The Weight We Were Never Meant to Carry
There's something profoundly disorienting about our current moment in history. We've decorated our homes with wreaths and lights, curated the perfect aesthetic of peace and joy, yet inside many of us there's a low hum of anxiety that never fully goes away. We're living in what should be the best time in human history: more prosperity, more technology, more resources than any generation before us. And yet, researchers tell us we're experiencing an epidemic of loneliness. We're the most connected society ever, and simultaneously the most isolated.
We've become experts at creating the appearance of peace while our interior lives contradict everything our exterior decorations suggest.
The Darkness We Won't Admit
The prophet Isaiah wrote to a people who would have understood this contradiction intimately. In Isaiah 8, he describes a nation that had turned away from God, consulting mediums, forming political alliances, trusting in military power, doing everything except turning to the One who could actually help them. The result? "They will look to the earth and see only distress and darkness, the gloom of anguish; and they will be thrust into thick darkness" (Isaiah 8:22).
That word "gloom" carries the sense of pressure, of being trapped with no way out. It's claustrophobic.
You might be thinking, "That's ancient Israel. That's not me. I have a good job, a nice home, a retirement account." But consider this: the modern secular story we've absorbed tells us that through science, technology, and education, we're slowly eliminating darkness. We believe we can engineer our way to peace.
Is that actually true?
The twentieth century saw the greatest scientific advancement in human history. It was also the bloodiest century in human history. We have smartphones that give us access to the sum of human knowledge, but are we wiser? We have apps to optimize our sleep and manage our stress, but are we more rested?
Here's what happens when we remove God from the equation: we have to find our hope for salvation somewhere else. We turn good things, career, romance, family, politics, into ultimate things. We ask them to provide the peace and security that only God can give. When you ask your career to be your savior, when you ask your marriage to be your messiah, when you ask your children's success to be your justification, you're placing a weight on them they were never designed to carry.
And when they inevitably fail to deliver the heaven you're looking for, you're thrust into darkness.
This is why our culture is so angry. When you believe politics is your salvation, losing an election isn't disappointing, it's devastating. The other side isn't just wrong; they're evil, the forces of darkness destroying everything good.
The decline of transcendent hope has resulted in greater isolation, anxiety, and depression because we've tried to replace what only God can provide with political, therapeutic, or technological solutions.
The Light That Breaks Through
But Isaiah's message doesn't end in darkness. "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2).
Notice the grammar carefully. It doesn't say the people *created* a light or *discovered* a technique for making light. It says they *saw* a light. The light comes from outside them. It's an invasion of grace.
And what does this light look like?
"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders" (Isaiah 9:6).
That phrase, "the government will be on his shoulders", cuts right to the heart of why so many of us are exhausted. We're tired because we're trying to carry the government of our lives on our own shoulders. We've believed the lie that goes back to the Garden: "You will be like God." You can be sovereign. You can control your destiny.
That sounds empowering, but it's actually crushing.
Think about modern parenting. Why is parental anxiety at an all-time high? Because we believe the government of our children's future is entirely on our shoulders. We think if we don't get them into the right activities and schools, we've failed them. We're trying to be the sovereign authors of their destiny.
Or consider your relationships. Why do they feel so fragile, so exhausting? Because we're asking our spouse or friends to be functional saviors; to complete us, to make us feel secure, to validate our worth. When they inevitably fail to meet those god-like expectations, we're devastated.
We all want to build a little kingdom where we're the king. But here's the problem: you're a terrible king. You don't have the wisdom for it. You don't have the power for it. You can't make the world cooperate with your plans.
The King Who Can Carry It
Isaiah offers a radical alternative. There's One who comes, and the government will be on *His* shoulders. Not yours. His.
Look at His qualifications. He's called Wonderful Counselor: His wisdom is supernatural. He's Mighty God: He has both the wisdom to direct and the power to execute. He's Everlasting Father: not a tyrant who exploits you, but a Father who cares for you eternally. And He's Prince of Peace.
The Hebrew concept of peace, shalom, means far more than the absence of conflict. It means wholeness, completeness, everything functioning exactly as designed in perfect harmony. It's like a beautiful tapestry, intricate and strong, holding together without a single tear.
