Romans 13:11-14 And do this, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now our salvation is nearer than when we first believed. 12 The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light. 13 Let us walk properly, as in the day, not in revelry and drunkenness, not in lewdness and lust, not in strife and envy. 14 But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to fulfill its lusts.
For nearly twenty years, Romans 13:12 has been my signature verse on every email I send. For me, it’s a constant reminder that the long, dark night of this world is almost over, and the Day of the Lord is just about to dawn.
Paul tells us to cast off the works of darkness. The Greek word he uses, apotithemi, means to throw something off yourself, to take it away and remove it completely.
Imagine this: you come to the realization that the clothes you’re wearing are filthy, soaked with disease, bacteria, and viruses—all designed to harm you and even destroy you. What do you do? You don’t keep them on! Of course not! You strip them off and throw them straight into the fire! That’s what Paul is saying here about the “works of darkness.” Those sinful habits, those weights, and distractions that drag us down—they’ve got to go.
But don’t stop there! Paul says to “put on the armor of light” (verse 12) and to put on Yeshua HaMashiach (Jesus Christ) (verse 14). In Paul’s time, this language would have been understood as putting on the Lord’s glory, His divine majesty, and His righteousness—like clothing fit for royalty. It’s a transformation, not just in how we live but in how we reflect His light and His holiness.
Let’s be challenged today … don’t make any provision for the flesh. Don’t give sin a foothold or a chance to creep back in. Instead, clothe yourself in the Lord’s majesty and glory and walk as His ambassador of light in this dark world.
Every time you cast off the dead things in your life and put on His glory, you’re not only living for Him—you’re helping to prepare the way for His soon return. What a privilege to be part of that! The night is almost over — let’s be ready for the dawn.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Yeshua (Jesus) didn’t merely offer a suggestion–He issued a command: “Learn the parable.” In Greek, the word manthano (μανθάνω) implies disciplined learning, not casual observation. In Hebraic thought, to “learn” a parable means to press into its hidden meaning until it transforms how you live. The fig tree is not just a poetic image–it’s a prophetic mandate. And Yeshua expected His disciples, including us, to understand it deeply.
Yeshua (Jesus) used the fig tree—a familiar symbol in Israel’s botanical and prophetic world—as a teaching tool to awaken spiritual discernment. The fig tree, known for losing all its leaves in winter and budding again in spring, became a natural signpost to mark the changing seasons. In the same way, Jesus gave His disciples prophetic markers to discern a coming shift: wars, famines, false messiahs, persecution, lawlessness, and the global preaching of the gospel (Matthew 24:4–14).
On July 4th, America remembers a bold declaration — a break from tyranny, a longing for a better government, and the birth of a nation built on liberty. The Founders risked everything to establish a new way of life, one where freedom could flourish. Their cry was clear: “We will no longer be ruled by kings who oppress–we will be governed by laws that reflect liberty and justice.”
In a world full of uncertainty, this verse from Romans stands like a lighthouse in the storm: “The God of hope…” Not just the God who gives hope, but the very source of it. When everything around us seems shaken — economies falter, nations rage, relationships strain — it is the God of hope who remains unshaken and unchanging.
When Yeshua (Jesus) spoke these words not only to the seventy He sent ahead of Him, but to every disciple who follows Him into the world, it’s a striking picture: fields overflowing with a harvest, ready to be gathered. The problem isn’t the readiness of the harvest — it’s the shortage of workers willing to go.
This piercing question opens Psalm 11 like a cry from the heart in troubled times. It’s a question we ask when law and order collapse, when truth is ridiculed, and when those who do evil seem to triumph. The foundations — the principles of righteousness, justice, and truth that uphold society — are under siege. And it begs the question: What can God’s people do when everything righteous seems to be crumbling?
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.