Isaiah 51:9 Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the LORD; awake, as in days of old, the generations of long ago. Was it not you who cut Rahab in pieces, who pierced the dragon?
Psalms 89:9-10 You rule the raging of the sea; when its waves rise, you still them. 10 You crushed Rahab like a carcass; you scattered your enemies with your mighty arm.
Isaiah’s words summon one of the most dramatic images of God’s saving power: the Z’roah — the Arm of the LORD — cutting Rahab in pieces and piercing the dragon.
Here, Rahab is not the woman of Jericho but a poetic name for Egypt (Psalm 87:4), often symbolizing arrogant nations and the dark spiritual powers behind them. In Hebrew poetry, Rahab also evokes the sea monster of chaos, a stand-in for the forces that oppose God’s order. To say the Arm “cut Rahab in pieces” is to recall how God shattered Egypt’s pride and broke the grip of the powers that enslaved His people.
The dragon, or serpent, is another layer of this imagery. Behind Pharaoh’s cruelty and Egypt’s gods was the same ancient serpent that slithered into Eden — the chaos-bringer, the deceiver, the enemy of God’s purposes. When the Arm of the LORD struck Egypt with plagues and split the Red Sea, it was not only Pharaoh who was defeated; it was the serpent himself who was pierced, exposed as powerless against the covenant God of Israel. The Exodus was more than political liberation — it was a cosmic showdown, and the Arm of God prevailed.
The cry “Awake, awake!” is not a suggestion that God has grown weary or inattentive. In Hebrew, “lavesh oz” — “put on strength” — means to clothe oneself for action, to rise up ready for battle. The exiles were invoking the Arm that once destroyed Rahab, pleading for Him to act again in their day. This was a declaration of faith: the God who pierces the dragon once will pierce him again.
Yet the Arm does not only strike; it saves. The same Arm that shattered Egypt also carried Israel safely through the sea, making a way where there was none. The battle was never for spectacle but for the flock’s safety. Every sword-thrust against the dragon clears a path for God’s people to walk in freedom. His piercing blow is always for the sake of deliverance.
Prophetically, this piercing of the dragon finds its ultimate fulfillment in Messiah Yeshua (Jesus). At the cross, the Arm of the LORD struck the serpent’s head, disarming principalities and powers (Colossians 2:14-15). In His resurrection, He proved that the dragon has no final claim over His people. Revelation picks up the same imagery, declaring the final defeat of the great dragon, Satan, who is cast down forever (Revelation 12:9; 20:10). The Arm that pierced in Egypt pierced again at Calvary — and will pierce once more at the end of the age.
For us today, Isaiah’s cry becomes our own. In seasons when chaos swirls and the enemy’s roar seems loud, we call upon the Arm of the LORD — not as if He were asleep, but as an act of faith that He will rise and act again. The dragon still snarls, but his fate is sealed. The Arm has already pierced him, and His victory is our inheritance.
The Arm that pierced the dragon is the very Arm stretched wide at the cross for you. Call upon Him, and remember that He has already given you authority to tread upon serpents and scorpions and over all the power of the enemy (Luke 10:18–19). He will carve a way for you through raging seas, opening a path where there seems to be no way. So stand firm — for the dragon’s roar is nothing more than the echo of his defeat, and his end is already sealed. The same Arm that cut Rahab in pieces, that split the waters, that crushed the serpent’s head, is the Arm that now holds you secure and will carry you all the way home!
Copyright 1999-2026 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
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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.