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]Here we have a stark word. Here we see the Lord testing Israel: “He gave you manna to eat in the wilderness, something your ancestors had never known, to humble and test you so that in the end it might go well with you.” [Deuteronomy 8:16]. Yet Paul says that they put Him to the test. A great irony occurs when God is testing us, and we despise His discipline, thereby testing Him.
The Apostle Paul continues his warning to the Corinthians against idolatry by referring to Israel’s celebration/worship of the golden calf. Aaron’s proclamation, “These are your gods (plural) O Israel” could be one of the earliest declarations mixing the worship of the true and living God, YHVH, with idols. This is called “syncretism”. Dictionary.com defines it: ” the attempted reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, or parties, as in philosophy or religion.”
The Apostle Paul’s admonition in 1 Corinthians 10:6 against desiring evil as they did, would seem to point to the obvious sins – lying, stealing, adultery, fornication, etc. – and following their deliverance from slavery, many of the children of Israel were certainly guilty of some of these. But this passage in Numbers describes a type of sin we don’t normally consider: it was simply their desire for the foods they ate in Egypt.
When I was in school, it seemed they ran a “fire drill” at least once a year. A long, loud, kind of scary bell would sound and we knew it was either a real fire, or, more likely, just another drill. We were formed into lines, ushered down the halls, and out the doors we went. Of course, the point was practice….so we would be prepared for a real fire.
The children of Israel are facing yet another test, this one, even more severe than hunger– dehydration – which, unabated, quickly leads to a miserable death. Yet, now, every day they are also seeing the miracles of God, who is feeding them regularly with manna, and surrounding them by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Once again, they fail the test, even in the midst of their daily witness of miracles. So even though the test is more severe, the evidence for trust is that much greater.
Is there something about miracles that makes them forgettable? Or is the problem with us? After journeying for a season the children of Israel were faced with hunger — another test. This time, naturally faced with starvation, they murmured against the Lord, AGAIN! You’d think they might begin to put it together that God truly wanted them to trust Him. Apparently not yet. The dire circumstances attacked their mass cerebral cortex (memory) and once again they went into attack mode, bitterly complaining in unbelief. The Ten Plagues, the pillar of fire, the Red Sea walk, the Egyptian chariot soup, none of these connected to the present hunger pangs. Nature trumped super-nature, and sadly, God Himself.
The Apostle Paul’s discourse in 1 Corinthians 10 recalls the great miracles God performed for the children of Israel during the time of the Exodus. Delivered from Egypt and Pharaoh’s slavery, they were dismayed to discover his maniacal rage pursuing them anew, driving them into a deadly corner and imminent destruction. Humanly speaking, their terror and panic was understandable. With their eyes they could only see the wrath of Egypt succeeding at last to utterly destroy them. In that state of mind, how might they have remembered the consecutive miracles God had wrought against Egypt which had brought them to this very place?