When I See the Blood

            Shortly after the Muslim call to prayer I hear the koel bird greeting the dawn and an Indian neighbor sloshing water from a bucket. She is sweeping the cement slab with a crude hand broom. It’s familiar for I have watched her most mornings hold up the hem of her sari with one hand while sweeping with the other. When she is done washing the dirt away, another Indian woman holding a small bowl sprinkles a few drops of liquid at various points on the slab in front of the house. A Hindu practice, this ritual serves to bless the home. Beside the front door, a wicked-looking mask is fastened on the house to scare the evil spirits away.

            I breathe a silent prayer for these women whom Satan has deceived. As I sit on the side of the cot, I reach for my Bible. In Exodus, chapter 12, I find the story of the first Passover. God gives instructions to Moses and Aaron for the children of Israel on how to prepare the sacrificial lamb. They are instructed to take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of their houses.

            God says, “On that same night I will pass through Egypt and strike down every firstborn — both men and animals—and I will bring judgment on all the gods of Egypt . I am the LORD. ¹³ The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt ” (12-13).

            From this point on, the Israelites are to celebrate and remember when the Lord passed over them. This moving account is a visual aid of what God will provide through the Lord Jesus Christ in years to come.

            My heart is burdened for the Indian people as I close my Bible. I want them to know that they do not need to be afraid of evil spirits, if they will only apply the blood of the Lamb to the doorpost of their hearts.

            After a shower and breakfast I play with my granddaughter, two-year-old Rebekah, on the cool tile floor. Her mother, my daughter, and her father live in India, and this is a typical day at their house. We use a cardboard box for a playhouse. On a flap leading inside the “house,” I print J-E-S-U-S in bold letters. We draw a cross and color it red. This is our blessing on Rebekah’s home. In simple terms, I talk about how Jesus came and shed his blood on the cross, and if we receive Him as Savior, He applies His blood on the doorpost of our hearts. Thus, we are safe from all harm.

I hear my daughter call and Rebekah runs to the kitchen to see what her mommy wants. As she leaves, I push to my feet and watch the neighbor women once more. I think of one of my neighbors in the States who does not post an ugly-looking mask at her door or anoint her sidewalk, but instead has a small Buddha anchored in her garden beside the front porch. Although I have shared the message of Christ’s atonement with her, she chooses to embrace many different religions. I think of a business associate who is burdened that her Jewish mother come to know the Messiah. Together, we pray that her mom will one day understand that Jesus shed His blood to cover her sin. And then, I think of a Christian neighbor who just the other day knocked on my door. While we sipped tea, she shared how she had also been reading the Exodus account of the Passover recently. In our few moments together, we shared a special camaraderie that only two sisters in Christ who have experienced His blood covering can. 

Back at my side, Rebekah bumps me out of my thoughts. Nevertheless, on this sunny May morn, the Lord has given me a fresh appreciation for His blood sacrifice. With new determination, I recommit to share Him with whoever He brings along my path today. 

 ("When I See the Blood" (c) 2008 Eileen Rife)