But sin unraveled that tapestry. Our relationship with God was torn. Our relationship with ourselves was torn, showing up as anxiety, shame, and self-hatred. Our relationship with each other was torn, manifesting as loneliness and division. Our relationship with the physical world was torn, resulting in sickness and death.
We keep trying to tape it back together with money, pleasure, achievement, and politics. But it won't hold.
When Isaiah calls Jesus the Prince of Peace, he's saying Jesus is the Great Weaver, come to restore *shalom* in every dimension of existence.
The Cost of Peace
But how does He accomplish this? How does this child achieve peace in such a broken world?
The answer is both stunning and terrible. The Prince of Peace didn't come to live in a palace. He came to the front lines. He entered the darkness. And to bring us peace, He had to absorb the violence of our sin.
Isaiah explains it later: "The punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5).
On the cross, the government of God's justice was placed on His shoulders. He was the Wonderful Counselor, but was treated as a fool. He was the Mighty God, but became weak. He was the Everlasting Father, but was cut off from His Father. He was the Prince of Peace, but was plunged into absolute chaos and violence.
Why? So the government could be lifted off your shoulders. He took the storm so you could have the refuge.
That's how much you're loved, more than you could ever dream.
Living in Light of the Prince
So what does this mean for us?
First, resign from playing God. You're exhausted because you're trying to run the universe. The results prove you're a bad god. Trust the One whose shoulders can actually carry the weight.
Second, stop treating circumstances as your source of peace. Real peace isn't the absence of trouble; it's the presence of God in the trouble. Your fundamental identity is secure in Christ. Nothing can touch that core reality.
Third, become a person of peace. If you've received this peace, radiate it to others. When you walk into a room, does the anxiety level go up or down? If you're resting in Christ's finished work, you don't need to fight for your way all the time. You can listen, forgive, and absorb tension instead of escalating it.
The promise is not that we're going to fix the world. The promise is that the King has come, and He will come again. "Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end" (Isaiah 9:7).
Until that day, we walk in a world that's still dark. But we're people who have seen a Great Light. So let's stop trying to carry the weight of the world. Let's cast our anxieties on the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
The government is on His shoulders. Not yours.
We've become experts at creating the appearance of peace while our interior lives contradict everything our exterior decorations suggest.
The Darkness We Won't Admit
The prophet Isaiah wrote to a people who would have understood this contradiction intimately. In Isaiah 8, he describes a nation that had turned away from God, consulting mediums, forming political alliances, trusting in military power, doing everything except turning to the One who could actually help them. The result? "They will look to the earth and see only distress and darkness, the gloom of anguish; and they will be thrust into thick darkness" (Isaiah 8:22).
That word "gloom" carries the sense of pressure, of being trapped with no way out. It's claustrophobic.
You might be thinking, "That's ancient Israel. That's not me. I have a good job, a nice home, a retirement account." But consider this: the modern secular story we've absorbed tells us that through science, technology, and education, we're slowly eliminating darkness. We believe we can engineer our way to peace.
Is that actually true?
The twentieth century saw the greatest scientific advancement in human history. It was also the bloodiest century in human history. We have smartphones that give us access to the sum of human knowledge, but are we wiser? We have apps to optimize our sleep and manage our stress, but are we more rested?
Here's what happens when we remove God from the equation: we have to find our hope for salvation somewhere else. We turn good things, career, romance, family, politics, into ultimate things. We ask them to provide the peace and security that only God can give. When you ask your career to be your savior, when you ask your marriage to be your messiah, when you ask your children's success to be your justification, you're placing a weight on them they were never designed to carry.
And when they inevitably fail to deliver the heaven you're looking for, you're thrust into darkness.
This is why our culture is so angry. When you believe politics is your salvation, losing an election isn't disappointing, it's devastating. The other side isn't just wrong; they're evil, the forces of darkness destroying everything good.
The decline of transcendent hope has resulted in greater isolation, anxiety, and depression because we've tried to replace what only God can provide with political, therapeutic, or technological solutions.
