Matthew 18:3-4 And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
One of my favorite “hidden” lessons in the Pesach (Passover) celebration “Seder” meal is the mystery of the “afikomen.” This specially prepared meal– during which the participants are reminded of Israel’s supernatural deliverance from Egyptian slavery by the mighty hand of God– also includes 3 particular pieces of matzah, (unleavened bread). These three are placed in a “matzah tash” — a special pouch containing three compartments.
Some rabbis explain these matzot (matza in plural) as representing the three Patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Others suggest that they represent three individual groups of Jewish people – the Priests, the Levites, and the Israelites. However appropriate these explanations may be, they seem to fall short of adequately explaining the tradition in which the leader of the Seder breaks the middle matzah in two, and hides half of it in a white linen cloth until the end of the meal. As the children finish their meal, they begin to search high and low throughout the house for the afikomen – and the one who finds it returns to the leader of the Seder demanding a reward in exchange for returning it! At the conclusion of the Seder, according to Rabbinic law, a small piece of the afikomen must be broken off and eaten by everyone present, as a reminder of the Passover lamb.
What is this “afikomen”? And what could be the real meaning concealed in this ancient tradition? I suggest that the answer to this question may be discovered when we learn that “afikomen” is not a Hebrew word, but comes from the Greek word – ikneomai – which literally means, “I CAME!” May this not point to the reality that Messiah’s first coming as the Passover “Lamb of God”, was “hidden” in some way from the Jewish people, as the Lord Himself said? [Luke 19:42]
Is it simply coincidence that matzah is pierced and striped? Or might this also be a “hidden” and providential indication of Messiah’s experience at His first coming? “He was wounded for our transgressions…” and, “by His stripes we are healed”; [Isa. 53]. Why was only the middle matzah broken? Because only the Son was “broken” for us? Why must the afikomen be wrapped in linen and hidden away? Because the Son who died was wrapped in linen and hidden away, and may only be found through inquisitive childlike faith…..which is richly rewarded….
There are so many wonderful mysteries hidden in the Hebraic roots of our faith – yet, to me, this one stands out boldly among them– that one must come to God with the faith of a child – not through intelligence, religious ritual, or human wisdom– but simply accepting His word and His promises as children, believing and trusting them. Isn’t it beautiful that the Lord chose this humble way to reveal Himself?
Copyright 1999-2026 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
How to display the above article within the Worthy Suite WordPress Plugin.
[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Yesterday, we heard the anthem of the redeemed rise like a trumpet blast: “The LORD is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation.” We explored how this was more than personal — it was prophetic, Messianic, and generational. We saw Yeshua not only as our Deliverer but as the very embodiment of God’s strength, the melody of our praise, and the fulfillment of every promise. We stood in awe as tents of rejoicing rose in the midst of warfare, and households became sanctuaries of celebration. But today, we go deeper — we step to the well.
There’s a reason this verse resounds like a national anthem of the redeemed. It’s not just a personal declaration—it’s a generational cry that echoes back to Moses at the Red Sea (Exodus 15:2) and forward to the final deliverance of Israel. The Hebrew word for salvation—Yeshua—makes this verse unmistakably Messianic. It isn’t a vague deliverance. It is the revelation of Yeshua (Jesus), the Deliverer, who embodies strength, becomes our song, and stands as the fulfillment of God’s redemptive plan.
The cry that shattered the stillness of Golgotha—“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)—was not a random cry of despair, but the deliberate voice of Yeshua pointing to Scripture. As He hung on the tree, bearing the sin of the world, He invoked the ancient words of David—not only identifying Himself as the righteous sufferer, but signaling that Psalm 22 was unfolding before their very eyes. In that moment, heaven and earth bore witness to a divine mystery: the Holy One, seemingly abandoned, was fulfilling a prophecy written a millennium earlier. Yeshua did not merely suffer—He fulfilled every word, every shadow, every stroke of divine prophecy.
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.