Years ago, a band called Lobo sang about an international memorable event. Describing the impoverished plights of a boy from Chicago’s racial ghetto and a girl living among India’s “Untouchables,” the singers went on to shake their heads in wonder that both, on a “July afternoon,” along with the entire population of planet earth, heard and saw Neil Armstrong “walk upon the moon.”
Some incidents are so unusual or catastrophic or fraught with meaning that they cannot be forgotten, and all who were alive remember exactly what they were doing at the time. Pearl Harbor, Kennedy’s assassination, the lunar landing, 9/11... we remember.
So, too, this night. This night, rooted in the exodus, shared in the intimacy of the upper room, and rehearsed by ancient formulary throughout the world. I’ll …