Resist

Jerusalem is surrounded. An imperial envoy shouts to the people in their own language. He does not want negotiation; he wants trust to collapse, and he dresses it up as friendly advice. He says what we still hear when we resist injustice: this is inevitable; ideally, sure, but in reality you must be practical; you have to accept it because what you are doing is no better; your righteousness is no better than mine; take the consolation prize and live with it.

It is not as if Hezekiah is impossibly scrupulous. Under pressure he has already stripped gold from the temple doors to buy time for his people. But in this moment he refuses the envoy’s terms. He steps back from the wall, gathers counsel, and prays. He also prepares, shoring up what can be shored up and accepting interim costs without surrendering allegiance. That is not abandonment; it is the first act of resistance.

The text gives us a crucial gift: a third-person view that exposes the tactic. We are meant to see that these words are engineered to break the faithful, not to tell the truth. And still, we are not immune to self-deception. We can be the ones spinning. If facts or neighbors correct us, we should change course.

So name, specifically, the power pressing on you this week, at work, in church, in your city. When you push against it, listen to what answers. If what comes back is inevitability and mock prudence, do not let it set the definitions. Refuse the false choice by pausing long enough to seek a third path that tells the truth and protects the vulnerable, even if it is smaller, slower, or costly. Act at a scale you can sustain, with counsel, and with the safety of the most exposed in view. That is how trust holds.