Lead Without a Throne

 image generated by chatgpt at my description

The Kind That Follows God

Moses never wanted the job. The Hebrew root of his name, Mosheh, means “drawn out”—because Pharaoh’s daughter drew him out of the Nile, but also because Moses was always being drawn out of his comfort zone. He was not an ambitious man; he was a leket—a gathering of fragments, a man with a past full of brokenness: a murderer (Exodus 2:12, rasah, “to murder”), a present full of hesitation (dabar, “word” or “speech,” and Moses struggled with his), and a future that stretched into the wilderness (midbar), a place of testing, desolation, and divine encounter.

When God spoke from the bush that burned without being consumed (Exodus 3:2, ’esheh lo tokhal), Moses didn’t leap forward. Instead, he said, “Please send someone else” (Exodus 4:13, shalach na ish eileh). His ’anavah, humility or lowliness, was profound. God didn’t say, “I’ll find someone better.” He said, “I will be with you” (’ehyeh ’imkha). This phrase is powerful—the very name of God revealed earlier in that chapter, ’Ehyeh Asher ’Ehyeh (“I AM WHO I AM,” Exodus 3:14), became a promise of presence. God’s presence was the power, not Moses’s charisma or credentials.

Later, when Moses feared God might send an angel instead of Him, he said, “If Your presence (panim) does not go with us, do not bring us up from here” (Exodus 33:15). Leadership was never about territory or position—it was about the presence of the YHWH, the unchanging covenant God who leads.

Moses wasn’t popular. His people complained, accused, even rebelled. Yet Moses’ response was intercession, not retaliation. The Hebrew word for “intercede,” paga‘, means to “meet” or “touch,” showing Moses’ closeness to God in those moments. When God was ready to destroy Israel for the golden calf (calf = egel), Moses pleaded, “If You will forgive their sin—well and good; but if not, please blot me out of Your book” (Exodus 32:32). That’s hesed, steadfast love and mercy poured out at personal cost—a shepherd’s heart standing in the gap.

David was different. His name, David, means “beloved.” He was the youngest son of Jesse, the ’achor—the last one, overlooked by man but chosen by God. When Samuel came to anoint Israel’s next king, God said, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature... for the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the lev—the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). That lev isn’t just the emotional heart; it’s the center of will, intellect, and intention.

David was a shepherd, and leadership started there—in the midbar with his sheep. He learned courage not on a throne but in secret fights with lions and bears (aryeh, “lion” and dov, “bear”), long before he faced Goliath the Philistine. The sling and stones weren’t royal tools—they were humble, tested weapons born of faith and preparation in solitude.

When David faced Goliath, his words echoed emunah—faith grounded in God’s truth: “Who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?” (’Elohim Chayim). David refused Saul’s armor because he trusted the yad—the hand and power—of God rather than human strength.

Even when Saul hunted David, he respected the Lord’s anointed, the mashiach (“anointed one”), saying, “Who can stretch out his hand against the LORD’s anointed and be guiltless?” (1 Samuel 26:9). Leadership was obedience to God’s authority, not grasping for power.

David’s leadership wasn’t perfect. His sin with Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11) was a tragic misuse of power. Yet his teshuvah, repentance, was genuine: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). This lev tahor—a pure heart—was the core of David’s ongoing relationship with God, showing that leadership is not sinless perfection but continual surrender.

Then comes Paul, born Saul of Tarsus (Sha’ul haTarsusi), a man educated under Gamaliel, steeped in Torah and halakhah (Jewish law practice). He was zealous (zelos in Greek), fierce, and convinced he was defending God by persecuting the church. But then the phos—light of Christ—flashed on the road to Damascus, and Saul was blinded (typhlos).

The voice said, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?” (Acts 9:4). The Greek ego eimi—“I am”—echoes God’s own self-identification in the Septuagint’s Exodus 3:14 (ego eimi ho on—“I am the One who is”). Saul realized every attack on the church was an attack on Jesus Himself.

After three days in darkness, God sent Ananias to restore him. Ananias called him “brother” (adelphos), signaling restoration and new identity, and Saul became Paul (Paulos, meaning “small” or “humble” in Greek). He embraced being tou doulou Christou—“the slave of Christ.” Doulos is not just servant, but one bound willingly in love and obedience.

Paul’s leadership was cruciform (sustauroō)—co-crucified with Christ (Galatians 2:20). He led not from power or position but from suffering and weakness. “I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9). His scars (stigmata) were not marks of shame but badges of belonging.

He labored tirelessly, often imprisoned, beaten, rejected. Yet he never lorded his authority. “We do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake” (2 Corinthians 4:5). The Greek word for servant here is doulos again—willing bondage for love.

What unites Moses, David, and Paul? They all led without a throne, without entitlement, without the need for applause or prestige. Their leadership was shaped by:

• Presence over plan (Moses and the ’Ehyeh)
• Heart over heritage (David and the lev)
• Sacrifice over status (Paul and the doulos)

The kingdom of God is upside-down leadership, where the last are first and the servant is master (Mark 10:44). It’s about hesed (steadfast love), emunah (faithfulness), and teshuvah (repentance).

The scientific mind marvels at this: The God who orders the stars, holds quantum particles, and commands the laws of physics chooses to lead through those who surrender their will. Leadership by dying to self so that resurrection power can flow—this is no mere religious cliché; it’s a divine principle reflected in the very fabric of creation: life through death, order through humility, authority through service.

So, lead without a throne. Lead with a heart beloved by God. Lead like those who have nothing to prove because their worth is already sealed by God’s own berakah (blessing).

 

 

 

---