Bible reading: Exodus 1:8-2:10.

There are many characters in the Bible whose names are instantly familiar: Peter and Paul, David and Bathsheba, Ruth and Naomi, Isaiah and Jeremiah, even (if you’re into stories of abuse and murder) Jael and Sisera. I’m sure that most of us can name many more. But I’m now going to mention four people that most of us would struggle to recognise: Jochebed and Amram, Shiphrah and Puah. Yet, without these four people (and one other, whose name we aren’t given), the Bible story would have come to a full stop at the end of Genesis.

So let me tell you who these people are. Jochebed and Amram were the parents of Moses – rather worryingly, Jochebed seems to have been her husband’s aunt, a relationship which would have been forbidden by Jewish law. However, it would be several decades before that law was given, so perhaps we can allow the relationship. And what about Shiphrah and Puah? They were two brave midwives who helped Jewish women to give birth – and lied about it – when they’d been given the express command to kill the babies instead. So we have three women (with a fourth to come) and, of course, one man who are all foundational to the Jewish, Christian and Muslim faiths. If they hadn’t been around we’d have had no Moses, no exodus, no liberation of the Children of Israel, no Jesus, nothing. The whole of Bible, indeed world, history depends on them.

Let’s set today’s story – which, like Noah’s, seems rather lovely at first sight but isn’t – into context. Joseph’s family and, presumably, their entourage were forced through famine to settle in Egypt where, we are told, they prospered. It’s hard to give a date for this but we could be looking as far back as something like 1900 BC. Over the next 400-odd years (though some scholars suggest that, because of a different way of counting, it may have only been just over 200) the Hebrews became an ever-growing and distinct ethnic minority within Egypt; we read that they “multiplied greatly, increased in numbers and became so numerous that the land was filled with them”. What followed was almost inevitable.

For, with the passage of time and the succession of royal dynasties, the memory of an earlier Pharaoh’s generosity to Joseph’s family was lost. A new Pharaoh, possibly the famous Ramses II, came to the throne and viewed the Hebrews with concern. He may have been worried that the agricultural resources of Egypt, always fragile, were being stretched beyond their limits; he definitely seemed to fear that, if Egypt went to war with a neighbouring country, the Hebrews would use the chaos as an opportunity to seize power. Whether that was a genuine fear, I cannot say; but we do know that despotic rulers often encourage hate for minority groups as a way of consolidating their power.

So how would Pharaoh solve what he saw as “the Hebrew problem”? – although there is no suggestion that the Hebrews were anything other than loyal citizens. We can see that he used a three-pronged approach. First, he launched a pre-emptive strike upon the Hebrews, by forcing them into slave labour to build two supply cities which would bolster the oppressive Egyptian economy. The harder the Hebrews worked, the more harshly they were treated; yet, paradoxically, the more they multiplied and spread.

Pharaoh’s strategy was clearly having the opposite effect to what he had intended, so he moved to the second prong of his attack. This was a command to Hebrew midwives to kill all male (but not female) babies as they were born. This of course flew in the face of the midwives’ vocation to preserve and protect life and they refused to obey. Their actions did not go unnoticed but, when they were brought before Pharaoh (and how terrifying that must have been), they cheekily claimed that the Hebrew women just give birth too quickly, so they never got to them in time! They took their lives in their hands and lied to the authorities, breaking the law for the sake of justice and life.

By this time Pharaoh was getting desperate, so he issued an appalling edict to the entire Egyptian population: if they saw a Hebrew boy baby, they had to grab him and throw him into the Nile. The river, regarded as the nation’s source of life, was to become an instrument of death. We’re not told if this order was carried out; but it posed a real threat to the Jews and led Moses’ mother Jochebed to first hide him and then take the step of wrapping him in a blanket and placing him on a little raft that would float down the Nile. Can we put ourselves in her shoes and imagine the turmoil and desperation that she must have felt? Her baby would almost certainly drown, starve or be eaten by crocodiles, but her action did offer him the tiniest chance of survival.

We probably know the rest of the story: how the raft became caught in some rushes and was noticed by Pharaoh’s daughter; how she rescued it even though, as an Egyptian, she should have let it die; how Moses’ mother got pressed into service as the baby’s nursemaid; how the baby was adopted by the princess and grew up in the royal household – something which would help him immensely when, as an adult, he had to barter with the king for his people’s freedom. We can only imagine the tumult of emotions which must have surged through Jochabed’s mind as these events took place and she was denied the rights of normal motherhood. But, thanks to the midwives’ courage and her own ingenuity, her son was alive. That’s what mattered most.

This story reminds me of my own parents’ – although, by the time my sister and I were born, they were living in England and there was no threat to our safety. For their families saw themselves as respectable and loyal German citizens; they worked hard, paid their taxes and played their part in society. When Hitler came to power and began to systematically persecute the Jews, reducing their rights and restricting their freedom until life became unbearable, their reaction was initially one of disbelief and betrayal: their own country was rejecting them. I suspect that the Hebrews living in Egypt, long before, felt exactly the same. And these stories have another horrific parallel: Moses’ parents set their son to float down the river, knowing that they might never see him again; in 1938 the parents of 10,000 German Jewish children put their children onto trains (the “Kindertransport”), told them they were going on an adventure, and kissed them goodbye. For many, that was the final farewell. Can we even begin to imagine how they felt? Or how, today, families from Gaza sending their injured children to Qatar?

This almost certainly hasn’t been the kind of message you expected to hear on Mothering Sunday; indeed, it may have shocked you. But it seems to me that it’s been a message which has often been, and sadly still is, relevant to the realities of life. For it shows us the dilemmas and bravery of women who found themselves in a cruel and hopeless situation; it shows us the maternal instinct of a privileged princess who may have yearned for children of her own; above all it shows us the fierce love of a mother who would do anything to help her precious son survive. It also, in passing, has parallels with the story of baby Jesus and his family, forced to flee to Egypt to escape the threats of another tyrant fearful of losing his position and hell-bent on murder.

Jochebed was clearly a devoted mother who would go to any length to protect her child. On Mothering Sunday it’s easy to idolise mothers and forget that they aren’t all like her: a fact which makes today painful rather than joyful for the many people who try to ignore the cards and flowers and chocolates, bury their heads under a pillow, and long for tomorrow to come quickly. We mustn’t ignore these folk; yet we do want to celebrate mothers (and indeed fathers and other adults who take the role of parents) who lovingly nurture, protect and teach their children in a world which can be hostile and dangerous. So we must now turn our gaze away from the Nile and turn it towards places where families are suffering and in peril: Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Yemen, Bangladesh, even Wales. What desperate measures, difficult decisions and agonising choices are they having to make (although they shouldn’t need to) in order to safeguard the lives of their beloved children? These must be the mothers we should be thinking of most today. Parenting is a joy, a responsibility and a huge challenge: all parents deserve our support.