Who do we trust?

What would you do if you were in their shoes? It's the question that surfaces whenever tragedy fills the news — the wall of water in a flood, a war dragging on, a community living in fear. And it presses closer to home too: what if it were my child lost in the bush, my diagnosis, my long and painful road? Who would I be trusting when the waves hit? Most of us have had those thoughts. We've heard stories of remarkable faith under fire, and we've watched people crumble. Perhaps we've walked the valley ourselves, with our own mix of fear and faith, trusting God one moment and forgetting him the next.

Saved by the one we trust

Here's the good news before we go further: we are safe with God not because of the strength of our faith, but because of the strength of the one we have faith in. Not saved by our performance under pressure, but by Jesus' faithfulness under pressure. So the point isn't "be perfect when life falls apart." It's to hold onto one simple truth for the moments when hope seems lost: it's always best to trust God's promises, because God is with you and God is for you. That's worth locking deep into heart and mind now, before the floodwaters hit — because when they do, your eyes will fill with everything that's hard, and every other thing clamouring to be trusted.

Two armies, and a sign refused

Isaiah 7 introduces King Ahaz of Judah in exactly that kind of crisis. Two enemy kingdoms to his north have allied against him and marched on Jerusalem, and "the hearts of Ahaz and his people were shaken, as the trees of the forest are shaken by the wind." Notice how Isaiah names the kingdom: "the house of David" — the very line God had promised to protect, if they would trust him. God sends Isaiah with a word of astonishing calm: "keep calm and don't be afraid" — these enemies are only "smouldering stubs of firewood." But the condition is sharp: "If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all." Then God offers Ahaz a sign — any sign he likes, "whether in the deepest depths or in the highest heights." A blank cheque of proof. Ahaz replies, "I will not ask; I will not put the Lord to the test." It sounds pious, but it's disobedience dressed as devotion. He'd already made his own plans: thrown himself at the feet of the Assyrian superpower and offered treasure for rescue. And remember who God was still willing to work with — Ahaz had ignored God repeatedly, worshipped other gods, even been involved in child sacrifice. Still God offered him a sign. He turned it down for a strategy of his own, which was like a mouse inviting the cat to deal with the rat. Once the rat is gone, the mouse is next on the menu.

The sign given anyway

So God gives a sign regardless — not a sign to trust for salvation now, but a sign that rejecting him carries consequences. "The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel." Isn't that a Christmas reading about Jesus? Yes and no. In the long term it points to Jesus; in the short term, Isaiah means a young woman will have a child who serves as a living sign that God is with his people — and before that child is old, the two kingdoms terrifying Ahaz will be shattered. Assyria will defeat them, just as Ahaz wanted, but then turn on Judah too. The floodwaters, Isaiah says, will "sweep on into Judah... reaching up to the neck" — that close to perishing, with only Jerusalem left standing. And that is exactly what happened. Even in that terrifying judgment, the name hangs over the land: Immanuel. God is still with them.

Lifting our eyes high enough

Here's Ahaz's real failure. He looked at his enemies, then lifted his eyes higher to the might of Assyria. But he should have looked higher still — to the God who offered him a sign from the highest heights to the deepest depths. God could have been with him in protection; instead, because of his rejection, he was with him in judgment. Either way: Immanuel. And it's easy to look down on Ahaz until we notice how often we make the same move. We may not bow to foreign gods, but we bow to money, comfort, and self, and share his instinct to control rather than trust — all while looking perfectly religious doing it. "I won't put the Lord to the test," said Ahaz. "I won't bother God with that," we say — I can handle it. It sounds responsible. But underneath it can mean: I don't think God is powerful enough, or that he really cares.

The firm foundation

So imagine it for a moment. What would life be like if you really, deeply believed in Immanuel — not just knew it in your head, but knew in your core that God is with you? I suspect you'd feel safe, knowing there's a greater horizon than the floodwaters. You'd stop needing to trust the biggest, strongest thing you can see, or to rely on yourself for your worth and security. Isaiah ends with words that only comfort if you know God is for you: the Lord himself will be "a stone that causes people to stumble," or else a refuge. Jesus later took those words for himself. If you can't see that he is Immanuel and turn away to make it on your own, you'll stumble. But if you see him for who he is, he won't be a stone that crushes you — he'll be the firm foundation you can build your life on. The ancient Judeans had a promised child to remind them God was near. We have the promised Son himself, in the flesh, who has defeated even sin and death. So we needn't fear what the world fears. Whatever waves are coming — it is always best to trust the promises and presence of Jesus, who is God with us, and God for us. What would change if you truly believed that?

This post is adapted from a sermon preached by Murray Colville at St Hilda's Anglican Church Katoomba on Isaiah 7–8, as part of our TrustWorthy series through Isaiah. Visit us at www.katoomba.church.