Palm Sunday is a day of paradox. Crowds shout “Hosanna!” but miss the King they’re praising. Palm branches wave in celebration of the freedom they hoped Jesus would bring, but He rides in on a donkey, not a war horse. The people longed for deliverance from Rome, but Jesus came to deliver their souls. They wanted rest from oppression, but He came to offer a deeper rest than they could ever imagine. It’s as if everything they hoped for was almost right … but not quite.
And maybe that’s where some of us are today–even on this Palm Sunday. You’re looking for peace, but it keeps slipping through your fingers. You’ve found moments of relief, but not the kind of rest that anchors your soul. You’ve prayed for freedom, but still feel like a prisoner to fear and anxiety; sin and shame. You’ve waved your own kind of palm branch—asking God to show up, to intervene, to fix something. But like that crowd, maybe we’ve misunderstood what kind of King Jesus really is … and what kind of salvation He came to bring.
You see, He didn’t ride into Jerusalem just to make life more manageable.
He came to make it new.
He didn’t come just to give us a break from the routine of life.
He came to give us true rest in Him.
Not just from work, but from the deeper weariness beneath it all.
Not just from slavery in Egypt, but from the bondage in our hearts.
Not just to cancel debts, but to redeem us back to God Himself.
And that longing in our hearts—that ache for something more than this world can give—is not something to hide or push away. It’s something Jesus came to fulfill.
Only Jesus gives the rest we long for and the redemption we need.
What we see in the final chapters of Leviticus is a picture of God’s heart for His people—a sacred rhythm of rest, redemption, and restoration that points beyond the land of Israel to the Kingdom of Christ. The commands about Sabbath years and Jubilee redemption weren’t just agricultural and social policies; they were divine signposts, pointing forward to the kind of peace and freedom only God can give.
On this Palm Sunday, as we remember the King who rode into Jerusalem to lay down His life, we’re reminded that His mission was always about more than temporary relief. It was about fulfilling this very promise of God—bringing lasting rest and ultimate redemption to weary, broken people like us.
Let’s begin with the first truth we see in Leviticus 25. As God’s people, we are:
I. Resting in God’s Provision (Leviticus 25:1-22; 26:1-13)
Let’s turn to the book of Leviticus, chapter 25, where God begins to lay out this rhythm of rest for His people. Leviticus 25, beginning in verse 1:
The Lord then spoke to Moses at Mount Sinai, saying, “Speak to the sons of Israel and say to them, ‘When you come into the land which I shall give you, then the land shall have a sabbath to the Lord. Six years you shall sow your field, and six years you shall prune your vineyard and gather in its crop, but during the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath rest, a sabbath to the Lord; you shall not sow your field nor prune your vineyard.
Now look down at verse 20 …
But if you say, “What are we going to eat on the seventh year if we do not sow or gather in our crops?” then I will so order My blessing for you in the sixth year that it will bring forth the crop for three years. When you are sowing the eighth year, you can still eat old things from the crop, eating the old until the ninth year when its crop comes in.
And now turn to chapter 26, beginning with verse 2 …
You shall keep My sabbaths and reverence My sanctuary; I am the Lord. If you walk in My statutes and keep My commandments so as to carry them out, then I shall give you rains in their season, so that the land will yield its produce and the trees of the field will bear their fruit. Indeed, your threshing will last for you until grape gathering, and grape gathering will last until sowing time. You will thus eat your food to the full and live securely in your land.
God established a rhythm of rest for His people—not as a burden, but as a blessing. Every seventh day, every seventh year, and ultimately, every fiftieth year, the Israelites were commanded to stop striving and trust in the provision of God. The Sabbath year and the Year of Jubilee were radical resets rooted in God's character and care. They were tangible reminders that everything belongs to Him—land, labor, and life itself.
This wasn’t just about rest from labor—it was a declaration of dependence. God was teaching His people that their survival didn’t depend on their output, but on His ongoing faithfulness. And that brings us to the first thing we learn about Sabbath rest:
A. Rest is an Act of Trust
God’s command in verse 2 is simple but stunning: “When you come into the land which I shall give you, then the land shall have a sabbath to the Lord.” And then He says in verse 4, “during the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath rest, a sabbath to the Lord; you shall not sow your field nor prune your vineyard.”
Think about how countercultural this was. For an agrarian society, to let the land go untouched for a full year wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was economically and physically terrifying. They couldn’t store up non-parishable goods. There were no supermarkets to fall back on. No crop meant no income, no harvest, no grain. No provision for their family or their future!
And yet, God makes this promise in verse 21: “I will so order My blessing for you in the sixth year that it will bring forth the crop for three years.” God says He’ll bless the sixth year so abundantly that the harvest will carry them not just through the Sabbath year, but through the eighth until the ninth year’s crop comes in.
In other words, God was saying, “I’ve got you. Obey Me, and I’ll provide.” But that kind of rest only works if you trust the One who gives it.