The Light That Breaks Through
But Isaiah's message doesn't end in darkness. "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned" (Isaiah 9:2).
Notice the grammar carefully. It doesn't say the people *created* a light or *discovered* a technique for making light. It says they *saw* a light. The light comes from outside them. It's an invasion of grace.
And what does this light look like?
"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders" (Isaiah 9:6).
That phrase, "the government will be on his shoulders", cuts right to the heart of why so many of us are exhausted. We're tired because we're trying to carry the government of our lives on our own shoulders. We've believed the lie that goes back to the Garden: "You will be like God." You can be sovereign. You can control your destiny.
That sounds empowering, but it's actually crushing.
Think about modern parenting. Why is parental anxiety at an all-time high? Because we believe the government of our children's future is entirely on our shoulders. We think if we don't get them into the right activities and schools, we've failed them. We're trying to be the sovereign authors of their destiny.
Or consider your relationships. Why do they feel so fragile, so exhausting? Because we're asking our spouse or friends to be functional saviors; to complete us, to make us feel secure, to validate our worth. When they inevitably fail to meet those god-like expectations, we're devastated.
We all want to build a little kingdom where we're the king. But here's the problem: you're a terrible king. You don't have the wisdom for it. You don't have the power for it. You can't make the world cooperate with your plans.
The King Who Can Carry It
Isaiah offers a radical alternative. There's One who comes, and the government will be on *His* shoulders. Not yours. His.
Look at His qualifications. He's called Wonderful Counselor: His wisdom is supernatural. He's Mighty God: He has both the wisdom to direct and the power to execute. He's Everlasting Father: not a tyrant who exploits you, but a Father who cares for you eternally. And He's Prince of Peace.
The Hebrew concept of peace, shalom, means far more than the absence of conflict. It means wholeness, completeness, everything functioning exactly as designed in perfect harmony. It's like a beautiful tapestry, intricate and strong, holding together without a single tear.
But sin unraveled that tapestry. Our relationship with God was torn. Our relationship with ourselves was torn, showing up as anxiety, shame, and self-hatred. Our relationship with each other was torn, manifesting as loneliness and division. Our relationship with the physical world was torn, resulting in sickness and death.
We keep trying to tape it back together with money, pleasure, achievement, and politics. But it won't hold.
When Isaiah calls Jesus the Prince of Peace, he's saying Jesus is the Great Weaver, come to restore *shalom* in every dimension of existence.
The Cost of Peace
But how does He accomplish this? How does this child achieve peace in such a broken world?
The answer is both stunning and terrible. The Prince of Peace didn't come to live in a palace. He came to the front lines. He entered the darkness. And to bring us peace, He had to absorb the violence of our sin.
Isaiah explains it later: "The punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5).
On the cross, the government of God's justice was placed on His shoulders. He was the Wonderful Counselor, but was treated as a fool. He was the Mighty God, but became weak. He was the Everlasting Father, but was cut off from His Father. He was the Prince of Peace, but was plunged into absolute chaos and violence.
Why? So the government could be lifted off your shoulders. He took the storm so you could have the refuge.
That's how much you're loved, more than you could ever dream.
Living in Light of the Prince
So what does this mean for us?
First, resign from playing God. You're exhausted because you're trying to run the universe. The results prove you're a bad god. Trust the One whose shoulders can actually carry the weight.
Second, stop treating circumstances as your source of peace. Real peace isn't the absence of trouble; it's the presence of God in the trouble. Your fundamental identity is secure in Christ. Nothing can touch that core reality.
Third, become a person of peace. If you've received this peace, radiate it to others. When you walk into a room, does the anxiety level go up or down? If you're resting in Christ's finished work, you don't need to fight for your way all the time. You can listen, forgive, and absorb tension instead of escalating it.
The promise is not that we're going to fix the world. The promise is that the King has come, and He will come again. "Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end" (Isaiah 9:7).
Until that day, we walk in a world that's still dark. But we're people who have seen a Great Light. So let's stop trying to carry the weight of the world. Let's cast our anxieties on the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
The government is on His shoulders. Not yours.
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