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]Life wears us down. We live in a world of relentless motion, pressure, and performance. Yeshua (Jesus) doesn’t deny this. Instead, He speaks directly to those who are “weary and heavy-laden.” The Greek for “weary” (kopiao) means utterly worn out—soul-tired, not just physically fatigued. The burdens He mentions aren’t only external tasks but inward baggage: guilt, shame, expectations, and hidden wounds. Yeshua’s call isn’t merely an invitation to stop—it’s a call to come. He offers what no one else can: rest that restores.
When we read the promises of God, we must read them the way we ourselves want to be heard—in full context. Just as we expect others to understand our words in light of what we’ve said before, God expects us to interpret His promises in light of all He has revealed in His Word.
A few days ago, I shared a quote from B.J. Willhite, and today I want to delve deeper into his powerful insight. He wrote, “The law of prayer is the highest law of the universe—it can overcome the other laws by sanctioning God’s intervention. When implemented properly, the law of prayer permits God to exercise His sovereignty in a world under the dominion of a rebel with free will, in a universe governed by natural law.”
When God spoke to Abram, the command was clear yet profoundly personal. The Hebrew phrase lech lecha carries a dual meaning: “go forth” and “go for yourself.” This journey wasn’t just a physical relocation; it was a spiritual pilgrimage—a call to walk out God’s will and to walk into his divine inheritance. Abram’s journey was not merely about distance but about destiny.
In the stillness of a desert night, surrounded by cut offerings and the lingering scent of sacrifice, Abram beheld something utterly sacred — God Himself, in the form of a smoking oven and a burning torch, passing between the pieces of a covenant. It was not Abram who walked through the blood-soaked path. It was God alone. And that changes everything.
Tonight we’ll participate in the Independence Day celebration in Israel — and what a party! — shows, fireworks, music, dancing, everything under the sun!
Yesterday, Israel observed Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day—honoring the memory of the six million Jews who perished. Tragically, a recent poll reveals that nearly half of Israelis fear the possibility of another Holocaust. In light of this sobering reality, I want to share a powerful story of one remarkable woman who rescued 2,500 Jewish children from the ghettos during World War II.