“Therefore also now, saith the LORD, turn ye even to me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning: And rend your heart, and not your garments, and turn unto the LORD your God…” Joel 2:12-13 (KJV)
There’s a kind of noise that isn’t joy, it’s avoidance. It happens when life feels uncertain, when pressure closes in, when the future looks like a question mark. Instead of sitting with God long enough to face what’s real, we get busy. We scroll. We snack. We shop. We plan. We laugh loud, hoping the volume can drown out the ache. We don’t call it denial. We call it “keeping it together.”
Isaiah 22 opens on a city doing something heartbreaking: Jerusalem is celebrating while danger is at the door. People climb to rooftops, not to pray, but to watch and talk and carry on. They’re making plans and fortifying walls and collecting water. Yet, the prophet says they did all that without looking to the One who made them. God wasn’t condemning preparation. He was confronting godless self-reliance, the kind that builds a life plan and leaves Him out.
Isaiah calls Jerusalem “the valley of vision,” but the tragedy is that the people can see everything except what matters most. They spot the threat. They take inventory. They gather resources. They adjust strategy. But when God calls for humility, “weeping… mourning… sackcloth” (v. 12), they answer with a shrug and a slogan: “Let us eat and drink; for tomorrow we shall die” (v. 13). In other words: If life is hard, let’s numb it. If tomorrow is uncertain, let’s indulge today. God says something sobering: when people repeatedly refuse His invitation to repent and return, they don’t just commit a mistake, they harden into a stance.
Imagine the smoke alarm going off in your home, sharp, relentless, urgent. But instead of checking the kitchen, you turn the music up. You light a candle to “set the vibe.” You call it peace, but it’s actually postponement. That’s what Isaiah 22 feels like: a party in a burning house. The alarm isn’t punishment, it’s mercy. It’s the warning that says, “Pay attention. Come back. Let Me help you before this spreads.” But if we keep turning the music up, eventually we won’t hear the alarm at all.
Distraction can look like celebration: Not every smile means you’re okay. Sometimes it means you’re coping. God isn’t offended by your joy. He’s concerned when joy becomes a mask that keeps you from healing.
Preparation without prayer becomes pride: Jerusalem strengthened walls and collected water but didn’t “look unto the maker thereof” (v. 11). Planning is wise. But when we trust the plan more than the Planner, our confidence quietly becomes an idol.
Where have I been “turning up the music” instead of responding to what God is trying to show me? What am I building, fixing, or controlling that I need to surrender back into God’s hands? If God is inviting me to return, what would repentance look like in my daily life today, not someday?
Prayer
Lord, forgive me for the times I covered my fear with noise. Forgive me for building solutions while leaving You out. When You are calling me to return, don’t let me rush past Your invitation. Teach me how to prepare with wisdom and depend on You with humility. Quiet every coping mechanism that keeps me from truth, and replace it with Your peace. Give me courage to face what is real, and faith to trust You with what I cannot control.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
I will not numb what God wants to heal. I will not trust my walls more than my Maker.
When the alarm rings, I will return to the Lord, my help, my hope, my covering.
