Isaiah 9:6b – “And the government shall be upon His shoulder…”
Exodus 28:12 And you shall put the two stones on the shoulders of the ephod as memorial stones for the sons of Israel. So Aaron shall bear their names before the LORD on his two shoulders as a memorial.
In a world wearied by the failures of men, Isaiah 9:6 offers a startling promise of hope and strength: “The government shall be upon His shoulder.” This is not the language of politics as we know it — it’s the language of divine dominion. The Hebrew word for “government” here is misrah (מִשְׂרָה), a word so unique it appears only in these two verses—Isaiah 9:6 and 9:7. Unlike more common Hebrew words for government — mamlachah or memshalah, misrah speaks of a rare and elevated rule—divinely ordained, gentle in character, and eternal in scope. This is a government not imposed, but carried. Not tyrannical, but righteous and restorative.
The phrase “upon His shoulder” evokes the ancient image of Israel’s high priest, who bore the names of the twelve tribes on his shoulders as he ministered before the Lord (Exodus 28:12). This is no coincidence. The Messiah comes not only as a King but as a Priest—one who bears His people with intercession and mercy. Isaiah gives us a glimpse of the King-Priest, a role foreshadowed by Melchizedek, the mysterious figure in Genesis 14 who was both King of Salem and Priest of God Most High. Psalm 110 confirms this lineage: “You are a priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek.” Yeshua’s rule is not political maneuvering—it is a holy reign, rooted in righteousness and mercy.
As Priest, He carries our names into the Holy Place. As King, He establishes justice and peace. Unlike earthly rulers who rise by force and fall by scandal, His authority is unshakable. His shoulders bore the weight of the cross before they bore the scepter of the Kingdom. And now, risen and exalted, He bears the rule of the cosmos with nail-scarred hands. His misrah government is personal, global, and eternal. His leadership does not control—it restores. His throne is not built on manipulation—it is upheld by the zeal of the LORD of hosts (Isaiah 9:7).
So what does this mean for you today? It means the burdens you’re carrying—your anxieties, your unknowns, your attempts to control outcomes—were never meant to rest on your shoulders. There are meant to be upon His. The One who upholds all things by the word of His power (Hebrews 1:3) invites you to surrender control, not out of fear, but in faith. His shoulder is strong enough to carry your world, yet tender enough to carry your heart.
So arise, and fix your eyes on the One whose shoulders carry both the weight of heaven’s authority and the burden of earth’s redemption. The crown belongs to Him. The cross was endured by Him. And now, the government rests securely upon Him. Surrender to His reign, and find your rest beneath His righteous rule. Cast every anxious care upon His capable shoulders—the very shoulders that bore the crushing beam of the cross and now bear the keys of the kingdom. Maranatha — our King is coming! And until He does, let His shoulders carry you.
Copyright 1999-2025 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
More Devotions
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.