Hebrews 12:26-29 At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.” 27 This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain. 28 Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, 29 for our God is a consuming fire.
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.
Just as Israel left the wilderness and entered Canaan, so we are invited to leave the wilderness of striving and fear and step into our inheritance. Canaan was not heaven — it had battles, failures, and victories. But it was still the land of promise and rest. For us, that rest begins even now as we walk by faith and obedience. Hebrews tells us, “There remains therefore a rest for the people of God” (Hebrews 4:6-9). That rest is both present and future — entered by faith today and fulfilled in glory at His return. It is the rest of knowing that He is enough. That the battle is His. That the inheritance is secure. And that nothing eternal can be shaken.
Rest is not passive — it is the result of surrender. We rest by trusting in the finished work of Yeshua. We rest by obeying His voice even when the ground beneath us quakes. Faith and obedience are not burdens–they are the wings that carry us into divine peace. Every shaking strips away the false securities of this world and drives us deeper into the one foundation that cannot be moved. The enemy cannot shake what God has sealed. Not our calling, not our future, not our peace. When everything else is removed, what remains is the eternal.
The greatest rest is still to come. When Yeshua, our greater Joshua, returns, He will calm every storm, crush every enemy, and establish His reign of perfect peace. What Canaan only foreshadowed, His Kingdom will fulfill — freedom from toil and tears, fullness of joy, and unbroken fellowship with our King. No more struggle — only triumph. No more shadows — only light. And best of all, we will dwell forever in His presence, having entered His perfect Rest. So begin today — begin this Shabbat — to step into that rest. Lay down your striving, lift up your eyes, and let His peace rule in your heart as a foretaste of the glory to come.
Copyright 1999-2025 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
How to display the above article within the Worthy Suite WordPress Plugin.
[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]These verses capture one of the most profound Messianic truths in all of Scripture. What man cast aside, God exalted. What the builders saw as flawed and unfit, God chose as the foundation of His eternal plan. Yeshua (Jesus), the rejected One, is the very cornerstone upon which salvation, identity, and destiny are built. This is more than a theological concept — it’s a divine reversal that reveals the heart of redemption. Rejection by man does not disqualify–it often qualifies you for God’s greatest purposes.
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.