John 1:36 and he looked at Jesus as he walked by and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!”
After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, Israel finally crossed into the Promised Land—on the 10th day of Nissan, the very day they had been commanded to choose their Passover lamb [Exodus 12:3 , Joshua 4:19]. They couldn’t enter into their inheritance until a lamb was chosen—a powerful foreshadowing of the more excellent Lamb to come, in preparation for the Passover [Joshua 5:10], they were about to observe at Gilgal.
Two thousand years ago, on the 10th day of Nissan, Yeshua (Jesus)—the Lamb of God [John 1:36]—entered Jerusalem to the shouts of “Hosanna!” on what we now call Palm Sunday. Just as Israel had to choose their lamb before stepping into the Promised Land, we too must choose our Lamb before stepping into the life God has prepared for us.
But before they could possess the land, God called them to a moment of consecration. At Gilgal, every male born during the wilderness journey was circumcised—a second time [Joshua 5:2]. This act was far more than physical; it was deeply symbolic. It marked a spiritual rebirth, a setting apart for God, and it pointed forward to a more profound truth: the need for spiritual circumcision, a transformation not of the flesh but of the heart. It foreshadowed the message Yeshua later declared—that unless one is born again, they cannot see the kingdom of God [John 3:3].
Gilgal—meaning “the rolling away place” and a wordplay on the Hebrew Galal—became a powerful symbol of renewal and identity. It was there that God rolled away Egypt’s reproach [Joshua 5:9], wiping away the shame of slavery and the remnants of their past. In that moment of obedience, Israel didn’t just enter a new land; they stepped into a fresh beginning, marked by a renewed covenant and a restored relationship with their God.
But galal doesn’t just mean to remove or roll—it carries echoes of deeper things. It’s used when stones are rolled from wells and tombs, when burdens are lifted, when shame is taken away. The word even shares its root with gulgoleth, the Hebrew word for skull—a word that echoes into the New Testament as Golgotha, the place of the skull. Isn’t it just like God to embed gospel truths even in the language of His people? From Gilgal to Golgotha, He was crafting a redemptive pattern—a rolling away of reproach through blood and sacrifice.
At Golgotha, Yeshua did far more than roll away the shame of a nation—He took upon Himself the sin, guilt, and condemnation of all who would believe. On that sacred hill, the stone of separation was rolled away. Through His sacrifice on the cross and the power of His resurrection, every curse was broken, every sin forgiven, and every trace of reproach completely removed.
While one man’s failure condemned all, but with one righteous act opened the door to forgiveness and new life for everyone [Romans 5:18]. The place once marked by death—Golgotha—became the ground of redemption, where Yeshua triumphed, overturning death and ushering in the beginning of everlasting life.
And isn’t it striking? Just as Joshua sealed the fate of five kings by rolling a stone [Joshua 10:16-18] and placed guards to watch them, so was Yeshua sealed in a tomb with Roman guards stationed outside. But when the stone was rolled away, it wasn’t to let Yeshua out, but rather to let the world see He emerged as the risen King, not in defeat, but in victory. The curse He bore on the tree was our curse. The life He now lives is our promise.
So let us come to our Gilgal moment—our Golgotha moment—this Passover season and remember: every shame can be rolled away, every reproach removed. Because of Yeshua, your past no longer defines you. The weight you once carried has been lifted. You are free to walk in the power of resurrection life. The stone has been rolled away. The tomb stands empty. The King is alive—and He did it all for you. Isn’t that worth celebrating?
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Psalm 98 is a victory psalm — a call to lift up a “new song” because the Z’roah, the holy arm of the LORD, has brought decisive triumph. In Hebrew thought, the arm is the active extension of the will, the power that brings intention into reality. To call it “holy” is to declare that it is set apart, dedicated fully to God’s purpose, incapable of corruption. The psalmist celebrates that salvation is not a hidden act, but an open demonstration — God’s righteousness revealed before the eyes of the nations.
This is one of the most intimate revelations of the Z’roah in Scripture. God looks for a human intercessor but finds none. No man can bridge the gap. So His own Arm accomplishes the work. In Hebrew, v’tosha lo zeroa — “His arm saved for Him” — reveals that salvation originates from within God Himself, not from any outside help. Isaiah adds that His own righteousness sustained Him — it upheld His resolve to save — and His fury upheld Him, a holy passion that would not rest until justice was accomplished.
To “bare” the arm means to roll up the sleeve and reveal the full readiness for action. In Isaiah’s prophecy, this is a global unveiling — no longer hidden, the Z’roah is on display for all nations to witness. This speaks directly of Yeshua’s (Jesus’) public ministry and, ultimately, His crucifixion.
The Hebrew phrase “z’roah moshel lo” paints the picture of an arm that governs with both strength and care. The same Z’roah that brought Israel out of Egypt in power now establishes righteous order and sustains His people in love. Deliverance without rulership is incomplete; the Redeemer becomes the King — and the King rules as a Shepherd. The Arm does not act independently but moves in perfect submission to the Head, carrying out the will of the Father.
I’ll be doing a series on the “Arm of God,” beginning with this first message — The Arm that Redeems. The Hebrew Z’roah (זְרוֹעַ) means “arm” or “strength,” and in ancient Hebrew culture, the arm symbolizes active power in motion — strength applied for a purpose. In the Exodus account, God tells Moses He will redeem Israel “with an outstretched arm” (bizroa netuyah). This was not poetic metaphor; it was God’s declaration of decisive intervention. The Z’roah is the covenant-keeping arm that moves history, enforces promises, and breaks oppression. Every Pesach (Passover), during the seder — the festive meal of remembrance — the roasted lamb shank bone, the Z’roah, rests on the plate as a silent yet powerful witness to God’s mighty deliverance.
These closing verses of Psalm 118 begin with an unshakable proclamation: “The LORD is God.” In Hebrew, it’s emphatic — YHVH, He is El — the declaration that all authority, holiness, and sovereignty belong to Him alone. Yet this is not just a statement of who He is — it’s a testimony of what He has done: “He has made His light to shine upon us.” This light is more than the glow of the sun — it is the revelation of His presence, the warmth of His favor, and the piercing truth that chases away every shadow. His light doesn’t simply illuminate — it transforms.
Psalm 118:24 is not merely about enjoying a new day — it is a prophetic declaration of a divinely appointed moment. “This is the day the LORD has made” speaks of a kairos moment in history when heaven and earth converge. It points to the day when Messiah would be revealed, salvation would walk into Jerusalem, and God’s covenant plan would take a dramatic step forward. This is not the casual celebration of a sunrise — it is the joyful response to God’s redemptive unfolding.