Luke 6:12 Now it came to pass in those days that He went out to the mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.
Have you ever noticed that most of our phone conversations go something like this? You call, say a word or two, they'll say a short thing or two in reply and then something like "Ok, in the middle of something, gotta run, talk to you later"! That's a good example of most of our telephone conversations with people when we were living in the United States.
Now that we're living in Israel however, it's a slightly different story. When we call America now, people are always making time to talk to us. In fact, usually, they excuse themselves and go into a separate room so they can hear us loud and clear! And vice versa when they call us! But that got us thinking.
If we make some time and excuse ourselves from a room to talk to someone important on the telephone, how much more should we do these things for the Lord of Glory?!
William Wilberforce, a Christian statesman of Great Britain in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, once said, "I must secure more time for private devotions. I have been living far too public for me. The shortening of private devotions starves the soul. It grows lean and faint."
We don't starve our bodies, do we? Then why do we starve our souls? We would never dream of not eating for a month or two, but how long has it been since we've gotten to a quiet room to nourish our souls with the Lord? Seems ironic, doesn't it? Our bodies are only temporary -- they will be buried six feet under someday, along with our belongings eventually. Our soul, though, is what we should be nourishing daily, what we should be guarding as our most prized possession because it will always be around!
Let's make sure our priorities are straight. Let's be sure to excuse ourselves from the hustle and bustle -- so we can hear from the Lord -- loud and clear!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]I’ll be doing a series on the “Arm of God,” beginning with this first message — The Arm that Redeems. The Hebrew Z’roah (זְרוֹעַ) means “arm” or “strength,” and in ancient Hebrew culture, the arm symbolizes active power in motion — strength applied for a purpose. In the Exodus account, God tells Moses He will redeem Israel “with an outstretched arm” (bizroa netuyah). This was not poetic metaphor; it was God’s declaration of decisive intervention. The Z’roah is the covenant-keeping arm that moves history, enforces promises, and breaks oppression. Every Pesach (Passover), during the seder — the festive meal of remembrance — the roasted lamb shank bone, the Z’roah, rests on the plate as a silent yet powerful witness to God’s mighty deliverance.
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.
Psalm 118:24 is not merely about enjoying a new day — it is a prophetic declaration of a divinely appointed moment. “This is the day the LORD has made” speaks of a kairos moment in history when heaven and earth converge. It points to the day when Messiah would be revealed, salvation would walk into Jerusalem, and God’s covenant plan would take a dramatic step forward. This is not the casual celebration of a sunrise — it is the joyful response to God’s redemptive unfolding.
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.