That’s still true for us today. Most of us aren’t farmers, but we are busy. We live with a constant pressure to produce; to meet quotas, keep pace, push harder. The idea of stepping back, of truly resting, can feel like failure or irresponsibility. But the practice of Sabbath, even now, is a weekly reminder: God provides what we can’t produce. We don’t earn His love by performing. We don’t keep our lives afloat by sheer effort. We rest, not because we’ve finished everything, but because Jesus is enough.
Real rest is not just the absence of work—it’s the presence of faith.
B. Rest is a Reset for the Soul
God’s command to rest wasn’t only about crops and fields. It was about hearts and lives. In chapter 26, He lays out the blessings that would come through obedience. In verse 4, God promises, “I will give you rains in their season.” In verse 6, “I shall also grant peace in the land.” Verse 9, “I will turn toward you and make you fruitful and multiply you.” But these promised blessings were not just about agricultural abundance, safety and security, but they also pointed toward deep spiritual restoration.
Look at what He says in verses 11 and 12: “Moreover, I will make My dwelling among you, and My soul will not reject you. I will also walk among you and be your God, and you shall be My people.”
That’s the real promise of rest—not just provision for your needs, but presence with your God.
The Sabbath year—and the Jubilee that followed—created sacred space for people to return: return land, return home, return to God. It reset not only the economy but the entire social and spiritual fabric of the community. It re-centered them on the truth that their value wasn’t in their productivity, but in their identity as God’s people.
We need that reset, too.
We live in a culture where rest is rare and performance is constant. Our phones buzz, ding and ring demanding our constant attention, our calendars fill up, our to-do lists stretch into tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that!
The rest God offers isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity. Not just physical, but deeply spiritual. Sabbath invites us to stop, breathe, and remember that we are not what we do. We are who He says we are.
You are not your job.
You are not your achievements.
You are not your failures.
You … are His.
That’s why Jesus said, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27). It’s not about restriction—it’s about relationship. It’s about making space to remember that He is God, and that we are His.
As God’s people we are resting in God’s provision and secondly, we are:
II. Restored by God’s Redemption (Leviticus 25:23-55; 26:40–45)
The Year of Jubilee was the culmination of divine rest and restoration for God’s people. Every seventh year was a Sabbath for the land—but every fiftieth year, something even greater happened. Jubilee. Slaves were set free. Debts were forgiven. Land was returned to its original owners.
It wasn’t just a helpful tradition—it was a holy declaration. Jubilee shouted to the world that God’s people were never meant to live in permanent bondage, poverty, or despair. It was a built-in rhythm of grace and redemption. And at the heart of it all was a stunning truth about the character of our God: He is a Redeemer.
Let’s read the foundation of this in Leviticus 25, beginning in verse 23:
“The land, moreover, shall not be sold permanently, for the land is Mine; for you are but aliens and sojourners with Me. Thus for every piece of your property, you are to provide for the redemption of the land.”
Now, skip down to verse 39:
“If a countryman of yours becomes so poor with regard to you that he sells himself to you, you shall not subject him to a slave’s service. He shall be with you as a hired man, as if he is a sojourner; he shall serve with you until the year of jubilee. He shall then go out from you, he and his sons with him, and shall go back to his family, that he may return to the property of his forefathers.”
And now verse 55:
“For the sons of Israel are My servants; they are My servants whom I brought out from the land of Egypt—I am the Lord your God.”
These laws weren’t just random rules—they revealed something precious about the very heart of our God.
A. Redemption is Central to God’s Heart
As you read through this passage, one word rises again and again like a heartbeat through the text: redeem. It appears over a dozen times. Whether it’s land (v. 25), homes (v. 29), or people (vv. 47–49), God makes a way for what’s been lost to be bought back. He makes a way for what’s been broken to be made whole.
Redemption isn’t just a minor footnote in the law—it was central to the law. And verse 23 gives us the reason. God says, “... for the land is Mine …” In other words, “This doesn’t ultimately belong to you. It’s Mine. And I will make sure what is Mine is made whole again.”
That’s what redemption is: the reclaiming of what rightfully belongs to God. And when you pull back from all of this and see the bigger story of Scripture, you begin to realize that Jubilee was never just about land and liberty—it was always pointing forward.
Because just like the land, just like the slaves, just like the debt-ridden families in Israel, we too were in bondage. We were sold under sin; cut off from our inheritance. But God refused to leave us there.
The Gospel isn’t a story about good people becoming better. It’s the story of a holy God redeeming unholy people. He came to buy back what sin had stolen. Through Jesus, God paid the full price of our redemption. Not with silver. Not with gold. But with the blood of His own Son.
Redemption isn’t just something God does—it’s who He is.
B. We Belong to a Redeeming God
Look again at verse 55 of Leviticus 25: “For the sons of Israel are My servants, whom I brought out from the land of Egypt.” This verse is the hinge on which the whole chapter turns. The land belonged to God—but so did the people. Their whole identity was built on redemption. They didn’t free themselves—God brought them out. They didn’t earn it—He accomplished it. Which meant they weren’t their own. They belonged to a Redeeming God. And the same is true for us!
It reminds me of what Paul wrote: “Do you not know … that You are not your own? You were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20) and Peter makes it even clearer: “You were not redeemed with perishable things like silver or gold … but with precious blood, as of a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ” (1 Peter 1:18–19).
