The moon rose over silent doors, as families gathered, hearts unsure. A lamb was chosen, pure and small, its life the price to save them all.

With bitter herbs and bread unleavened, they ate in haste, eyes fixed on heaven. Staff in hand, cloak on their frame, ready to walk out of shame.

Blood marked the wood with trembling hands, a sign for mercy to pass the land. Not one bone broken, not one word lost, obedience paid the cost of freedom.

In that night, the Lord drew near, to judge, to spare, to make things clear. The lamb was eaten, none left to spoil,  for holy things are not for toil.

This was the start, the sacred hour, when bondage broke by sovereign power. Every door marked by grace became a threshold into faith.

© Christian National Church of Christ 92561/10302025