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]Life wears us down. We live in a world of relentless motion, pressure, and performance. Yeshua (Jesus) doesn’t deny this. Instead, He speaks directly to those who are “weary and heavy-laden.” The Greek for “weary” (kopiao) means utterly worn out—soul-tired, not just physically fatigued. The burdens He mentions aren’t only external tasks but inward baggage: guilt, shame, expectations, and hidden wounds. Yeshua’s call isn’t merely an invitation to stop—it’s a call to come. He offers what no one else can: rest that restores.
When we read the promises of God, we must read them the way we ourselves want to be heard—in full context. Just as we expect others to understand our words in light of what we’ve said before, God expects us to interpret His promises in light of all He has revealed in His Word.
A few days ago, I shared a quote from B.J. Willhite, and today I want to delve deeper into his powerful insight. He wrote, “The law of prayer is the highest law of the universe—it can overcome the other laws by sanctioning God’s intervention. When implemented properly, the law of prayer permits God to exercise His sovereignty in a world under the dominion of a rebel with free will, in a universe governed by natural law.”
When God spoke to Abram, the command was clear yet profoundly personal. The Hebrew phrase lech lecha carries a dual meaning: “go forth” and “go for yourself.” This journey wasn’t just a physical relocation; it was a spiritual pilgrimage—a call to walk out God’s will and to walk into his divine inheritance. Abram’s journey was not merely about distance but about destiny.
In the stillness of a desert night, surrounded by cut offerings and the lingering scent of sacrifice, Abram beheld something utterly sacred — God Himself, in the form of a smoking oven and a burning torch, passing between the pieces of a covenant. It was not Abram who walked through the blood-soaked path. It was God alone. And that changes everything.
Tonight we’ll participate in the Independence Day celebration in Israel — and what a party! — shows, fireworks, music, dancing, everything under the sun!
Yesterday, Israel observed Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day—honoring the memory of the six million Jews who perished. Tragically, a recent poll reveals that nearly half of Israelis fear the possibility of another Holocaust. In light of this sobering reality, I want to share a powerful story of one remarkable woman who rescued 2,500 Jewish children from the ghettos during World War II.