James 5:17 Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed earnestly that it would not rain; and it did not rain on the land for three years and six months.
As we continue our journey through the life of Elijah, let us take heart in this: Elijah was a man just like us. He was not born with heroic strength or unshakable resolve. He knew weakness, fear, and moments of failure—the same struggles we face. And yet, this one man, by faith, stood alone against a tide of sin and idolatry. By faith, he turned a nation back to God.
This is what makes Elijah’s story so captivating. He did not rely on some hidden, mystical power that is beyond our reach. Nor was he made of stronger stuff than the rest of us. If that were true, his story would discourage us — a model we could never follow, an ideal forever beyond our grasp. But no! Elijah was, in himself, a man just like us. It was faith in God that made him a pillar of strength, a torch that burned brightly for truth. And the same faith is available to you and me today.
All power belongs to God, and He longs to pour His Resurrection power in and through us. The Holy Spirit channels that power into our lives in proportion to our faith and our readiness to receive it. Oh, that we would have hearts as open as Elijah’s—willing to be filled, willing to believe, willing to act!
But know this: before Elijah stood in boldness on Mount Carmel, he first had to be shaped by God at Cherith and refined at Zarephath. So it will be for us. God invites us into His school of faith — a place where our trust is deepened, our self-reliance is broken, and His strength is made perfect in our weakness. Only then can we be ready to do great exploits for God and truth.
Let Elijah’s life remind us that God is not looking for heroes made of stronger clay — He is seeking men and women who simply believe. The same power that turned a nation back to God through Elijah is available to us today. We do not need greater strength; we need greater faith. We do not need more ability; we need more surrender. The God who worked through Elijah stands ready to work through you. Will you let Him? Let this be our prayer: “Lord, take my weakness and fill it with Your power. Shape me, teach me, and use me, that I may stand for You in this generation as Elijah did in his.”
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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.