Revelation 1:5-6 even from Jesus Christ the faithful Witness, the First-born from the dead and the Ruler of the kings of the earth. To Him who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood, 6 and made us kings and priests to God and His Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Luke 10:19 Behold, I give to you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the authority of the enemy. And nothing shall by any means hurt you.
There is a sacred truth buried deep in Scripture that many believers never fully embrace: you have been given authority through the Messiah, not someday, but now. It is not reserved for the spiritually elite. It is not earned through effort. It is your inheritance as a child of God. And this authority was purchased at the Cross and activated the moment you were born again.
This divine authority is not about raw strength but about your position. Think of a traffic officer: he may not have the power to stop a car by himself, but he carries the authority of the government behind him. Likewise, as a believer, you stand not in your own power but under the royal authority of heaven—backed by the throne of the Almighty.
But there’s more: you are not only a believer—you are a king and a priest of the Most High (Revelation 1:6). That’s not poetic metaphor. That’s spiritual reality. You’ve been crowned with purpose and clothed with heavenly responsibility. A king rules with authority. A priest ministers with access. You carry both. When you recognize this identity, it changes how you walk, how you pray, how you confront darkness, and how you serve others. You begin to walk as you’re called to walk—royally, humbly, and powerfully.
Satan wants you to remain weak, defeated, and unaware of who you really are. He knows that a believer who understands their identity is dangerous to the kingdom of darkness. That’s why he works tirelessly to keep this truth hidden. Just as he blinds unbelievers to the gospel, he blinds believers to their kingdom identity—hoping they’ll never rise up and walk in the authority they’ve been given. But Scripture doesn’t stutter. Ephesians declares that we are seated with Christ in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6). That’s not a position of defeat, but a position of victory and divine authority. It’s a throne room seat, not a place of pity. And from that place, you are called to reign—not with pride, but in alignment with the heart and will of your King.
It’s important to understand that this authority is not the same as spiritual gifts or emotional highs. It doesn’t depend on how we feel, but on who we are. Authority is your legal right as a citizen of the kingdom and a member of the royal family. It is exercised by faith, empowered by the Spirit, and backed by His Word.
So rise up today—not timidly, but boldly. Speak the Word of God with the authority of one who’s been entrusted with the King’s seal. Resist the enemy, knowing heaven stands behind you. Intercede for others as one who wears both a crown and a priestly robe. You are more than forgiven—you are enthroned with Christ. And when you recognize that, you’ll begin to walk as you were always meant to walk—with royal confidence, priestly compassion, and unshakable authority.
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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.