“Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant, of a teacher and a learner.” — John Updike

John 18:28-40
John 12:12-19
1 Samuel 8:10-22

Jesus said that he’s a king. The writers of the Hebrew scripture refer to God as a king, and write that he understands himself as such.

This compares to reading Dr. Seuss for me. A collapsible frink, a dawf or a foona-lagoona baboona is like a king to me: I’d know it only if someone pointed it out. I’m American. We’re all equal in our own eyes. Thomas Jefferson put it on paper, and those who think their blood is bluer look like fools to us who know better.

In the West, we’re so equal that we become mini-provincial authorities.

“Who are you to instruct me? We’re equal.”

Sadly, this thought process bleeds into my relationship with Jesus.

He says, “I’m a king.”

I respond, “What’s a king? Some arrogant notion of feudal types? We’re American; we’re all the same.”

Yet how can I properly approach someone whose position I contend with, ignore or don’t understand? Try to imagine a student not recognizing the authority of his teacher, a private ignoring a lieutenant colonel’s directives, a paralegal dismissing a partner’s request for assistance. The issue involves position and authority.

He asks me to let him lead. He asks no small thing. I hail from the institution of the individual, where I blaze my own trails to mark my significance.

 Can I approach God through Jesus if I won’t see the king’s crown? I certainly cannot view him as an impeachable elected official swayed by polls, despite my desires. He really is above me, and he expects that I see this and defer to it.

If I refuse, I’ll certainly miss the point of a God desiring to come be with me, to dine and talk and share experience.

I’ll miss the significance of Jesus’ words: “I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends …” (John 15:15).

He waits. He knows my stubbornness, my insolence, and he gently works out the knots that keep my neck bowed. He allows me to view him as a friend for the moment. Yet he knows that a time approaches when I’ll gawk at the love of the billionaire because he’d walk with me, a pauper.

I’ll realize who calls me a friend.

Do I have any example of royalty in my world?
Does it strike me at all as magnificent?
Can I understand who God is if I don’t understand the significance of a king?


© Revolworks 2006