It is a simple image, a vision of a daffodil bulb, buried underneath the dirt.  And right on top of the dirt, is a large rock, covering its path, keeping the daffodil bulb tucked safely into the earth.  Don’t bloom, says the rock to the daffodil bulb.  It is a dangerous world out there. 

            A dangerous world – a world where genocide occurs, where children are killed, where midwives are instructed to murder.  A dangerous world – where people are kept in slavery, where mothers lose their children, where babies are drowned in the Nile.  Don’t bloom, says the rock.  It is a dangerous world out there.

            I wonder, in a world like ours, where shootings occur at political rallies, where children are murdered at summer camp, where war is ever present, why we would choose to bloom, why we would choose to love.  This story, this all too familiar story, presents Moses, a baby in a basket, saved from the forces of violence.  But what about the other babies?  What about the other mothers?

            It is all because of this blessing – this blessing of children, this blessing of abundance, this blessing of families growing and growing.  And because of this blessing, the king gets nervous, and he commands that the children be killed.  The very blessing, the very joy, the very hope and future and promise, becomes the curse, as the king seeks out the babies, in a genocidal, murderous rampage.

            It is a dangerous world out there.  Don’t bloom.

            But for some reason, some women, in this midst of this genocide, decide to do just that.  The midwives refuse to hide in the dirt, instead they defy the orders of the king, and save the lives of Hebrew babies.  They bloom, they blossom, they grow, even as they know it is a dangerous world, even as they know they could be cut down.  Moses’ mother and sister do the same thing.  They open themselves to love this baby boy, knowing that he has been given a death sentence.  But they fight, they fight hard, and they save his life.  They place him in the reeds and wait for deliverance.  And the king’s daughter, she chooses to bloom, as well.  She sticks her neck out, and takes in a Hebrew baby, knowing that this act of rebellion would infuriate the king.

            Now the amazing thing about these women is that they are absolutely underestimated and undervalued.  In the king’s commandment, he says, “If it is a boy, kill him, but if it is a girl, she shall live.”  The king doesn’t see the girls, or the women, as a threat.  He just wants the boy babies killed – but in the end, it is the women who undermine his plans.  Those who are undervalued, those who are disregarded and dismissed, peek their heads through the dirt, take that risk, and bloom.

            The women of this story use what they have, where they are, to resist oppression and suffering.  The midwives simply continue to deliver babies; they don’t have any special skills other than that, but they use their skills in order to protect life.  The mother of Moses uses her love to protect the child.  She hides him and feeds him and then places him in a basket, trusting his care to God.  The baby’s sister uses her innocence and ingenuity to save her brother’s life, offering to help the Pharaoh’s daughter with childcare.  And finally, the Pharaoh’s daughter uses what she has, offering money for the care of the baby, and then adopting the child as her son.

            The baby, ultimately, grows up to lead his people to liberation, out of a cycle of slavery, violence, oppression, and murder.  We ask the question, what about the other children?  But in this story, we see a child who will go on to save the lives of all of the children of Israel.  The other children, the other mothers, are blessed through the story of this one child.  This one life matters, it matters a lot.

            We all have a place in this story, a place where we can bloom.  We use what we have, where we are, to protect life, to reduce suffering, to resist oppression.  Like the midwives, we can use our careers to advance justice.  Like the mother, we can care for children who suffer.  Like the sister, we can keep watch over our brothers and sisters, using our ingenuity and creativity to save lives.  And like the king’s daughter, we can use our own power and our own money to protect those who are vulnerable.

            But we may also be the baby in the basket, at times.  Perhaps we are the ones who are vulnerable, who are hurting, who need protection, comfort, and care.  Maybe we need some time to rely on others, to rely on God, to rest in the basket, before we rise up, as liberators for our people.

            Because ultimately, it is God who allows us to bloom.  It is God who works through the most vulnerable, the most oppressed, the most undervalued people, in order to create change and liberation.  And it is God who calls us to rest, at times, and to resist, at others.

            As fall approaches, and we begin to see back-to-school signs all over the place, I can’t help but think about last fall, and the enormous number of teen suicides that occurred in September and October of last year.  I think of all the children and youth who are afraid, afraid of returning to school, afraid of being bullied, afraid of enduring the excruciating pain of being excluded and harassed and ostracized.

