Matthew 24:32 From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts out its leaves, you know that summer is near.
Yeshua (Jesus) didn’t merely offer a suggestion–He issued a command: “Learn the parable.” In Greek, the word manthano (μανθάνω) implies disciplined learning, not casual observation. In Hebraic thought, to “learn” a parable means to press into its hidden meaning until it transforms how you live. The fig tree is not just a poetic image–it’s a prophetic mandate. And Yeshua expected His disciples, including us, to understand it deeply.
The fig tree often symbolizes Israel throughout Scripture (Hosea 9:10; Jeremiah 24; Joel 1:7). When Yeshua told this parable just days before His crucifixion, He had already cursed a fig tree that bore no fruit (Matthew 21:19), symbolizing Israel’s spiritual barrenness at the time. But in this parable, the fig tree is coming back to life. Its tender branches and new leaves are signs of renewal and return.
What is the most visible sign that this fig tree is budding? The miraculous rebirth of the nation of Israel in 1948, after nearly 2,000 years of dispersion. This event marked the start of a prophetic countdown–Israel is now the major signpost in the convergence of end-time events. Just as a budding fig tree tells you summer is near, the rebirth of Israel tells you the end-time season has begun.
Yeshua said, “When you see all these things”–not just Israel’s rebirth, but deception, wars, lawlessness, global shaking, and the gospel going to all nations–“know that it is near, at the doors” (Matthew 24:33). Like a fig tree responding to the sun, soil, and rain all at once, the prophetic signs are responding to a divine convergence. Israel is the centerpiece, but not the only branch.
So Yeshua’s call to “learn the parable” is not just about agriculture–it’s about prophetic awakening. To learn is to perceive the time, understand the signs, and prepare our hearts for the return of the King. Israel’s restoration is not a coincidence — it’s a trumpet blast to the nations (Isaiah 11:11-12). The fig tree has budded. Now we must ask: are we watching, learning, and responding as we were commanded to?
The ancient promises are sprouting before your eyes. The Lord of the harvest calls you–not to slumber, but to learn the parable, discern the season, and awaken the sleeping. This is no time for apathy. It is the hour of prophetic clarity. You are commissioned to perceive the signs, hear the sound of convergence, and prepare the way of the Lord with boldness and truth. For the One who spoke of the fig tree is near–even at the door. “Let your waist be girded and your lamps burning… for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.” (Luke 12:35-40) Blessed is that servant whom the Master finds watching when He comes. Amen. So be it. Sound the trumpet.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]The Hebrew phrase “z’roah moshel lo” paints the picture of an arm that governs with both strength and care. The same Z’roah that brought Israel out of Egypt in power now establishes righteous order and sustains His people in love. Deliverance without rulership is incomplete; the Redeemer becomes the King — and the King rules as a Shepherd. The Arm does not act independently but moves in perfect submission to the Head, carrying out the will of the Father.
I’ll be doing a series on the “Arm of God,” beginning with this first message — The Arm that Redeems. The Hebrew Z’roah (זְרוֹעַ) means “arm” or “strength,” and in ancient Hebrew culture, the arm symbolizes active power in motion — strength applied for a purpose. In the Exodus account, God tells Moses He will redeem Israel “with an outstretched arm” (bizroa netuyah). This was not poetic metaphor; it was God’s declaration of decisive intervention. The Z’roah is the covenant-keeping arm that moves history, enforces promises, and breaks oppression. Every Pesach (Passover), during the seder — the festive meal of remembrance — the roasted lamb shank bone, the Z’roah, rests on the plate as a silent yet powerful witness to God’s mighty deliverance.
These closing verses of Psalm 118 begin with an unshakable proclamation: “The LORD is God.” In Hebrew, it’s emphatic — YHVH, He is El — the declaration that all authority, holiness, and sovereignty belong to Him alone. Yet this is not just a statement of who He is — it’s a testimony of what He has done: “He has made His light to shine upon us.” This light is more than the glow of the sun — it is the revelation of His presence, the warmth of His favor, and the piercing truth that chases away every shadow. His light doesn’t simply illuminate — it transforms.
Psalm 118:24 is not merely about enjoying a new day — it is a prophetic declaration of a divinely appointed moment. “This is the day the LORD has made” speaks of a kairos moment in history when heaven and earth converge. It points to the day when Messiah would be revealed, salvation would walk into Jerusalem, and God’s covenant plan would take a dramatic step forward. This is not the casual celebration of a sunrise — it is the joyful response to God’s redemptive unfolding.
These verses capture one of the most profound Messianic truths in all of Scripture. What man cast aside, God exalted. What the builders saw as flawed and unfit, God chose as the foundation of His eternal plan. Yeshua (Jesus), the rejected One, is the very cornerstone upon which salvation, identity, and destiny are built. This is more than a theological concept — it’s a divine reversal that reveals the heart of redemption. Rejection by man does not disqualify–it often qualifies you for God’s greatest purposes.
These verses are far more than ancient lyrics — they are a spiritual invitation. The psalmist doesn’t just admire the gate — he pleads for it to open. “Open to me the gates of righteousness…” This is the cry of a heart that longs for access to God, not by merit, but by mercy. In Hebrew thought, gates represent transition points — thresholds between the common and the holy, the outside and the inner court, the temporal and the eternal. These are not man-made doors — they are divine entrances into the presence and promises of the LORD.
As we continue our study in Psalm 118, I want to take a deep dive into verses 17-18, where the psalmist makes one of the boldest declarations in all of Scripture: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.” This isn’t the voice of someone untouched by pain — it’s the cry of someone who has been through the fire and come out declaring God’s faithfulness. This statement is not a denial of suffering; it’s a defiance of death. It’s the resolve of a heart that’s been chastened, refined, and pressed, yet remains confident in the God who preserves life — not just for survival, but for purpose.