Psalms 118:17-18 I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the LORD. 18 The LORD has disciplined me severely, but he has not given me over to death.
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.
The Hebrew word for “declare” is סָפַר (saphar) — meaning to proclaim, recount, or record in detail. It’s the same root used for a scribe or storyteller. This isn’t about vague gratitude — it’s about vocal, specific testimony. When God raises you up, He doesn’t do it just for your comfort — He does it so you can bear witness. Your life becomes a scroll on which His faithfulness is written, line by line, miracle by miracle.
This verse carries profound prophetic weight. It prefigures the resurrection of Yeshua (Jesus), who was chastened unto death yet not abandoned to the grave. On the third day, He rose — not in silence, but declaring the works of the LORD. And because we are in Him, His resurrection becomes the pattern of our own. We, too, are raised — not just to walk out of tombs, but to walk into testimony. Not just to breathe — but to proclaim.
Verse 18 reminds us that the Lord may chasten, but He does not abandon. Discipline is a sign of sonship, not disfavor. There are seasons where we are pressed, pruned, and purified — but they are not the end. In fact, they often precede the greatest declarations. What was meant to break you becomes the stage from which you testify. You are not just a survivor–you are a witness.
So what will you do with the life He has preserved? This is your moment to speak. To recount the works of the Lord in the land of the living. Your scars tell stories, and your survival is sacred. Don’t waste your breath on fear. Use it to testify. You are alive for a reason. Rise up and declare it.
You weren’t just rescued — you were raised. And you weren’t just raised — you were commissioned. The enemy came to bury you, but God brought you through the fire so you could speak with authority. Don’t stay silent. Don’t shrink back. Open your mouth and tell the world what God has done. Stand on your feet, even if they’re trembling. Speak through tears, if you must. But speak. Declare His works boldly. Hell lost when Yeshua rose — and it loses again every time you refuse to die in your trial and choose instead to live and declare. Let your life be a trumpet. Let your voice shake the grave. You shall not die — you shall live!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
King David wrote these words generations before the empty tomb shook the foundations of death. At first glance, Psalm 16 reads like a personal prayer of trust — a yearning for security and closeness with God. But beneath the surface, the Spirit was revealing something deeper, something eternal: a promise not just for David, but for all of us.
The majestic Messianic prophecy of Isaiah 9 culminates in a powerful declaration: “The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this.” Not might. Not maybe. Not if we work hard enough. It will be done — because God Himself is passionate to see it through. The Hebrew word for “zeal” here is קִנְאָה (kin’ah), which also means jealousy or burning passion. This is not passive interest — it’s the fiery determination of the LORD of Hosts to establish His Kingdom. The same fiery zeal that struck Egypt with plagues—shattering the power of false gods, that parted the Red Sea and made a way where there was none, that birthed a nation from the womb of slavery, and that drove the Son of God to the cross at Calvary — is the very zeal that will fulfill every promise declared in Isaiah 9.