              

          My own son starts kindergarten this fall, and it terrifies me that he could face that kind of pain, that kind of suffering.  I want to be that rock, sitting on the daffodil bulb, protecting Frankie, saying to him, “Don’t bloom!  It is a dangerous world out there!”  But when I moved past my fear, and consider the scripture for today, I realize that just as there are bullies in the world, just as there are vengeful kings and Pharaohs, there are also midwives, there are mothers, there are sisters, and there are daughters.  And they are there, using what they have, to decrease suffering.

          I do believe that in the schools, there are students who bloom, who stick their necks out, and choose to be kind to those who are bullied.  I do believe that there are teachers and aides and friends who use what they have, where they are, to decrease the pain of exclusion.  And often those who are most undervalued, like the women in our scripture for today, are the very ones out there, saving the lives of those who suffer.

            Last month, the horrifying story of the shootings in Norway filled the news.  A lone gunman killed 69 youth at an island summer camp, and the world mourned the massacre.  Like the king in today’s scripture reading, the killer was motivated by fear, terrified that Muslims were going to take over Europe, just as the King of Egypt feared that the Hebrews were going to become more powerful than the Egyptians.  And this fear and bigotry motivated horrendous violence.

            But in the midst of the violence, people stood up, using what they had, where they were, in order to save lives.  Hege Dalen and her partner, Toril Hansen, were having dinner across from the island when they heard the gunshots.  They immediately pushed their boat in the water and set about rescuing the youth.  They made four trips back and forth, rescuing 40 youth from the shooter, despite bullet holes in their boat, as the gunman shoot at them.  They were not the only ones to do this, in fact, another party of campers rescued over 100 youth from the shootings, as well.  The stories of violence and brutality abound, but there are always those who are willing to bloom, even though the world is a dangerous place.

            In his book, The Butterfly Effect, author Andy Andrews catalogues the extraordinary impact of simple and courageous efforts.  He shows how when you look back on great achievements, you can’t really tell which of the simple efforts really made the biggest difference.  For instance, should Norman Borlaug, who developed high yield, disease resistant corn and wheat be credited with saving two billion lives from famine, or should Henry Wallace, the one-term U.S. Vice-President, who created an office in New Mexico to develop hybrid seed for arid climates and hired Borlaug to run it. Or should we credit George Washington Carver, who took a young Henry Wallace for long walks and instilled in him his love of plants. Or should it be Moses and Susan Carver, who adopted George as their son. Or should it be... Well, you get the idea. Andrews points out how inter-connected our actions are, creating an unforeseen butterfly effect that can ripple across time and space to affect the lives of millions.

            David Lose writes about it this way, “So maybe it is a school teacher, who gives encouragement to a student who will see something in herself that she hadn’t before, and in turn befriend another student who was on the verge of giving up on life.  Or maybe a young person will stand up to the neighborhood bully this week and not only help the kids being bullied but also the bully, who never had anyone care enough to stand up to him before, and in turn he'll go on to be a police officer who protects the vulnerable.... Or maybe an elder will be moved to volunteer to read to kids at the local library and one of those kids will discover a passion for language and will grow up to be the poet laureate.... Or maybe....

“The things we do this week – our actions, decision, choices – will, in fact, ripple out with consequences foreseen and unforeseen, for good or for ill, for the health or damage of the world. That question isn't whether, but what...what will we do this week to make a difference in the world. Some of these actions may be big, bold, and courageous. Others may be small, hardly noticeable. And yet they all have the potential to ripple out, affecting countless lives. In today's reading it's the women, quietly standing up to a bully and tyrant. Who knows who it will be today, this week, this year...  Because of a small and valiant gesture, the world can change for the better.”

            Don’t bloom, says the rock to the daffodil bulb.  It is a dangerous world out there.  But the world becomes far less dangerous when we decide to bloom.  The world becomes far more beautiful when we decide to bloom.  And we know that there are people who are blooming all around us, offering their own small and valiant gestures.

            Yes, it makes us vulnerable.  Yes, we can be cut down.  But we serve a God who works through the least of us – you and me – in order to take the violence of this world, and change it into liberation, hope, and joy. 

            Maybe we need to stay in the dirt a little while longer.  Maybe we need to lay in the basket, and trust others to protect us, care for us, hold us tight.  And that is perfectly fine.  Moses needed to rely on others, to nurture him, to protect him, to care for him, so that he could grow into the man who would lead his people to freedom. 

            Or maybe we are ready, through small and large acts of compassion, to blossom and bloom, to peek our heads out of the dirt.  God is ready.  Ready to help us bloom, ready to work through you and through me – to give life and hope to a world that is a dangerous, but also, a beautiful place.  Amen.