James 4:8 Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded.
Elul is a month when the distance between heaven and earth seems to shrink. The rabbis used a picture to explain this: “The King is in the field.” Normally, when a king resides in his palace, his people must pass through gates, guards, and endless protocol to gain an audience. Few are admitted, and even then, only with fear and trembling. But during Elul, the King is said to leave His palace and walk among His people in the open fields. He is close, approachable, and available to anyone who desires to draw near.
This picture captures the essence of Elul. God does not wait for us to ascend to Him by our own efforts; instead, He bends low, stepping into the ordinary places of our lives. He comes near where we labor, where we wrestle, where we sow and reap — and in His nearness, He invites us to turn aside and approach Him.
To “draw near” in this season means more than a fleeting prayer or a moment of religious duty. It is an intentional turning of the heart. James 4:8 says, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” Elul reminds us that God is already moving toward us — He is in the field, waiting for our response. To draw near is to make space, to set aside distraction, to step out of our routines and meet Him in the openness He has provided.
Even the name Elul hints at this intimacy. Its letters (Aleph-Lamed-Vav-Lamed) form the acronym for “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li” — “I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine” (Song of Songs 6:3). Elul is covenant love in action — not distant, not unreachable, but near and personal.
Beloved, the King is in the field. He is not behind walls or palace gates. He is walking where you walk. This is the time to stop, to look up, and to respond. Do not miss His nearness. Do not let the shofar sound without awakening. The Beloved is calling His Bride to Himself — to intimacy, to repentance, to readiness. The King is in the field … and He is waiting for you.
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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.