Psalms 118:27-29 The LORD is God, and he has made his light to shine upon us. Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar! 28 You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God; I will extol you. 29 Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!
These closing verses of Psalm 118 begin with an unshakable proclamation: “The LORD is God.” In Hebrew, it’s emphatic — YHVH, He is El — the declaration that all authority, holiness, and sovereignty belong to Him alone. Yet this is not just a statement of who He is — it’s a testimony of what He has done: “He has made His light to shine upon us.” This light is more than the glow of the sun — it is the revelation of His presence, the warmth of His favor, and the piercing truth that chases away every shadow. His light doesn’t simply illuminate — it transforms.
The psalmist then calls for a radical act of worship: “Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar!” This is the language of the Temple, of worship that is both celebratory and costly. During Sukkot, this verse was read on Hoshana Rabbah, as worshipers circled the altar, praising God and crying out for salvation. The horns of the altar were the place of atonement and covenant — the very spot where the blood of the sacrifice was applied. To bind the sacrifice was to fully dedicate it to God, with no option of taking it back.
This is no ordinary offering — it is a festal sacrifice, brought with joy, not reluctance. In the light of God’s revelation, the only reasonable response is full surrender. It’s as if the psalmist is saying, “I will not just bring my gift to the altar — I will bind myself to it. My worship will not be convenient — it will be complete.” This points us directly to Yeshua, the ultimate festal sacrifice, who willingly allowed Himself to be bound and led to the cross, the final altar, so that His light could shine on all who believe.
From this place of total surrender, verses 28 and 29 overflow with thanksgiving: “You are my God, and I will give thanks to You… Oh, give thanks to the LORD, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever!” The heart that has encountered God’s light and laid itself on His altar cannot help but worship. These words also carry a Shabbat rhythm — just as Shabbat closes each week with blessings and praise, so this psalm closes with the eternal refrain of God’s goodness and enduring mercy. Shabbat reminds us that our worship flows from rest, not striving, and that our surrender is not loss, but delight.
Your light has come, the altar is before you, and the cords are ready. Will you be a casual observer of His goodness, or will you bind yourself to His purposes with joy? This is the moment to go beyond convenience into consecration. Lay yourself down — not as a reluctant offering, but as a willing one. Let the light that has shone on you ignite a life of thanksgiving. Tie your heart to the altar of His will and let your praise rise like incense. The LORD is God — acknowledge it with your life. He is good — declare it with your lips. His mercy endures forever — live in it with every breath.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]For many, God remains a theory—an idea borrowed from tradition, deduced from the cosmos, or tucked quietly into the corners of a creed. He is believed in from afar, but is rarely encountered. Even among believers, it’s not uncommon to live with a distant reverence for God while lacking a vibrant, personal communion with Him.
God has always longed for intimacy with us. He formed us for Himself–to walk with Him, to know Him, to delight in His Presence. This is the very heartbeat of creation: relationship, not religion. Yet sin drove a wedge between us. A veil was drawn, shutting out the light of His face and placing distance where there was once communion.
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.