Judges 7:16-19 Then he divided the three hundred men into three companies, and he put a shofar into every man’s hand, with empty pitchers, and torches inside the pitchers. And he said to them, “Look at me and do likewise; watch, and when I come to the edge of the camp you shall do as I do: When I blow the shofar, I and all who are with me, then you also blow the shofars on every side of the whole camp, and say, ‘The sword of the LORD and of Gideon!’ ” So Gideon and the hundred men who were with him came to the outpost of the camp at the beginning of the middle watch, just as they had posted the watch; and they blew the shofars and broke the pitchers that were in their hands.
When God called Gideon to lead Israel against their enemies, He wanted to show that a small army empowered by God was more effective than the largest armies. But notice how they fought – without weapons that an army would normally use. They fought with shofars and lamps! They fought with weapons that the world would consider ineffective, yet triumphed mightily over their enemies. They shouted as loud as they could, sounded the shofar, and broke the vessels that held the fire so that their lamps burst through with brightness.
This breaking of the lamps of clay holds a powerful metaphor for us. If we too are “earthen vessels” holding the fire of God – the Spirit of God within us, then a “breaking” of the outer man is necessary for His inner light to burst through. Victory can come out of brokenness. Our old life of self, often called the “old man”, when truly crucified and broken, will give way to the release of the Lord’s Spirit of God in our lives. The death of our Lord has broken the power of our self-life since we were crucified with Him. Walking in that awareness brings light and victory.
Let the love, joy, peace, and all the fruit of the Spirit breakthrough in your life. Your old life of Self has been and is being broken, as Yeshua’s victorious light shines through your earthen vessel this Chanukah season.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
When the Lord called us to be His ambassadors, He didn’t merely give us a message — He gave us a lifestyle to embody it. An ambassador is not just a messenger, but a living representation of the Kingdom they serve. That means our behavior, words, and example all matter deeply.