Peace & Victory - Part I

In ancient times, palm branches symbolised goodness and victory. They were often depicted on coins and important buildings. Solomon had palm branches carved into the walls and doors of the temple. Again at the end of the Bible, people from every nation raise palm branches to honour Jesus (source)

A few days ago, Christendom celebrated Palm Sunday. On that first Palm Sunday, thousands of years ago, two things were happening.

It was the 10th day of Nisan on the Jewish calendar, the day families selected the lamb that would be sacrificed for Passover in five short days. The selection process eliminated any lambs with defects or blemishes. It had to be the best of the best, the perfect lamb.

This lamb was chosen in remembrance of when their ancestors, enslaved in Egypt, were commanded to sacrifice an unblemished lamb and paint its blood over their doorposts, which would act as a covering from death and usher the way to their freedom.

As crowds gathered on the streets of Jerusalem that first Palm Sunday, they perceived Jesus as their promised saviour, the one who was going to free them from the suffering and intolerable conditions placed upon them by their captors.

They heralded Him as their saviour, waving palm branches, the symbol of victory at that time, shouting out “Hosanna”, which, translated from the Hebrew words hoshia na, literally means “save us, please” or “save now”.

Surely this man they had heard so much about: a man who, by reputation, knew the Scriptures intimately and the Jewish teachings back to front, better than anyone before him. A man who had already captured the hearts of people by the miracles he had demonstrated. A man who, despite having no obvious pedigree, was able to silence even the harshest of critics. A man who, somehow, carried both authority and humility.

This was, without doubt, the choice for the saviour who would take the Jewish people into their next chapter, out from under Roman control.

And if there had been any doubt about it, as the prophecy had been written in the Book of Zechariah, this saviour would ride in on a donkey.

So, what happened between Sunday and Friday?

The Edge of Exodus

The last day in my current place of employment is only days away. As it gets closer, the same picture keeps replaying in my mind. I see God approaching on a great winged creature, drawing nearer and nearer, ready to lift me up and carry me out of this place.

But let me be clear, this place was not always something I longed to be delivered from. In many ways it was heaven sent; the job arrived at exactly the right time for me.  I had not held permanent employment since before I had children and it was the tail end of COVID when everything in this world seemed uncertain. 

But with all things, there is change.  Sometimes good, but sometimes not so good.   Circumstances change, people move on and something happens in places like this. The atmosphere shifts. What once felt like divine providence becomes something almost unrecognisable.

In a couple of weeks we will celebrate Passover, the commemoration of Israel’s exodus from Egypt. Yet Egypt had not always been a place of suffering. Once, it too had been a place of extraordinary provision. It was where Jacob was reunited with his son Joseph. It was where his family found safety during famine, where generations grew and multiplied.

But the place that once sheltered them eventually became the place that enslaved them.

From the time Jacob arrived in Egypt to the moment of Israel’s great exodus was around four hundred years. Over time the memory of the original blessing faded, and what had once been refuge became bondage.

I recognise something of that pattern in my own life.

My own Egypt, the place that once felt like an answer to prayer, has over time become a place of unimaginable stress. And yet that does not erase what it once was. It was provision. It came at exactly the right time. It was what I needed for that season.

It shaped me.
It clarified what I enjoy doing and what I am good at.
It stretched me in ways I could not have anticipated.

There is a small detail in the Passover story that has been sitting with me. When Israel finally left Egypt, they did not leave empty handed. They carried with them silver, gold, and clothing, gifts from the very place that had once enslaved them.

Perhaps that is part of leaving Egypt too. Not pretending the place gave us nothing, but recognising what we gained there and carrying it forward into the next season.

I realise now that I will leave this place with something as well: restored confidence, sharpened skills, and the quiet knowledge that I am capable of more than I once believed.

Not forgetting the provision that once was, but recognising that the time has come to leave. Egypt, after all, was never meant to be the final destination. It was a place of provision for a season, a stopping point on the way to something still unseen.

Passover is also a time of remembrance and thanksgiving. And that is where I find myself now, not in resentment or regret, but in quiet gratitude for what this place has been in my life.