Let My People Go

My little Stuart has a bleeding heart. He is unusually quick, I think, to identify a person or an action as being unfair or unkind and to want to right the wrong (unless it’s one of his sisters, in the which case it’s revenge, no holds barred). A teacher at his school approached us a couple months ago and whispered: “I know this is kinda weird for me to say, because I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I just have to tell you that your kids are the nicest.kids.in.the.school.” We were a bit taken aback. She continued: “They are nice to EVERYBODY.” She then told us that in music class the previous week, some kids had been making fun of a little girl. Stuart interjected and said: “Hey, you guys.   Don’t say those things.   It will hurt her feelings if you talk about her like that. Think about how you would feel.”

I was glad to receive that compliment, although neither of us feels like we can take credit for stuff like this. It just is. We’re not better parents than anyone else, and our kids act like butts (I’m so eloquent) plenty often . . .

So I shouldn’t have been surprised by Stuart’s reaction to our bedtime story last night-a library book called Exodus, which recounts the story of Moses. It’s not the kind of book I usually check out from the library, but the illustrations (by Brian Wildsmith) caught my eye. They are beautiful and captivating.

We started reading. Stuart was stumped by the story pretty early on. “So the Pharaoh just said all the Hebrew baby boys had to get killed?” And then, “So the mom just put her baby in a BASKET?” He didn’t like that the Hebrews were enslaved and said: “Mom, if I had been there, I would’ve stood up to Pharaoh and said: ‘Hey! You can’t treat the Hebrews like that.  It’s not okay to judge someone by the color of their skin; you’re supposed to only judge people by the content of their character.'” [Stuart is very interested in Martha Luther King.   That’s what he calls him and I just can’t correct him.] He didn’t like that the Egyptian guard whipped a Hebrew slave OR that Moses retaliated by killing the guard.

But the trouble really started when Moses went back to Egypt and he and Pharaoh got into their pissing contest to see who was the most powerful. As I identified each new plague, Stuart would put his little-boy finger on the corresponding picture and exclaim: “Mom! Why is God letting them do all those bad things to all the people?” and “So they just MADE everyone get boils even though they weren’t even in on the thing with Moses and Pharaoh?” When we got to the part about the Passover, he got really quiet and whispered:   “But MOM, why would God only tell the Hebrews how to protect their oldest sons, but not the Egyptians?”

That was one doozy for which I didn’t have a ready-made answer. Oh, sure, I’ve heard the explanation. Something about how the Hebrews were a chosen people . . . but I knew that one wasn’t gonna fly with Stuart. Things only got worse when God parted the Red Sea to let the Hebrews through and then let the water come crashing down onto the Egyptians. The Disney ending in which the “good guys” (the Hebrews) escape, find water, get manna, and then finally reach the Promised Land tasted like metal in our mouths.

When I read the last words and closed the book, Stuart said emphatically: “Mom, I did NOT like that story.” I told him I thought it was kind of a weird story, too. He said: “Why did God let all those bad things happen?”

Feeling my way in the dark, I took a deep breath and said: “Buddy, there are a lot of stories in the scriptures that say that God does mean things to people-like testing them to see how faithful they are to him by making them have boils or killing off their family members. Or only saving certain people and letting other people die. But I don’t really like the idea of that kind of a God. I like to think that God only does nice things for us. He doesn’t exact revenge or give special blessings only to certain people. And he doesn’t mess with us by making bad things happen to see how much we love him. He just loves us. And sometimes bad things do happen to people, but it doesn’t mean God let them happen. Or that God made them happen. It just means they happened.”

He was quiet for a minute and then said: “That sounds like a good idea of God” and snuggled down into the covers.

Sometimes I just don’t know what to tell these little people.