Psalm 116:5 Gracious is the LORD, and righteous; Yes, our God is merciful.
Exodus 33:19 And he said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name ‘The LORD.’ And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy.
Isaiah 54:7-8 For a mere moment I have forsaken you, But with great mercies I will gather you. 8 With a little wrath I hid My face from you for a moment; But with everlasting kindness I will have mercy on you,” Says the LORD, your Redeemer.
The mercy of God is not a distant concept—it’s His very nature. From Genesis to Revelation, God reveals Himself as righteous, just, and profoundly compassionate. His mercy is not a reaction; it’s a reflection of His divine character.
When Moses asked to see God’s glory, what was revealed? Goodness, grace, and mercy—not thunderbolts or judgment, but compassion flowing from the very heart of the Almighty.
The Hebrew word for compassion, rakhamim (רַחֲמִים), comes from the root rechem (רֶחֶם), meaning womb. This is no coincidence. Just as the womb protects, nurtures, and gives life, so God’s compassion embraces us in our weakness, shelters us in our wandering, and breathes hope into our despair.
Even in seasons of correction, God’s heart never grows cold. His discipline may be real, but it is always measured and momentary. What feels like abandonment is often just a pause in His visible presence, not in His love.
As Isaiah reminds us: “For a mere moment I forsook you, but with great compassion I will gather you. In a little wrath I hid My face, but with everlasting kindness I will have mercy on you.” (Isaiah 54:7–8)
His mercy endures far beyond His anger, and His kindness knows no end. Though He may allow distance for a season, His compassion never stops pursuing us—it always makes a way back to His embrace. Where sin has scattered, His mercy gathers. Where wrath is momentary, His love is everlasting. Even when we forget Him, He remembers us—faithfully, tenderly, completely.
The greatest revelation of God’s compassion came through Yeshua (Jesus), the Messiah. He was compassion in flesh, reaching, touching, healing, restoring. He touched the leper, sat with the sinner, wept with the grieving, and restored the broken. He even healed on Shabbat, declaring by His actions that human need outweighed religious customs.
Yeshua never asked, “Are you worthy?” Instead, He asked, “What do you want Me to do for you?” (Matthew 20:32)
This is divine compassion: it was not merit-based, but need-driven. Yeshua didn’t just feel sympathy—He acted, often with a touch, always with love.
If we are made in the image of God, then compassion must flow from us, too. We are not called to passive emotion but to active mercy; we are called to do the same to dispense true justice and practice lovingkindness and compassion. (Zechariah 7:9)
True compassion steps in, speaks up, and stretches out its hands. It’s not afraid to get messy. It’s not reserved for the “deserving.” It reflects God’s heart to a world that’s forgotten what love looks like.
So let the womb of God’s heart—His deep, life-giving compassion—be formed in you. Just as a mother carries and nurtures life within her, allow God’s Spirit to cultivate in you a heart that is ready to hold the hurting, heal the broken, and help the weary. Compassion isn’t complete until it moves beyond emotion and becomes action. Don’t settle for merely feeling sorry—become a vessel of mercy. Step in. Speak up. Reach out. Let your life be a living expression of God’s compassion to a world desperate for His touch.
Copyright 1999-2025 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]To “bare” the arm means to roll up the sleeve and reveal the full readiness for action. In Isaiah’s prophecy, this is a global unveiling — no longer hidden, the Z’roah is on display for all nations to witness. This speaks directly of Yeshua’s (Jesus’) public ministry and, ultimately, His crucifixion.
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.