When Pride begets Rage

Have you ever posted something innocuous online? What you thought was merely a thought, even an opinion, perhaps something gently pointing to a truth you hold dear... only to be met with a torrent of fury so disproportionate it left you stunned?

While living quietly according to your convictions, minding your own affairs, has anyone turned their anger against you? Gone out of their way to mock your faith, your beliefs, totally unprovoked? As if very existence seemed to stoke their hostility?

If so, this is not merely the product of an age of social-media. It's been happening for centuries. It doesn't always look the same. It wears different clothing today. But at it's heart, it's nothing new.

It looks like a volcanic eruption of rage. Chaotic. Irrational, even. Complete with clenched fists and curses.

And it comes from wounded pride.

Because to even remain quietly faithful to a God who made heaven and earth, who is the author of beauty itself, who loves us and calls us all... is a threat to those who've made gods of themselves. Of their choices. Of their ideologies. Of their supposed autonomy.

Because the creed of our era is the same creed that pride has always written. "I'll do what I want." But this isn't a creed that's wholly personal. It claims to be. But it is one that demands, to some degree, others bow down to it. We call it our "rights," often. Respect my right to do what I want. Honor my choices. It is, in the final analysis, a demand that all pay homage to the religion of the world that, in its various forms, demands we bow down to everyone's "me, myself, and I."

The book of Daniel offers us a masterclass in this phenomenon.

King Nebuchadnezzar, having earlier witnessed the power of the true God through Daniel's interpretation of his dream, doubles down on his ego. He constructs an enormous golden statue on the plain of Dura, a sixty-cubit monument to himself.

The devil is in the details. This statue has no clay feet.

In his previous dream, the great statue had feet of iron mixed with clay, symbolizing the fragility of earthly kingdoms (Daniel 2:33-34). Nebuchadnezzar's response to this divine warning was a worship of the true God, for a time. But this was a half-hearted worship, for in the throne of his heart, he remained a shrine unto himself.

Thus, his final response to the dream was not humility but defiance. His new statue will be all gold, top to bottom, invulnerable, eternal. Or so he imagines.

Then comes the demand that everyone bow down.

And when word reaches him that three Jewish exiles—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego—refuse to worship his image, Scripture tells us: "Then Nebuchadnezzar was so filled with rage against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego that his face was distorted" (Daniel 3:19).

His face was distorted. His countenance warped.

The Aramaic here (tselem anpohi eshtanni) suggests a countenance so twisted by fury it no longer resembled itself. Pride wounded becomes something monstrous, even in appearance.

 

The God Behind the Golden Statue

Here is a truth. Dead idols do not deliver nothing. They are not "harmless."

There is a temptation, in our day and age, to simply think, "what's the big deal?" I mean, why not just go through the action? Why not "bow down" but not mean it? Why not endorse our world's whims, at least on the surface, in public, while keeping your private convictions wholly to yourself?

Idols always deliver according to their nature.

Nebuchadnezzar's true god was never really the golden statue. The golden statue was merely the outward symbol of what he had worshipped all along—himself. His pride. His ego. His will to be unchallenged.

And this is why he could rage with such fury against men who had done him no harm.

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had not attacked him. They had not insulted him. They hadn't even stood up and preached against the golden abomination that most of the people around them had given in to worship.

They had simply, quietly, refused to participate in his self-worship. But for a soul that has enthroned itself, any refusal to bow is experienced as blasphemy. Any dissent is heresy against the sacred trinity of me, myself, and I.

Only the true God is Love. Every idol, when you peel back its layers, is at some level a god of self-love. And a god of self-love cannot inspire mercy, patience, or kindness toward those who refuse it. It can only inspire anger begotten from pride, and anger begets rage, and rage, vengeance.

 

The Modern Furnace

If we imagine this dynamic is some unsophisticated relic of primitive peoples, belonging to ancient tyrants, we deceive ourselves.

Look at the rage of our own age. Notice how it erupts most fiercely not against those who attack but against those who simply refuse to participate. How dare anyone suggest that our bodily autonomy might be subject to a higher law? How dare anyone imply that our sexuality might serve a purpose beyond our own pleasure? How dare anyone question the reigning creeds of the self?

We don't even need to say it out-loud. The world seems, at times, to think our religion is okay so long as we keep it to ourselves. But even when we do that, our very existence threatens them. Because we live among them. In the world, not of it. They see our joy. But because the source of our joy doesn't co-sign their "I do what I want" creed, it enrages them.

Even atheism, which prides itself on being the negation of religion, has taken on all the trappings of one—complete with dogmas, sacred rites, expected worship to the temples of human progress, governments, etc., and heretics to be cast out. The furnace still burns. It has only changed its fuel.

And here is the sobering thing: you need not condemn anyone to become the target of this rage. You need only refuse to bow. You need only remain quietly faithful. The world will read your silence as accusation, your peace as provocation, your joy as judgment. The fire will be stoked seven times hotter, as it was for the three young men (Daniel 3:19).

 

The Response That Confounds the World

But observe carefully how these three men respond. They do not return rage with rage. They do not shout back at the king. They do not organize resistance or plot revenge. Their answer is one of the most extraordinary confessions of faith in all of Scripture:

"If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up" (Daniel 3:17-18).

But if not. A few short syllables that contain the whole of Christian discipleship. They do not bargain with God. They do not demand deliverance as the price of their fidelity. They cast themselves entirely upon His will, whether that will means rescue or ruin.

This is not passivity. This is the deepest kind of freedom—the freedom of a soul that has already surrendered outcomes to God and therefore has nothing left for the world to threaten.

 

Living the "But If Not"

How might we apply this in our own lives?

First, examine your own reactions. When you feel that hot surge of anger rising because someone has crossed you, pause and ask: is this righteous anger over an actual injustice, or is this the fury of wounded pride? The two feel identical from the inside but are entirely different in their source. We'll never know the difference unless we step back, take the time, and actually examine our hearts.

Second, prepare your heart for the "but if not." Do not wait until the furnace is stoked to decide how you will respond. Cultivate now, in prayer, the disposition that says: God, I trust You whether You deliver me from this trial or through it. This is what makes a soul unshakeable.

Third, refuse to be surprised by the world's rage. When you quietly live your faith and are met with hostility, do not despair, do not retaliate, and do not compromise. Simply stand. The three young men did not argue with Nebuchadnezzar. They did not lecture him. They stood. Because they knew that the worst he could do to them was, maybe, take their earthly lives. To obey him would be to forfeit their souls. So they stood.

The fire is real. But so is the fourth figure who walks in it (Daniel 3:25). And we'll look at that in more depth tomorrow.