The Applause of Heaven - Max Lucado [38]
"I had the world," he said, "and it wasn't nothin'. Look now.
The pole of power is greasy.
The Roman emperor Charlemagne knew that. An interesting story surrounds the burial of this famous king. Legend has it that he asked to be entombed sitting upright in his throne. He asked that his crown be placed on his head and his scepter in his hand. He requested that the royal cape be draped around his shoulders and an open book be placed in his lap.
That was A.D. 814. Nearly two hundred years later, Emperor Othello determined to see if the burial request had been carried out. He allegedly sent a team of men to open the tomb and make a report. They found the body just as Charlemagne had requested. Only now, nearly two centuries later, the scene was gruesome. The crown was tilted, the mantle moth-eaten, the body disfigured. But open on the skeletal thighs was the book Charlemagne had requested the Bible. One bony finger pointed to Matthew 16:26: "What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?"
You can answer that one.
As these thoughts on power were beginning to take shape, I found myself at a banquet.
Now, on my list of favorite things to do on a free evening, attending a banquet is pretty close to the bottom. The thought conjures up images of cold food, hot rooms, poor sound systems, long-winded speakers, and gravy spots on my tie. Forgive my social maladjustment, but I'll take a good movie or baseball game anytime.
This particular banquet was doing little to change my opinion. It was an awards ceremony that had been overbooked and had begun late. The master of ceremonies was having a hard time keeping everyone's attention. He competed against a squad of waiters that darted in and dashed out every thirteen seconds. The awards were presented with meticulous detail. They were received with explicit-and verbose-gratitude. I began looking at my watch and munching on ice cubes.
That's when the king was introduced.
"A king?" I looked around, thinking I would see a cape and a crown. I didn't. I did see a nicely dressed young man escorted to the platform.
"So that is what a king looks like," I thought. Others must have been just as intrigued. The place was silent.
King Goodwill was his name. He is a seventh-generation king of the Zulu tribe in Africa. Impressive title. But more significant was the fact that King Goodwill himself had a King. Goodwill was a believer. He had embraced Christ as his Lord and was encouraging his nation to do the same.
Though King Goodwill's entire speech was noteworthy, it was his first phrase that I copied in my date book: "I am a king, but I greet you as my brothers."
A king who considers me his brother. A ruler who welcomes me into his family. Royalty freely granted.
His words reminded me of another King who did the same.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God."
"Be a power broker," the snake lied, "and you will be like God."
"Be a peacemaker," the King promised, "and you will be a son of God."
Which would you prefer? To be king of the mountain for a day? Or to be a child of God for eternity?
There is a side benefit to sonship. If you are a child of God, then what does the world have to offer? Can you have any greater title than the one you have?
Answer this: A thousand years from now, will it matter what title the world gave you? No, but it will make a literal hell of a difference whose child you are.
One final note about that banquet. After it was over, I stuck around, hoping to meet the king. At first I couldn't find him. Then I came across him and his wife and assistants in a side hall. Guess what they were doing? Laughing! Somebody must have told a whopper of a joke, because this group could barely stand up.
A king in stitches. What a delight.
A belly laugh is not what I would call a power play. It could better be described as a good time. I guess when you're a