Mark 2:27-28 And He said to them, The sabbath came into being for man’s sake, and not man for the sabbath’s sake. Therefore the Son of Man is also Lord of the sabbath.
People often ask me why I so enjoy Shabbat and the rest it affords and why I preach on it so often. Some people think it’s a “legalistic” attitude, but actually, I’m simply being relational. They need to remember that our relationship with the Lord Yeshua is bridal; it’s a marital relationship. [Ephesians 5:22-33; 2 Corinthians 11:2; Revelation 19:7-8]
Marriage counselors invariably recommend a “date night” for married couples to maintain a healthy, passionate, and strong relationship. The date night immediately invokes a new atmosphere for the couple to experience and cultivate the specialness of their relationship. Of course, I’ve been married to my wife all week, but tonight, date night, is special, unique, and intimate.
Setting apart the Sabbath for God serves the same purpose as “date night.” I’m saying, “You have given me rest, I’ve grown to deeply trust you, I know you’ve been with me all week, and now, on one special day, my ‘date night,’ I’m expressing my love for you, and I want to know you better.”
My approach to the Sabbath is not because it’s a commandment. In fact, the New Testament contains no command to observe a particular Sabbath day. It’s even more significant and profound than anything that I “have to” do precisely because it’s voluntary. I desire to be with my Bridegroom to know and love Him better, and Shabbat is my day, my weekly habit, for that joy. I’m choosing to have a “date night” so that I can thoroughly enjoy the intimacies of the Lord and be refreshed and renewed! So, really do enjoy your “date night” and until next week — Shabbat Shalom!
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When the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years, they traversed a rugged, unpredictable landscape — mile after mile of mountains, valleys, rocks, and desert sands — as they journeyed from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land.
For many, God remains a theory—an idea borrowed from tradition, deduced from the cosmos, or tucked quietly into the corners of a creed. He is believed in from afar, but is rarely encountered. Even among believers, it’s not uncommon to live with a distant reverence for God while lacking a vibrant, personal communion with Him.
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.