Before Isaiah confronts Judah with judgment, alliances, and kingship, he does something more unsettling—he confronts their memory. Not their enemies. Not their circumstances. Their memory of who they are and who God is to them.
Judah is not a pagan nation discovering God for the first time. They are God’s covenant people. They know the law. They know what God requires. Alam nila na banal ang Diyos at iisa siya. They know the stories of deliverance, strength, and glory. David’s kingly line of descendants hail from Judah. They know what it means to belong to God—at least, they think they do.
And that is exactly the danger.
Isaiah’s message does not begin by telling them they are godless, but by showing them that they are remembering the wrong things while forgetting the right One. They remember past victories but forget present obedience. They remember God’s nearness in history but ignore His holiness in the present. Dahil kasama sila ng Diyos noon, pakiramdam nila kasama pa rin nila ng Diyos sa ngayon.
This is where Isaiah introduces Ariel—a name loaded with covenant meaning, strength, and divine presence. And it is here, in what feels most familiar and secure to Judah, that God begins to dismantle their false confidence and expose what real faithfulness looks like.
Ariel is supposed to remind us of God’s covenant faithfulness with David. A record of promises kept. Strength, glory, nearness—isang golden age para sa Israel at Judah. Panahon na ang Diyos ay nasa gitna ng kanyang bayan. Panahon na parang hindi natatalo ang Israel.
But that’s not what Ariel means here.
Judah is clinging to the memory of that glory while forgetting the God who made them glorious in the first place. Nakakapit sila sa dating anyo ng biyaya—sa pakiramdam na “Nasa Diyos pa rin kami”—pero ang Diyos mismo, matagal na nilang iniwan. They remember the glory days, but they have forgotten the Lord of glory.
So they keep doing what covenant people do. They keep the festivals. They show up. They perform the Law. On the outside, mukha talaga silang bayan ng Diyos. But God tears through the illusion. He names them for what they really are:
“This people draw near with their mouth and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me.”
Hypocrites. Plastik.
Heavy judgment follows—not because they stopped being religious, but because they stopped loving God. They became blind, stupid, staggering like drunk men—not from wine, but from pride. And as judgment, God gives them what they want. Ayaw nilang makinig? Then they will not hear. The Word becomes sealed. The vision becomes unreadable. God gives them over.
But here is the shock: God does not give them up.
The shame of their sin will be judged, yes—but Jacob will be restored. Their covenant identity will not be erased. And that becomes hope for sinners like us. Because Christ has come to draw near a people who refused Him as King. Ariel reminds us that God’s faithfulness does not depend on our memory of Him, but on His promise to us.
Then comes ‘Egypt’.
Former masters. Former chains. Israel’s national trauma. And yet Judah wants to go back. To something broken. To something God already rescued them from. Why? For a bit of security. A breather. Something tangible. Something impressive. The pyramids. The chariots. The shadow of Pharaoh.
And God names them again:
“Ah, stubborn children…”
They don’t just trust Egypt—they refuse to listen to God. And that trust will crush them. What looks strong will become shame. What feels safe will disappoint. We are so quick to trust what looks solid on the outside. May dating. May power. May presence. And we assume God works the same way.
He doesn’t.
Because He is holy, He will punish Judah for this misplaced trust. And if we’re honest, this looks disturbingly familiar. We trust what seems strong. We misplace our hope in what is not God. But Judah’s sin is not ultimate. God’s will is. When Egypt is humbled and Assyria falls by the breath of the Lord, Judah will finally see. They will throw away their idols—not forced, but convinced.
On that perfect day, the true God will reign over His people, and all false gods will be discarded because they are finally known for what they are. God does this not because Judah deserves it, but because He promised it. And because He promised it, He will do it. That is why we hold on to this hope—that Christ will return for His covenant people.
Which finally brings us to ‘Until’.
Not yet. But it is coming. He is coming.
So why were the people complacent? Because life continued. The harvest came. Seasons rolled on. Everything seemed fine. “Okay pa tayo.” Bulong ng puso. No urgency. No repentance. Comfort replaced dependence. Convenience replaced obedience. They embraced ease, not the God who graciously called them back.
And when God sets a timeline—
“In little more than a year you will shudder…”
—you know He means business. They will see it. And they will not be ready.
But God does not only warn. He offers something better. A better King. A better stability. More secure than Judah’s comfort. More secure than Assyria’s power. Himself.
Judah trusted that their security would last. Assyria trusted that their power would last. And God shows us plainly: apart from Him, you won’t last. God must be King for you to live. Yet we keep trying to separate His saving from His ruling—as if He rescues us only to step aside.
He won’t.
God will remove anything we cling to for security so that we learn who can truly hold us.
“He will be the stability of your times.”
He may not remove suffering. He may not remove pain. But for the Christian, that’s not the deal-breaker. We endure because our King rules us, loves us, and gave His life for us. He is a saving King. And those who live under His rule are transformed into a people who dwell with Him forever.
Hindi killjoy ang paghahari ng Diyos. Hindi ito hiwalay sa Kanyang pagliligtas. Ito ang direksyon ng kaligtasan—maghahari Siya, at matutuwa tayo sa Kanyang paghahari. We wait. We endure. We hope. Not clinging to anything else.
Because He alone can carry the weight of all our hopes.
Kaya ni Kristo.