Exodus 6:6-7 Therefore say to the children of Israel: ‘I am the LORD; I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, I will rescue you from their bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments. 7 I will take you as My people, and I will be your God. Then you shall know that I am the LORD your God who brings you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.
I’ll be doing a series on the “Arm of God,” beginning with this first message — The Arm that Redeems. The Hebrew Z’roah (זְרוֹעַ) means “arm” or “strength,” and in ancient Hebrew culture, the arm symbolizes active power in motion — strength applied for a purpose. In the Exodus account, God tells Moses He will redeem Israel “with an outstretched arm” (bizroa netuyah). This was not poetic metaphor; it was God’s declaration of decisive intervention. The Z’roah is the covenant-keeping arm that moves history, enforces promises, and breaks oppression. Every Pesach (Passover), during the seder — the festive meal of remembrance — the roasted lamb shank bone, the Z’roah, rests on the plate as a silent yet powerful witness to God’s mighty deliverance.
Israel was powerless under Pharaoh’s grip. The people could not free themselves, and their cries seemed swallowed by the weight of slavery. But God’s arm was not shortened; He reached into the darkness, crushed Egypt’s false gods, and led His people out. The Exodus was not won by Israel’s might but by God’s own decisive action — the Z’roah moving in history.
Prophetically, the Z’roah is twofold: it brings judgment to the oppressor and salvation to the oppressed. Egypt was struck while Israel was shielded. This dual action foreshadowed the cross, where God’s judgment against sin and His mercy toward His people met in one act. The blood of the lamb on the doorposts and the outstretched arm of God are inseparable.
In Messianic fulfillment, Yeshua is the Z’roah revealed in human form. He is the arm by which God’s eternal plan was executed. On the cross, His arms were stretched wide — not in defeat, but in victory. His blood marked the doorway of our souls, and His resurrection became our Exodus from death.
For us today, redemption is not a distant memory but a present power. The same Z’roah that shattered Egypt’s grip still moves with unstoppable strength to break every chain and silence every enemy. Each Pesach, the shank bone proclaims without a voice: You are here because His arm reached for you; you live because the Lamb was slain for you. This is not mere history — it is the living story of the Arm that redeems, the blood that speaks, and the Shepherd who still carries His people toward the final rest. So stand in faith, lift your head, and walk in freedom — for His Arm still fights for you, and His embrace will never let you go.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]A beachhead is the first critical objective in a military invasion–the spot where a force lands on enemy territory and secures a position for greater advancement. It’s the place of breakthrough. And it’s also the place of fiercest resistance.
David wrote Psalm 3 while running for his life — betrayed, heartbroken, and hunted by his own son, Absalom. The weight of rebellion wasn’t just political; it was personal. His household had turned against him. Friends became foes. Loyal hearts grew cold. The throne he once held was now surrounded by enemies, and the whispers grew louder: “There is no salvation for him in God.”
Psalm 2 is a divine announcement — a heavenly decree that demands the world’s attention. It begins with a question: “Why do the nations rage, and the peoples plot in vain?” (Ps. 2:1). The nations rise up, not against injustice or tyranny, but against the rule of God’s Meshiach (Messiah). That Anointed is Yeshua — the Son whom the Father has set on His holy hill in Zion (Ps. 2:6). The psalm strips away all pretense and exposes the heart of human rebellion: it is a refusal to be ruled by His Messiah.
Psalm 1 opens with a sobering warning about the quiet, deadly slide into sin. The man without God doesn’t become a scorner overnight — he drifts there gradually. First, he walks in ungodly counsel, entertaining worldly thoughts. Then, he stands in the path of sinners, embracing their way of life. Finally, he sits in the seat of the scornful, hardened in heart and mocking what is sacred. This progression — from a man without God to scorner — reveals how small compromises grow into full rebellion, dulling the conscience and deadening the soul.
Last night marked the beginning of Shavuot–a feast that many Christians recognize as Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit was poured out in Acts 2. But the roots of Shavuot stretch back much further. Long before that upper room encounter–about 1,500 years earlier–Shavuot was the day God gave the law to Moses on Mount Sinai, writing His commandments on tablets of stone.
In a world trembling with uncertainty–political unrest, economic turmoil, natural disasters–God is speaking again. Not in whispers, but with the shaking that reorders lives, redefines kingdoms, and removes everything that cannot stand in the presence of His glory. He is preparing us for a kingdom that cannot be moved. But in the midst of the shaking, there is rest — a deep, unshakable rest reserved for the people of God. Not rest as the world gives — temporary relief or distraction — but the kind that anchors the soul in the storm, the kind that is rooted in Yeshua (Jesus), our rest.
Just as a bird needs both wings to fly, a victorious life requires both faith and obedience. In Joshua, God calls Joshua to lead Israel into the Promised Land, not just with bold confidence but with complete dependence on His Word. Faith believes what God says; obedience acts upon it. One without the other stalls the journey. This moment wasn’t just about crossing into the promise land — it was about stepping into covenant reality, where trust in God’s promise was matched by surrender to God’s command.