks for the bounty now before you, and pat yourself on the back for having made it out of whatever chains of bondage you’ve escaped and for coming through the wilderness. And, perhaps, you can also find gratitude for the time in the wilderness when you somehow scraped together enough manna to survive against all odds. The wilderness, after all, is where some of the most profound and holy transformations happen.