Hebrews 13:5-6 Let your way of life be without the love of money, and be content with such things as you have, for He has said, “Not at all will I leave you, not at all will I forsake you, never!” so that we may boldly say, “The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do to me.”
The city of Laodicea was founded nearly three centuries before the birth of Christ. Built on a trade route, Laodicea was quite prosperous. The wealth of the city was legendary, as Jews who lived there sent 9 kilograms (20 lbs) of gold to the Temple in Jerusalem on a yearly basis according to historical records.
By the time John penned the book of Revelation around 90 AD Laodicea had survived an earthquake 30 years earlier. Though partially destroyed the city refused Rome’s offer to help rebuild, insisting it could take care of itself — Laodicea was self-sufficient. Tacitus, the Roman historian, wrote: “Laodicea arose from the ruins by the strength of her own resources, and with no help from us.” The city was so wealthy it minted its own coins!
Yeshua’s parable of the seed sown among thorns speaks of the “deceitfulness of riches” which “chokes the Word making the seed unfruitful”. Laodicea’s history exemplifies this danger, and John’s letter to the church is the Holy Spirit’s warning to all who fall into the temptation of prosperity: “Because you say, I am rich and increased with goods and have need of nothing, and do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.”
It’s not difficult to understand how wealth can deceive us. Luxury, comfort, and prosperity can make life in this world a lot easier, causing us to forget spiritual essentials. The Lord understands this when He says to the Laodiceans, “As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore and repent.” Yeshua wants all of us to store our treasure where it won’t rust or corrode, and where thieves can’t get at it either. So be careful not to allow your wealth to destroy your spiritual health… or your eternal inheritance!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]God has always longed for intimacy with us. He formed us for Himself–to walk with Him, to know Him, to delight in His Presence. This is the very heartbeat of creation: relationship, not religion. Yet sin drove a wedge between us. A veil was drawn, shutting out the light of His face and placing distance where there was once communion.
A beachhead is the first critical objective in a military invasion–the spot where a force lands on enemy territory and secures a position for greater advancement. It’s the place of breakthrough. And it’s also the place of fiercest resistance.
David wrote Psalm 3 while running for his life — betrayed, heartbroken, and hunted by his own son, Absalom. The weight of rebellion wasn’t just political; it was personal. His household had turned against him. Friends became foes. Loyal hearts grew cold. The throne he once held was now surrounded by enemies, and the whispers grew louder: “There is no salvation for him in God.”
Psalm 2 is a divine announcement — a heavenly decree that demands the world’s attention. It begins with a question: “Why do the nations rage, and the peoples plot in vain?” (Ps. 2:1). The nations rise up, not against injustice or tyranny, but against the rule of God’s Meshiach (Messiah). That Anointed is Yeshua — the Son whom the Father has set on His holy hill in Zion (Ps. 2:6). The psalm strips away all pretense and exposes the heart of human rebellion: it is a refusal to be ruled by His Messiah.
Psalm 1 opens with a sobering warning about the quiet, deadly slide into sin. The man without God doesn’t become a scorner overnight — he drifts there gradually. First, he walks in ungodly counsel, entertaining worldly thoughts. Then, he stands in the path of sinners, embracing their way of life. Finally, he sits in the seat of the scornful, hardened in heart and mocking what is sacred. This progression — from a man without God to scorner — reveals how small compromises grow into full rebellion, dulling the conscience and deadening the soul.
Last night marked the beginning of Shavuot–a feast that many Christians recognize as Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit was poured out in Acts 2. But the roots of Shavuot stretch back much further. Long before that upper room encounter–about 1,500 years earlier–Shavuot was the day God gave the law to Moses on Mount Sinai, writing His commandments on tablets of stone.
In a world trembling with uncertainty–political unrest, economic turmoil, natural disasters–God is speaking again. Not in whispers, but with the shaking that reorders lives, redefines kingdoms, and removes everything that cannot stand in the presence of His glory. He is preparing us for a kingdom that cannot be moved. But in the midst of the shaking, there is rest — a deep, unshakable rest reserved for the people of God. Not rest as the world gives — temporary relief or distraction — but the kind that anchors the soul in the storm, the kind that is rooted in Yeshua (Jesus), our rest.