Isaiah 63:12-14 Who caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before them to make for himself an everlasting name, 13 who led them through the depths? Like a horse in the desert, they did not stumble. 14 Like livestock that go down into the valley, the Spirit of the LORD gave them rest. So you led your people, to make for yourself a glorious name.
Isaiah recalls the Exodus as the supreme display of God’s Z’roah, His Arm of glory. Though the people saw Moses raise his staff over the Red Sea, it was not Moses’ power that split the waters. Behind the prophet’s hand was the Arm of the LORD — majestic, glorious, and unstoppable. The sea parted not to honor Moses, but to exalt the Name of the God who sent him. The Red Sea became a stage for God to reveal His glory, so that His Name would echo through generations as the Deliverer of His people.
The text emphasizes that this act of deliverance was for a greater purpose: “to make Himself an everlasting name.” The miracles of the Exodus were not random interventions; they were deliberate revelations of God’s character and covenant faithfulness. By cutting a highway through the sea, the Arm of the LORD was inscribing His Name into Israel’s memory and broadcasting His power to the nations. Pharaoh’s pride was crushed, Israel’s hope was restored, and God’s reputation as Redeemer was forever secured.
This same truth is repeated throughout Scripture. Every act of salvation magnifies His Name. When Abraham’s barren household was given Isaac, when David stood before Goliath, when Elijah called down fire on Mount Carmel — it was the LORD Himself making His Name known through human weakness. The Z’roah moves not to glorify men but to reveal the God who rules history.
In Messiah Yeshua, this reaches its climax. John’s Gospel declares that Yeshua’s (Jesus’) greatest hour of glory was the cross. There, the Arm was revealed in ultimate weakness and ultimate strength — suffering to redeem, dying to conquer, rising to reign. Philippians 2 tells us that because of this, “God has highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the Name above every name.” The parting of the sea pointed forward to the tearing of the veil and the breaking of death’s power, all for the glory of the everlasting Name.
For us today, Isaiah’s words remind us that the miracles in our lives are never just about us — they are about Him. When God makes a way where there is no way, when He divides the seas of impossibility before us, it is so His Name might be glorified in us and through us. Our deliverance is His testimony. Our freedom is His witness. Every act of salvation is the Arm of the LORD writing His Name upon our story.
The glorious Arm that split the sea is the same Arm stretched wide at the cross. He still leads, He still delivers, and He still makes His Name known through His people. Lift your eyes from your own strength to the One whose Name is everlasting. The waters before you will part, not for your glory, but for His — and in your deliverance, the nations will know that He alone is God.
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]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.
As ambassadors of Christ, we don’t just represent His Kingdom–we reflect His heart. Paul’s words in Colossians 4:5-6 are not just good advice; they’re a commissioning. We are called to walk wisely among those who do not yet know Christ, recognizing that every interaction is a divine opportunity.
“All this is from God…” These words usher us into the breathtaking reality that salvation is not born of human effort, wisdom, or willpower — it is entirely the work of God. From beginning to end, it is His plan, His initiative, His unrelenting grace. Through Yeshua (Jesus), God stepped into our brokenness and reconciled us to Himself, repairing the relationship that sin had shattered. Reconciliation is not merely a theological concept — it is the restoration of intimacy with the Father. We did not ascend to Him in holiness; He descended to us in mercy. The Creator did not wait for us to find our way back. No, He came down in Yeshua, arms stretched wide in love, calling us home.
In the age of social media, where hot takes go viral, outrage spreads in seconds, and comment sections become battlegrounds, James offers a divine pattern that stands in stark contrast to the digital frenzy. His instruction is timeless but urgently needed today: be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. These three commands — revolutionary yet straightforward — cut through the noise of our reaction-driven culture and call us to a Spirit-led posture in a screen-lit world.
In Matthew 21, Yeshua (Jesus) approached a fig tree full of leaves but found no fruit. He cursed it, and it withered. This dramatic act was not about the tree—it was about Israel. The fig tree had the appearance of life, but it lacked the substance of transformation. It was a warning to a nation full of religion but void of repentance. The tree became a symbol of spiritual barrenness, of form without fruit.