“I’m the king of the world!” Name the movie.
Here’s a hint. Jack. Rose. A really big boat.
You got it. The Titanic. By the way, it sinks.
Maybe we haven’t stood on the bow of a ship with our arms spread wide, with our hair blowing in the wind, and with our voice announcing we were king of the world. Nevertheless, there is something inside us that believes from time to time we are king.
Before you disqualify yourself and stop reading this. Humor me for just a second.
There are certain areas in our little ‘world’ where we try to be king. Like Jack, sometimes we stand on the bow of our boat and we claim victory over the world. We think we rule it. We think we own it. We think it reports to us. We think it revolves around us. We think it answers to us.
In the Scriptures, God’s people submitted to the authority of the law for 500 years. God was their king, so to speak. However, as time passed by, they began wanting a king like the other nations. God warned them this was a bad idea. He told them they were special and not like the other nations. But they insisted. He soon obliged, though reluctantly.
You see, kings have power and prestige. Kings live an unaccountable and autonomous life. They don’t have to say “Yes Ma’am” or “No, Sir” to anyone. They point their finger and things happen. Kings can do whatever, whenever, however with whomever. They make the law, but they can break the law. Kings have it all and they can do it all.
They are king of their world.
As a father, I set the laws in my household. I get to sit on the counter and eat my dessert before dinner. Because since I make the rules, I can break them.
Growing up in Ohio, I was a judge’s son. So my Dad would come home with stories about how he sentenced so and so to 20 years in prison and so and so to 40 years in prison and so and so to life in prison. And he would talk about how their punishment fit the crime and how they deserved it and had it coming to them.
Well, one day I was driving down the highway when suddenly I heard a siren. My heart skipped a beat. “License and registration,” he demanded. Examining my license he said, “Oh, you are Judge Krueger’s son, eh?” I nodded nervously—hoping that would work in my favor. Expecting him to send me on my way with a free pass he said, “Well, why don’t you take a walk with me back to my car. Let’s see what the Judge thinks about this.”
Sitting in the officer’s car, he handed me the phone and I called home. “Hello…hello…hello.” It was my Dad. But I froze. I couldn’t spit a word out. So I hung up. “Nobody’s home,” I told the cop. He replied, “Well, it’s your lucky day. Just slow down boy.” And that was that. Off the hook. Dodged the bullet.
I was the judge’s son. So I thought I was king. I thought I could drive around as fast as I wanted to because I was above the law. We all have an area or relationship in our lives where we try to live above the law. And we find ourselves in an arm wrestling match with God where God wants us to do something but we resist because we don’t want to be held accountable to an invisible God. I didn’t want to be held accountable for my rebellion and my actions. I feared the consequences. I knew my Dad would have said, “Revoke his license! Slap him a hefty fine!”
Being king—it’s the American dream—we want enough money, enough power, and enough authority that no one can tell us what to do. We don’t have to be polite, we can go where we want to go, stay there as long as we want, spend time with people who we like, and not spend time with people we dislike.
David was king. He started off so well. But something happened. His success went to his head and he wasn’t accountable to anyone.
Since he had it all and forgot the call, he had to fall.
He committed adultery. Then, to cover it up, he committed murder. Kings are good at avoiding the consequences. Kings don’t believe that rebellion always leads to pain.
Confronted and rebuked by the prophet Nathan, David stripped himself of his clothes and food and company for seven days. He cried out in Psalm 51, “Have mercy on me O God! According to your unfailing love. According to your great compassion. Blot out my transgressions. Wash away my iniquity and cleanse me from sin!”
David saw his need, he plead, and was freed. He gave up, fessed up, and was freed up. He stepped down from his throne, removed his crown, and set aside his sword.
David didn’t want to be king of the world anymore. He surrendered his power and control and pride and prestige to the true king, God.
May we do the same. May we recognize an area in our life where we are trying to be king. Where we are trying to live above the law. May we listen to the ‘Nathans’ in our life. May we see our need, plead, and be freed. May we give up our kingship. May we fess up our sins. May we be freed up by love. May we discover a kind of freedom a king will never have. A freedom rooted in the unfailing love of God. And may we be set free from ourselves.
And most of all, may we know and trust and follow a new kind of king. Our Savior. The most powerful king to ever walk this earth. The one who could have done anything with this power. Instead, he washed our feet and died on a cross. He gave up His kingship, His position, and His power so we could be forgiven.
So may we humble ourselves before our King.
Jesus.