John 7:38 Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.
Laodicea was an idyllic city except for its lack of a water supply. It depended on water from an external source, the city of Hierapolis was located six miles to the north, the site of mineral hot springs which were used for medicinal purposes. These steaming hot waters were piped to Laodicea, arriving there… lukewarm, hence the metaphor in Yeshua’s warning to the Laodicean church.
Laodicea’s lack of a water supply also rendered the city vulnerable to siege. Potential enemies were, therefore, placated, accommodated, negotiated with, or pleaded to compromise, as the city’s leaders were desperate to avoid open conflict.
A wealthy, pleasure-loving, vulnerable, easily compromised city seems to have produced a congregation of similar character.
This combination of features makes it difficult to determine which one contributed most to the miserable spirituality of the Laodicean church. There seems to have been little true, living faith there, much less any demonstration of the power or holiness of God. Rather, the flesh ruled in Laodicea.
Laodicea’s lack of its own water supply, however, might have been a constant reminder of a promise Yeshua (Jesus) gave to all who are thirsty: “If any man thirst, let him come to me and drink. He that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water;” [John 7:37-38].
Laodicea’s lack of water was a living natural metaphor that every Laodicean could have benefitted from, if it was rightly apprehended. The deficiency of water might have reminded them of a deeper need, and the Lord’s offer to fulfill it most wonderfully. Remembering the Laodicean church we may all become aware of our own desperate thirst and also, receive HIs promise… rivers of living (Holy Spirit) water!
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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.