Isaiah 5:20 Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!
Matthew 24:12 And because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many (some translations say, “most”) will grow cold.
As we continue to inspect our hearts and take spiritual inventory of our lives during this month of Elul in preparation for the fall feasts, we should stay particularly aware of Yeshua’s prediction in Matthew 24:12, “The love of many will grow cold.” He warned that a sign of the last days would be abounding lawlessness and that callousness and hardness of heart would characterize the end times. The evidence of this is everywhere.
Mass looting, street violence, and robbery are commonly reported in thousands of mobile phone videos and mainstream news to an alarming degree unheard of even a few years ago. Meanwhile, much legislation has been perverted and manipulated to persecute Christians for their beliefs. Isaiah plainly described this present social and moral catastrophe, “Woe to them that call evil good, and good evil!”
In the midst of this, we have to ask ourselves, “Are our hearts becoming calloused? Are we losing our love to the increase of wickedness?” The atmosphere itself breathes strong temptation to be isolated, self-protective, and loveless, even toward our brothers and sisters, much less the multitude of lost and wayward souls around us. If the day is looming when “no man can work” [John 9:4] have we already begun to decide that loving for Christ’s sake is hardly a worthy cause any longer?
D.L. Moody once said, “(If) we have got the true love of God shed abroad in our hearts, we will show it in our lives. We will not have to go up and down the earth proclaiming it. We will show it in everything we say or do. “He also said, “Out of 100 men, one will read the Bible, the other 99 will read the Christian.”
How are you being read today? Are you gradually becoming stoic and isolated like your neighbor? Is your heart slowly but surely growing tough skin? “The love of many (or most) will grow cold.” Such a terrible expectation; God forbid that environmental and reactive fear, anger, and manipulation steal the fruit and character you’ve spent years cultivating in the Lord. God is love. There is no fear in love; perfect love casts out fear. [1 John 4:18] Allow yourself to be consumed by the love of God — and in doing so, you’ll be more than a conqueror through Him [Romans 8:35-39] in these last days!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
Over the past two devotionals, we heard the song of the redeemed and stood at the wells of salvation. We saw how strength, song, and salvation flow from Yeshua Himself — how the joy of drawing from His presence is not just a poetic promise but a lifeline for our day. Yet today, we stand at a prophetic threshold. Something has shifted. Something has broken open. We are not only being refreshed — we are being awakened and called.
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.