The name Immanuel,¹ which means “God with us,” is found only three times in Scripture. More than a hymn sung at Christmas, its meaning is wrapped in the tension between fear and peace, between the tangible and eternal. After the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 2:8), there was fear and shame. Until then, God’s presence had brought peace and safety. Through Isaiah, God prophesied a time when his presence would restore peace to his people.

An Inner Peace

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.

– Isaiah 7:14

The first time we read the word “Immanuel” in the Bible, the prophet Isaiah is speaking to the leader of Judah, King Ahaz. Israel, a combination of ten tribes, had allied with Syria to attack Judah, a nation of only two tribes. The enemies were real. They were nearby. They were invading Judah.

Isaiah and his son met Ahaz outside the palace to deliver the message that God would deliver Judah despite the odds. Isaiah promised a sign so that Ahaz would believe and would not follow through with his plan to forge an unholy allegiance. After the king refused, Isaiah responded with, “The Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”

Even if Ahaz was struggling to trust God in a difficult and stressful moment, Isaiah reassured him that God planned to arrive in a very real and powerful way. “God with us” was originally promised to a king and people who were afraid and facing possible destruction. It was an assurance of God’s presence in a time of great fear. It was God’s promise of internal peace despite external circumstances.

A Commitment

And it will sweep on into Judah, it will overflow and pass on, reaching even to the neck, and its outspread wings will fill the breadth of your land, O Immanuel.”

Be broken, you peoples, and be shattered;
give ear, all you far countries;
strap on your armor and be shattered;
strap on your armor and be shattered.
Take counsel together, but it will come to nothing;
speak a word, but it will not stand,
for God is with us.

– Isaiah 8:8-10

Ahaz refused to trust God’s sustenance and ran into the arms of an alliance with Assyria. The Assyrians would betray and pillage Judah. The second time Isaiah used the name Immanuel, it referred to the land of Judah. After disobeying God, and despite being flooded, overrun, and uncultivated due to the war, the land was named, “God is with us.” There was no peace, only God’s presence, his identity, and his commitment to the people of promise. Ultimately, but not in the near term, the enemies would be vanquished.

Isaiah was warned not to fear the same things the people feared. Judah, at the time, feared exile. They feared defeat, destruction, and death – not insignificant things! But God calls us to regard him above anything temporary. When distressed, those who wait and hope in the Lord will be an example to others (Isaiah 8:17-18).

A Fulfillment

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet:

“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
    and they shall call his name Immanuel”

(which means, God with us).

– Matthew 1:23

Fast forward several centuries. The final time we see the name Immanuel is when one of the disciples of Jesus explains the Savior’s birth. An angel of the Lord told Joseph not to fear taking Mary as his wife. Mary’s pregnancy was a fulfillment of the sign Isaiah promised to Ahaz. Quite literally, God was arriving on the scene. Joseph was challenged to commit to his bride in spite of any hesitancy or fear. He was not to fear shame. He was not to fear disapproval. Joseph was called to regard God above the reproach of his family and community. Joseph believed, obeyed, and witnessed the sign that Ahaz was denied.

Isaiah introduced the name Immanuel to the Jews. Matthew pointed to Jesus as the ultimate fulfillment of God’s peace and steadfast commitment. Our land, and our lives, may be in turmoil, yet God promises to be with us even now.

Let us hold fast to this truth and God’s peace when the fears of our times assail us.

¹ Written as “Emmanuel” in the King James Version of the Bible

Last year was the year of house projects for my husband, me, and, according to the endless lines at The Home Depot, most of our community. I’ve always enjoyed furniture renovation and the idea of giving a neglected piece new life with a little TLC, but 2020 was ripe for challenge. So, I decided to tackle a different angle on this hobby which required learning new skills — sanding and staining.

I did some preliminary research, purchased tools, and got to work. But at a late stage of the process, I realized tiny marks were being left behind as I sanded the wood. Puzzled, I conducted more research and realized I had been sanding the piece incorrectly.

When I learned all the new steps I would have to take, and the fact that I would have to basically start over, I felt like a failure. I had made two critical mistakes. First, I had rushed the process. I didn’t understand how important slow progression was toward getting a polished final product. Second, I had overlooked minor mistakes thinking they would come out alright in the end, underestimating the need to address the problems in real time.

Isn’t that a great picture of the maturation of a Christian?

For the entirety of my life as a Christ-follower, I have felt the constant one-step-forward-two-steps-back frustration of my spiritual growth. Scripture calls this process sanctification, and it’s not exactly a fun process. It’s necessary and good, but it’s difficult, tiresome, and sometimes painful work.

I tend toward perfectionism, so it has never set well with me to struggle with the same problems over and over again. Yet, one struggle in particular that had consistently reared its ugly head for two decades had just made a re-emergence. The long-strained relationship with my dad was on the rocks again, and I felt myself closing off and stewing over past hurts.

When would it ever just be over?

Why was I not done with this yet? Why had I not thrown off this weight that had so consistently dragged me down over the years? I was tired of revisiting, refining, and scuffing out the old marks. I wanted to put my check mark in the box and move on.

But we who are in Christ — we who have been saved into a relationship with Jesus Christ — have to remember that through the Holy Spirit, Christ is constantly working to conform us into his image. He doesn’t leave us to our own instincts, nor does he have us blow through the hard parts to give us all gold stars. When we are faced again with a familiar sin or struggle, he means us to learn something new and deeper.

The Apostle Paul tells his readers in 2 Corinthians 3:18 that those with an “unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” He did not write that we were transformed in an instant into the image of Christ. Rather, we undergo transformation gradually as we become more and more like him.

There is a refining that takes place in our inner beings when we submit that one nagging struggle (or struggles) to Christ over and over again.

Just as a woodworker goes back to a piece of furniture, gradually moving up in degrees of sanding and taking care to polish out scuffs, the Holy Spirit continually brings me back to the same struggle to refine my thinking, my attitude, my heart, and my personal holiness. I could groan over the struggle and agonize over my wretched state (which I did), but I couldn’t ignore the fact that I was not back at square one because God had been working on me the whole time.

The process of sanctification is working. While I haven’t gotten to the place of wholeness I so desire, I’ve undergone some major heart transformation and growth. I’m not starting over anymore. I’m returning to the problem with new skills and tools acquired over years, through the work of the Holy Spirit.

The dresser now stands in my room as an unexpected reminder of two things.

The beauty of the dark, stained wood reminds me of the work that the Spirit has already done in my heart to transform me. And those blemishes that I couldn’t quite erase will always tell the story of the here-but-not-yet reality that I, too, am imperfect and will not be whole until I meet Christ face-to-face.

In the meantime, the Holy Spirit has more transforming work to complete in me, and I can joyfully join him in the process.