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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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.
In a world weary from political upheaval, moral confusion, and fleeting peace, Isaiah offers us a vision of something profoundly different—an ever-increasing kingdom ruled by a King whose justice is not compromised, whose peace is not fleeting, and whose throne is eternally secure. The phrase “of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end” speaks not just of duration, but of expansion—a kingdom that doesn’t plateau, doesn’t weaken, and doesn’t shrink back in the face of darkness. Instead, it advances, multiplies, and transforms.
In the Hebraic understanding, a name isn’t just a label—it reveals essence, identity, and destiny. Isaiah doesn’t say these are merely descriptions of the Messiah; he says His Name shall be called — meaning this is who He is. When we declare these names, we are not offering poetic praise — we are calling upon real attributes of the living King. In just one verse, the prophet unveils the depth of Messiah’s personhood, showing us that this child is no ordinary child. He is the fulfillment of heaven’s promise and the revelation of God’s nature.
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 prophet Isaiah begins with language so familiar that it’s often read too quickly. Yet within this brief phrase lies a depth of mystery and majesty that anchors the entire gospel. “For unto us a Child is born” speaks of an earthly event–Messiah’s humanity. He was born as all men are born, taking on flesh, entering a specific culture, time, and lineage. The Hebrew word for “born” (yalad) reinforces His full identification with us. This is the miracle of the incarnation: God wrapped in the vulnerability of a newborn child.
When the Lord called us to be His ambassadors, He didn’t merely give us a message — He gave us a lifestyle to embody it. An ambassador is not just a messenger, but a living representation of the Kingdom they serve. That means our behavior, words, and example all matter deeply.