The Jesse Tree: Day 9

There’s a strange kind of waiting that happens in the dark, waiting that holds both fear and hope in the same breath. That’s the kind of waiting Israel knew on the night of the first Passover. For 430 years, their prayers had echoed in Egypt’s streets: “How long, O Lord?” And now, as midnight approached, that question hung in the air, but this time, with a whisper of deliverance.

God told them what to do: take a spotless lamb, slaughter it, and paint its blood on your doorframe. The Lord Himself would pass through Egypt that night, striking down every firstborn, but wherever He saw the blood of the lamb, He would “pass over.”

To us, that may sound primitive, but for Israel, this was theology lived out with trembling hands. The lamb was a declaration. “We are covered: not because of our worth, but because of God’s mercy.”

In Jewish tradition, the night of Passover is not just remembered, it is relived. Each generation is taught to see themselves as if they had come out of Egypt. This is more than history; it’s identity. The lamb marked the beginning of a people, a people who belonged to God through redemption.

Fast forward to the Gospels, and John the Baptist’s cry rings with ancient memory: 

Every Jewish listener would have felt the echo of Exodus 12. Here was another lamb; spotless, chosen, offered. But this time, the rescue was not from Pharaoh, but from sin and death itself.

At Advent, we wait again, but with a deeper understanding. The incarnation of Jesus is God stepping into the dark night of human bondage, carrying the blood that would mark our doorposts forever. He is the Lamb who was slain, whose birth was the beginning of our deliverance, and whose return will mark the final Passover, when death itself will be swallowed up in victory.

As you look upon the symbol of the lamb today, remember: salvation has always come by the hand of God, through the blood of another, and for the sake of bringing His people home. The Lamb of God is both our rescue and our reunion.