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.
How to display the above article within the Worthy Suite WordPress Plugin.
[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]If you’ve ever been to Israel, you know that Shabbat—what we call the Sabbath—is a big deal. It starts Friday at sundown and goes until Saturday at sundown, and let me tell you, the whole country gets ready for it like clockwork. Friday mornings are busy—really busy. The outdoor markets are packed, folks are rushing around grabbing last-minute groceries, cleaning house, cooking meals, and getting everything wrapped up before things shut down. By the time the sun sets, the streets get quiet, the stores close, and life slows down. For the next 24 hours, it’s all about rest.
Watching Yeshua (Jesus) lay down His life to die on the cross was not what His disciples were expecting, but rather a shocking, perplexing, and apparently hopeless ending to what had seemed like a promising fulfillment of Messianic hope. The shattering ordeal of Yeshua’s trials, torture, and horrific death must have left them all feeling bereft, miserable, and uncertain of the future. What would they do now? What would their future hold?
According to ancient Jewish legend, one day Abraham was shown his father, Terah’s room of many idols. Young Abraham, thinking that perhaps he could discover intimacy with them, made some desirable delicacies and placed them before the idols. When nothing happened, he realized that these idols were nothing more than clay — they could do nothing for him or anyone else for that matter. So he proceeded to destroy all the idols, except for one.
Among those in the court of Alexander the Great was a philosopher of outstanding ability but little money. He asked Alexander for financial help and was told to draw whatever he needed from the imperial treasury.
Make no mistake—the spirit of antisemitism is very much alive today. Yet this isn’t a new struggle. It is an ancient spiritual war that has been ongoing for thousands of years. As people worldwide celebrate Purim, recalling the Jewish people’s deliverance from Haman’s evil schemes that took place in the ancient Kingdom of Persia (Iran), we are reminded of a deeper reality: a spiritual conflict between heavenly powers and demonic principalities.
The Festival of Purim, which we celebrate on the 14th of Adar—the last month in the Biblical calendar—begins this Thursday evening and continues through Friday evening this year. Although Purim isn’t one of the moedim, or appointed festivals named in the Torah, it arose in the 4th century BC and has been cherished ever since.
In the Book of Kings, when King Solomon began his reign, God asked him, “What shall I give you?” He replied, “I am a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in” (1 Kings 3:7). Such a phrase seems curious, yet it holds deep significance. It is echoed throughout Scripture, revealing a principle that intimacy with God leads to victory!