Psalms 22:1 My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from helping Me, And from the words of My groaning?
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.
The prophetic parallels are nothing short of astonishing. “But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised by the people” (Psalm 22:6). “All those who see Me ridicule Me; they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying, ‘He trusted in the LORD, let Him rescue Him’” (Psalm 22:7–8). These taunts were hurled at Yeshua by mockers as He hung on the cross (Matthew 27:39–43). “They pierced My hands and My feet… they divide My garments among them, and for My clothing they cast lots” (Psalm 22:16-18). What David penned in anguish became literal history at the crucifixion. The Roman soldiers cast lots for Yeshua’s garments; His hands and feet were nailed to wood. Whether David knew it or not, he was painting a divine portrait of the crucified King.
But Psalm 22 does not end in torment. A holy reversal begins in verse 22: “I will declare Your name to My brethren; in the midst of the assembly I will praise You.” The writer of Hebrews affirms this as a prophecy of Yeshua, “who is not ashamed to call [us] brothers” (Hebrews 2:11-12). The suffering Servant rises in victory! He praises God in the congregation, shares His triumph with His people, and destroys the power of death. “All the ends of the world shall remember and turn to the LORD… for the kingdom is the LORD’s, and He rules over the nations” (Psalm 22:.27–28). The cross gave way to the crown; the Lamb became the reigning King!
And when Yeshua said, “It is finished” (John 19:30), He echoed Psalm 22:31: “They will come and declare His righteousness to a people who will be born, that He has done this.” In Hebrew, it can be rendered: “He has accomplished it.” The prophecy ends not in defeat, but with the shout of finality. Yeshua didn’t die a victim—He died a Victor. Every line of Psalm 22 came to life, and every drop of blood was part of a divine transaction. The Messiah was pierced, but He was also raised, and He will reign forever.
Let this truth grip your soul: what God begins in suffering, He finishes in glory. The cross was not the end of Yeshua’s story—and it is not the end of yours. You may feel forsaken, but you are not forgotten. He was pierced, so you could be healed. He was vindicated, so you too shall be raised in victory. The grave has no claim. The mockers have no power. The darkness has no dominion. Rise up in faith and declare with boldness to the next generation: He has done it!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
The majestic Messianic prophecy of Isaiah 9 culminates in a powerful declaration: “The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.” Not might. Not maybe. Not if we work hard enough. It will be done — because God Himself is passionate to see it through. The Hebrew word for “zeal” here is קִנְאָה (kin’ah), which also means jealousy or burning passion. This is not passive interest — it’s the fiery determination of the LORD of Hosts to establish His Kingdom. The same fiery zeal that struck Egypt with plagues—shattering the power of false gods, that parted the Red Sea and made a way where there was none, that birthed a nation from the womb of slavery, and that drove the Son of God to the cross at Calvary — is the very zeal that will fulfill every promise declared in Isaiah 9.
In a world weary from political upheaval, moral confusion, and fleeting peace, Isaiah offers us a vision of something profoundly different—an ever-increasing kingdom ruled by a King whose justice is not compromised, whose peace is not fleeting, and whose throne is eternally secure. The phrase “of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end” speaks not just of duration, but of expansion—a kingdom that doesn’t plateau, doesn’t weaken, and doesn’t shrink back in the face of darkness. Instead, it advances, multiplies, and transforms.
In the Hebraic understanding, a name isn’t just a label—it reveals essence, identity, and destiny. Isaiah doesn’t say these are merely descriptions of the Messiah; he says His Name shall be called — meaning this is who He is. When we declare these names, we are not offering poetic praise — we are calling upon real attributes of the living King. In just one verse, the prophet unveils the depth of Messiah’s personhood, showing us that this child is no ordinary child. He is the fulfillment of heaven’s promise and the revelation of God’s nature.
In a world wearied by the failures of men, Isaiah 9:6 offers a startling promise of hope and strength: “The government shall be upon His shoulder.” This is not the language of politics as we know it — it’s the language of divine dominion. The Hebrew word for “government” here is misrah (מִשְׂרָה), a word so unique it appears only in these two verses—Isaiah 9:6 and 9:7. Unlike more common Hebrew words for government — mamlachah or memshalah, misrah speaks of a rare and elevated rule—divinely ordained, gentle in character, and eternal in scope. This is a government not imposed, but carried. Not tyrannical, but righteous and restorative.
The prophet Isaiah begins with language so familiar that it’s often read too quickly. Yet within this brief phrase lies a depth of mystery and majesty that anchors the entire gospel. “For unto us a Child is born” speaks of an earthly event–Messiah’s humanity. He was born as all men are born, taking on flesh, entering a specific culture, time, and lineage. The Hebrew word for “born” (yalad) reinforces His full identification with us. This is the miracle of the incarnation: God wrapped in the vulnerability of a newborn child.