On Distrusting Princes and Worshipping the Lord
God’s power turns everything on its head. It confuses. It disorients. And then, with faithful eyes, it exhilarates.
Recently, in search of another penetrating perspective on the origins of the First World War, I happened upon a lecture by historian Christopher Clark on power. Having explored the nature of power in his insightful and witty manner, Clark dove deep into the Biblical book of Daniel.
King Nebuchadnezzar was troubled by a dream. Summoning his magicians, enchanters, sorcerers, and Chaldeans (Clark, incidentally, jests that whenever the pagan kings are seeking advice, the mercurial Chaldeans are, for some reason, always there to help), he asks—without divulging—the nature of his dream and what it means. Caught flatfooted, his advisors insist it is impossible for a man to interpret a dream without first knowing what happened in it.
Furious, Nebuchadnezzar condemns them to be cut into pieces and their homes to be transformed into dung heaps. That is, until Daniel comes to the rescue. A Jewish captive gifted by God with the interpretation of dreams, Daniel stuns the king as he describes the dream featuring a large statue with a head of gold, chest and arms of silver, belly and thighs of bronze, legs of iron, and feet of iron and clay. From head to toe, the statue represents the devolution of kingly rule once Nebuchadnezzar passes and the indestructible kingdom of God that will (as a divinely hewn stone from a mountain) obliterate the earthly kingdom. Nebuchadnezzar, upon recognizing Daniel’s gift, falls to his knees in worship and empowers Daniel mightily. Meanwhile, Daniel simply points to God.
Here is what the historian Clark concludes:
[King Nebuchadnezzar], the most powerful man in the world, is powerless before his night terrors. The holders of bureaucratic power — the experts — fail to come up with a solution and, thus, forfeit their power and even potentially their lives. . . And into this fraught constellation steps someone with no power at all — a rightless alien, a prisoner of war, a captive from a destroyed city. . .
[In his God-given wisdom, Daniel imparted to the fearful king] something Daniel had himself learned as the son of a destroyed city — a piece of wisdom, namely, that power is always temporary.
To be sure, the image of a violent king prepared to carve up every wise man in Babylon is chilling. But it is not altogether unexpected. Sadly, we are now accustomed to historic despots and dictators from Nero to Robespierre, from Hitler to Stalin flaying, beheading, gassing, and purging countless victims. What is surprising is to witness such a king prostrate before his own prisoner and slave.
That is the paradox of Judeo-Christianity—the place where Divine power meets worldly power. In our narrative of faith, we encounter the paradoxical—the inexplicable—time and again. Moses, a Jewish slave, would deliver the Israelites from Egyptian captivity. David, the shepherd boy, would conquer a giant and lead a nation. Mary, a peasant girl, would bodily house the Christ of prophecy. Peter, the growling fisherman, would serve as the Rock upon which the Church would be built.
And Jesus, the poor carpenter from Nazareth, is the Savior of the World.
How does worldly power, which measures itself in bullying strength and vain influence, reckon with the impossible and unworldly nature of God’s chosen ones? Not very well. If Pontius Pilate offers any guidance, worldly power is utterly befuddled in its encounter with God and his designs. Spending precious moments with the King of the Universe, the Roman Governor of Judea could sputter little more than a query, “What is Truth?” when Truth Incarnate stood before him.
Worldly power doesn’t do nuance. Oh, sure, there are always Machiavellis and Iagos with their intrigues and connivances. But these are always thin veils for naked desires. The nuance of God’s power, however, is delightfully satisfying. It is a riddle that always possesses the best punch line. “In our weakness, we are made strong.” “The least shall be greatest.” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” “Blessed are they who are persecuted.”
God’s power turns everything on its head. It confuses. It disorients. And then, with faithful eyes, it exhilarates. Why? Because while worldly power ends in slaking ravenous appetites, God’s power forever ends with love.
Daniel’s story, as Clark discovered, is yet another example of the despot’s limits, the experts’ impotence, and the magnificence mind of God. But Clark, as educated as he is, didn’t discover this. The Psalmist sang of this thousands of years ago:
Put no trust in princes,
in children of Adam powerless to save.Who breathing his last, returns to the earth;
that day all his planning comes to nothing.Blessed the one whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the LORD, his God,The maker of heaven and earth,
the seas and all that is in them,Who keeps faith forever,
secures justice for the oppressed,
who gives bread to the hungry.The LORD sets prisoners free;
the LORD gives sight to the blind.The LORD raises up those who are bowed down;
the LORD loves the righteous.The LORD protects the resident alien,
comes to the aid of the orphan and the widow,
but thwarts the way of the wicked.The LORD shall reign forever,
your God, Zion, through all generations!
(Ps. 146: 3-10)
Who knew the wicked Nebuchadnezzar could be so instructive?
Do not trust princes.
But bow before the Lord.