THE THEME OF RIGHTEOUS KINGS, aided by powerful religious figures and reforming wayward people groups, is not an uncommon one in Middle Eastern and Asian history. One thinks, for example, of Asoka in Buddhist India, Constantine in Christian Rome, and Saladin in Islamic Palestine.
Typically, these righteous kings did not attempt to become religious leaders themselves by usurping power from bhikkhus, priests, and imams. Instead, they attempted reform of declining and/or wayward religious institutions. They rebuilt dilapidated religious buildings—or built brand new ones. They replaced immoral religious leaders with moral ones. They convened councils of religious leaders to articulate doctrine more fully in the face of new challenges. Often, they reemphasized religion’s privileged place in the life of their cultures. In general they acted as the consciences of drifting religious people.
As J. Andrew Dearman shows us in this commentary, the initial period of the book of Jeremiah is set in the context of such a king, Josiah. With the help of the prophet Jeremiah, Josiah attempted to restore not only the political but also the spiritual life of his nation, Judah. Unlike Asoka, Constantine, and Saladin, however, Josiah’s reforms failed. To be sure, he did achieve some short-term successes. These successes, however, were temporary, as evidenced by the growing failures of Josiah’s successors to maintain Israel’s fidelity to their agreement with God. That failure had disastrous effects. Eventually Babylon conquered Judah and took thousands of Judeans into exile.
How are we to understand this unusual series of events? What lessons do they teach us? Should we pray for a modern “king-prophet” tandem to rise up and cleanse us? What would make them successful?
The common wisdom is that biblical stories of king-prophet alliances in attempting to keep their societies on the straight and narrow have as their common theme that spiritual faithfulness is more important than political good fortune. Although prophets frequently label political meltdowns as God’s judgment and political successes as evidence of God’s blessings, they also manage to elevate the importance of the spiritual over the political. Thus, even though Josiah’s political strategies ultimately fail at the hands of his Egyptian killers, his attempts at moral reform earn him the label of ruler without equal (2 Kings 23:25).
At least that is the common wisdom. But to read the prophets—and Jeremiah is no exception—is to read over and over again that spiritual faithfulness and political good fortune go hand in hand in a cause-effect relationship (and vice versa, spiritual unfaithfulness leads to political calamities). The spiritual task of faithfully upholding one’s end of the covenant leads to God’s protection from political enemies and economic ruin. The common wisdom that spirituality is more important than political expertise doesn’t measure up to the frequency with which these judgments are made, and one is left feeling that a broader understanding is needed.
That broader understanding must acknowledge two things before it becomes useful for us today. (1) The identification between spiritual faithfulness and political success was much greater in Jeremiah’s day than in ours. The Israelites were not too far from theocracy, rulership by God himself, as managed by priests. Even after they began to have kings, it was made clear that the kings ruled by God’s choice and at God’s sufferance. No political ruler today even comes close to having such a mandate.
(2) Today, even after we realize this first difference, we must clearly prioritize the two factors: spirituality first, politics second. Or better, we should see politics as a fruit of spirituality, not its root or its synonym. The Bible is clear that “politics” by any name is temporal while all the roads that lead to God usher us into the presence of eternity. Blessings along the way are nice—and to some extent needed for the journey. But they are just rest stops. Great “kings” are like hoteliers, themselves making life more comfortable and faithful, but always ready to move us on—and eventually move on themselves.
—Terry C. Muck