And just in case someone might think this redemption was only for the faithful, only for the obedient, only for the ones who got it all right—Leviticus shows us something even more beautiful.
In chapter 26, God lays out the consequences for rebellion. He tells them plainly: “If you walk contrary to Me … if you break My covenant … exile will come.”
But even then—even in the far country of failure–have you ever been there? In the far country of failure? Even then, look at what God says in verse 42 of chapter 26: “Then I will remember My covenant with Jacob, and I will remember also My covenant with Isaac, and My covenant with Abraham as well …”
And then verse 44: “Yet in spite of this, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them … for I am the Lord their God.”
Even in exile. Even in rebellion. Even when they forgot Him—He remembered them.
That’s what kind of Redeemer He is. A God who restores not only when you’ve done everything right, but even when you’ve run out of excuses. A God who comes after you, not just when you’re close—but even when you’re far off. A God who doesn’t forget, even when we do.
And if that’s true—if that’s who our God is—then let me ask you:
What area of your life have you stopped believing God can redeem?
What part of your story feels too far gone?
What chains have you accepted as permanent simply because it’s been so long?
Jubilee reminds us: no situation is beyond His power, and no soul is beyond His reach. The heart of God has always been to redeem and restore. And He wants to do that in your life.
You may feel stuck. You may feel ashamed. You may feel like the damage is too deep or the distance too far. But the good news of the Gospel is this: the Redeemer is still at work. And He doesn’t just restore your past—He redeems your future.
And if the Sabbath and Jubilee were a shadow of that redemption, then Jesus is the substance. The invitation of Jubilee wasn’t just a ritual to perform—it pointed to a Savior to receive.
Which leads us to our final truth today:
III. Receiving Chirst’s invitation (Heb. 4:1-11; Matt. 11:28)
Turn in your Bibles to the book of Hebrews and find chapter 4.
Everything Leviticus anticipates is fulfilled in Jesus. He is our Sabbath rest (Hebrews 4:9). He is our ultimate Jubilee (Luke 4:18–21). He is the One who frees us from slavery, forgives our debts, and welcomes us home. The promise of rest still stands, but it must be received.
A. The Promise of Rest Remains
Hebrews 4:1 opens with both a warning and an invitation: “Let us fear if, while a promise remains of entering His rest, any one of you may seem to have come short of it.”
This is a sobering reminder that the promise of rest still remains, but not everyone receives it. God’s rest was never meant to be received passively. It isn’t automatic, but it is available. Through Jesus the invitation remains.
Verse 6 of Hebrews 4, explains that although the promise remains, “they failed to enter because of disobedience.” And so, God speaks again. He offers another opportunity. Look at verse 7: “He again fixes a certain day, “Today,” saying through David … “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.”
The rest of God is not limited to a year, a ritual, or a location—it’s a posture of faith. It’s trust in the finished work of God through Jesus. Just as Israel had to trust God in the wilderness, so too we must respond with obedient belief even in the wilderness of our world. The rest remains—but it is entered only through surrender.
The invitation is open. The promise of rest remains. And yet, God will not force you into His rest. You must receive it … and only Jesus gives the rest we long for and the redemption we need.
B. The Hope of Rest in Jesus
Listen to the words of Christ in Matthew 11:28–30: “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”
This is the voice of the true and better Sabbath. The true and better Jubilee. Jesus doesn’t say, “Try harder.” He doesn’t say, “Get it all together first.” He says, “Come to Me. Right now. Come to Me. Just as you are … come.”
Come weary. Come burdened. Come broken. And He promises: “I will give you rest.”
This isn’t just about taking a break—it’s about becoming whole. It’s not about an easier life, but about a transformed one. He doesn’t offer temporary relief; He offers eternal renewal. The rest of Jesus is deeper than sleep, greater than vacation, fuller than freedom from obligation. It is “... rest for your soul.”
This is what we celebrate in the Resurrection Season. It’s what Palm Sunday points us to. Jesus didn’t ride into Jerusalem for the applause—He rode in on a path to the cross. He didn’t arrive with military might—He came in meekness and mercy. He wasn’t there to seize a throne—but to bear a cross.
Because that’s what it would cost to give us rest.
That’s what it would take to secure our redemption.
He came to trade places with us. To take our restlessness and give us His peace. To take our shame and give us His righteousness. To carry the burden of our sin so we could finally lay it down.
And the invitation still stands today: “Come to Me … and I will give you rest.”
So here’s the question: Will you receive the rest Jesus offers? Not just believe in it—not just admire it from a distance—but actually take hold of it by faith?
Maybe you’ve been running yourself ragged trying to earn something Jesus already paid for.
Maybe you’ve been holding on to guilt He already died to forgive.
Maybe you’ve been living as if rest was something you had to achieve, instead of something you were meant to receive.
What if today was your Jubilee?
What if today, you stopped striving and started trusting?
What if today, you heard His voice—and didn’t harden your heart?
The invitation has been made.
Rest has been secured.
The Redeemer has come.
Only Jesus gives the rest we long for and the redemption we need.
