Ecclesiastes 1:9-10 That which has been is what will be, That which is done is what will be done, And there is nothing new under the sun. 10 Is there anything of which it may be said, “See, this is new”? It has already been in ancient times before us.
A century ago, Pyongyang, North Korea’s capital, was a thriving center of Christianity, earning the nickname “Jerusalem of the East.” The early 1900s saw rapid Christian growth, especially after the 1907 Pyongyang Revival, sparked by a meeting between Western missionaries and local believers. At its peak, about 30% of the population were practicing Christians, and the city was filled with thousands of churches.
Then came the Japanese occupation of Korea from 1910 to 1945, which was a tough time for Christians. The Japanese were openly hostile toward them, imprisoning many and even martyring some. Despite these challenges, the faith held strong. The Japanese occupation tried to wipe out the Korean culture and language and replace it with its own, leading to the tensions between North Korea and Japan till this day.
World War II changed everything, splitting Korea into two occupation zones that were supposed to be temporary but eventually led to the Korean War. Before the war, Pyongyang was still a Christian hub with over 2,000 churches, but the North Korean government soon cracked down hard.
In 1946, the Soviets set up the “United Democratic National Front,” which later merged with other groups to become the Workers’ Party of North Korea, the ruling party we know today. When North Korea officially became the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea on September 9, 1948, the government basically declared that Christianity was over.
First, they seized Christian assets with the 1946 Land Reform Act, and then they weakened the church even more by nationalizing key industries in 1948. Kim Il Sung, wanting to keep religion under control, appointed his Christian mother’s relative, Pastor Kang Yang Wook, to lead the Chosun Christianity Federation, a group designed to bring Christian organizations in line with the Communist Party.
By late 1949, as things heated up before the Korean War, the regime stepped up its crackdown on Christians, arresting anyone involved in religious activities and raiding homes for religious books, which they considered an act of rebellion.
By the time the Korean War started in June 1950, the North Korean government was on a mission to arrest and persecute Christian leaders. As North Korean troops retreated during the war, Kim Il Sung ordered the mass killing of Christians, with estimates of those killed reaching into the tens of thousands.
As the war raged on, many Christians fled to South Korea, where they started new churches, some of which grew to become among the largest in the world. This migration played a huge role in making South Korea the most Christian country in Asia, with nearly 29% of the population identifying as Christian today.
If you look at a satellite image of the Korean Peninsula at night, the contrast between North and South Korea is striking. South Korea is brightly lit and full of life, while North Korea is almost entirely dark and lifeless. This striking difference serves as a powerful reminder that embracing God brings light into the darkness.
North Korea is widely regarded as the world’s top country for Christian persecution. The Bible remains banned, and according to Open Doors, an estimated 50,000 to 70,000 Christians are currently held in North Korean prison camps.
The Communists didn’t come in openly as Communists; they arrived disguised as champions of Democracy. Learn this history lesson and pass it on to your children: the Christians of North Korea, in their deep hatred for the Japanese, ended up trading one evil for another. This choice plunged the nation into three generations of darkness that still continues till this day. Pray and see how this history lesson could apply to us today!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]King David wrote these words generations before the empty tomb shook the foundations of death. At first glance, Psalm 16 reads like a personal prayer of trust — a yearning for security and closeness with God. But beneath the surface, the Spirit was revealing something deeper, something eternal: a promise not just for David, but for all of us.
The majestic Messianic prophecy of Isaiah 9 culminates in a powerful declaration: “The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.” Not might. Not maybe. Not if we work hard enough. It will be done — because God Himself is passionate to see it through. The Hebrew word for “zeal” here is קִנְאָה (kin’ah), which also means jealousy or burning passion. This is not passive interest — it’s the fiery determination of the LORD of Hosts to establish His Kingdom. The same fiery zeal that struck Egypt with plagues—shattering the power of false gods, that parted the Red Sea and made a way where there was none, that birthed a nation from the womb of slavery, and that drove the Son of God to the cross at Calvary — is the very zeal that will fulfill every promise declared in Isaiah 9.
In a world weary from political upheaval, moral confusion, and fleeting peace, Isaiah offers us a vision of something profoundly different—an ever-increasing kingdom ruled by a King whose justice is not compromised, whose peace is not fleeting, and whose throne is eternally secure. The phrase “of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end” speaks not just of duration, but of expansion—a kingdom that doesn’t plateau, doesn’t weaken, and doesn’t shrink back in the face of darkness. Instead, it advances, multiplies, and transforms.
In the Hebraic understanding, a name isn’t just a label—it reveals essence, identity, and destiny. Isaiah doesn’t say these are merely descriptions of the Messiah; he says His Name shall be called — meaning this is who He is. When we declare these names, we are not offering poetic praise — we are calling upon real attributes of the living King. In just one verse, the prophet unveils the depth of Messiah’s personhood, showing us that this child is no ordinary child. He is the fulfillment of heaven’s promise and the revelation of God’s nature.
In a world wearied by the failures of men, Isaiah 9:6 offers a startling promise of hope and strength: “The government shall be upon His shoulder.” This is not the language of politics as we know it — it’s the language of divine dominion. The Hebrew word for “government” here is misrah (מִשְׂרָה), a word so unique it appears only in these two verses—Isaiah 9:6 and 9:7. Unlike more common Hebrew words for government — mamlachah or memshalah, misrah speaks of a rare and elevated rule—divinely ordained, gentle in character, and eternal in scope. This is a government not imposed, but carried. Not tyrannical, but righteous and restorative.
The prophet Isaiah begins with language so familiar that it’s often read too quickly. Yet within this brief phrase lies a depth of mystery and majesty that anchors the entire gospel. “For unto us a Child is born” speaks of an earthly event–Messiah’s humanity. He was born as all men are born, taking on flesh, entering a specific culture, time, and lineage. The Hebrew word for “born” (yalad) reinforces His full identification with us. This is the miracle of the incarnation: God wrapped in the vulnerability of a newborn child.
When the Lord called us to be His ambassadors, He didn’t merely give us a message — He gave us a lifestyle to embody it. An ambassador is not just a messenger, but a living representation of the Kingdom they serve. That means our behavior, words, and example all matter deeply.