Isaiah 40:10-11 Behold, the Lord Jehovah will come with a strong hand, and His arm shall rule for Him (v’zroah moshel lo); behold, His reward is with Him, and His work before Him. 11 He shall feed His flock like a shepherd; He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom, and shall gently lead those with young.
The Hebrew phrase “z’roah moshel lo” paints the picture of an arm that governs with both strength and care. The same Z’roah that brought Israel out of Egypt in power now establishes righteous order and sustains His people in love. Deliverance without rulership is incomplete; the Redeemer becomes the King — and the King rules as a Shepherd. The Arm does not act independently but moves in perfect submission to the Head, carrying out the will of the Father.
In biblical thought, true rulership is never mere domination; it is covenantal stewardship. The Z’roah carries the full authority of the One who sends it, wielding the power to judge the oppressor while protecting the weak. Messiah, as the Arm of the LORD, executes justice, defends the vulnerable, and leads His people in righteousness — not by coercion, but by faithful, sacrificial love.
Isaiah’s vision joins two images often separated in our minds — the scepter of a king and the staff of a shepherd. The Warrior Arm that struck Egypt is the same Shepherd Arm that gathers lambs into His bosom. His rulership aligns creation under divine order, restoring peace where chaos once reigned. When His arm rules, shalom is not an ideal — it becomes reality.
In the ministry of Yeshua (Jesus), this rulership took tangible form: demons fled at His command, storms obeyed His voice, and His touch healed the sick. These were not random displays of power, but the King’s arm setting creation back into harmony with heaven. And in the Messianic age to come, this rulership will be universal, with every nation under the care of the Shepherd-King.
For believers, submitting to the rulership of the Z’roah means embracing both His authority and His embrace. We cannot receive Him as Redeemer without acknowledging Him as Ruler. The arm that delivers us from bondage must also guide us on the path of life. His reign is our refuge, and His bosom is our resting place.
The Z’roah of God is not only the arm that saves you from the enemy’s grip — it is the arm that takes the throne. Let the Arm that delivered you also direct you, for where His rule is established, no enemy can endure and no chaos can survive. He is the Shepherd-King, whose scepter is a staff, whose power is wrapped in tenderness. Under His care, the path is certain, the journey is guarded, and the destination is sure — for His reward is with Him, and He will not rest until He has led you safely home.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]These verses capture one of the most profound Messianic truths in all of Scripture. What man cast aside, God exalted. What the builders saw as flawed and unfit, God chose as the foundation of His eternal plan. Yeshua (Jesus), the rejected One, is the very cornerstone upon which salvation, identity, and destiny are built. This is more than a theological concept — it’s a divine reversal that reveals the heart of redemption. Rejection by man does not disqualify–it often qualifies you for God’s greatest purposes.
These verses are far more than ancient lyrics — they are a spiritual invitation. The psalmist doesn’t just admire the gate — he pleads for it to open. “Open to me the gates of righteousness…” This is the cry of a heart that longs for access to God, not by merit, but by mercy. In Hebrew thought, gates represent transition points — thresholds between the common and the holy, the outside and the inner court, the temporal and the eternal. These are not man-made doors — they are divine entrances into the presence and promises of the LORD.
As we continue our study in Psalm 118, I want to take a deep dive into verses 17-18, where the psalmist makes one of the boldest declarations in all of Scripture: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.” This isn’t the voice of someone untouched by pain — it’s the cry of someone who has been through the fire and come out declaring God’s faithfulness. This statement is not a denial of suffering; it’s a defiance of death. It’s the resolve of a heart that’s been chastened, refined, and pressed, yet remains confident in the God who preserves life — not just for survival, but for purpose.
Over the past two devotionals, we heard the song of the redeemed and stood at the wells of salvation. We saw how strength, song, and salvation flow from Yeshua Himself — how the joy of drawing from His presence is not just a poetic promise but a lifeline for our day. Yet today, we stand at a prophetic threshold. Something has shifted. Something has broken open. We are not only being refreshed — we are being awakened and called.
Yesterday, we heard the anthem of the redeemed rise like a trumpet blast: “The LORD is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation.” We explored how this was more than personal — it was prophetic, Messianic, and generational. We saw Yeshua not only as our Deliverer but as the very embodiment of God’s strength, the melody of our praise, and the fulfillment of every promise. We stood in awe as tents of rejoicing rose in the midst of warfare, and households became sanctuaries of celebration. But today, we go deeper — we step to the well.
There’s a reason this verse resounds like a national anthem of the redeemed. It’s not just a personal declaration—it’s a generational cry that echoes back to Moses at the Red Sea (Exodus 15:2) and forward to the final deliverance of Israel. The Hebrew word for salvation—Yeshua—makes this verse unmistakably Messianic. It isn’t a vague deliverance. It is the revelation of Yeshua (Jesus), the Deliverer, who embodies strength, becomes our song, and stands as the fulfillment of God’s redemptive plan.
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.