February 8th, 2026
by Skott Jensen
by Skott Jensen
One of the great challenges of teaching on pride is most people will think they do have an issue with it. What I found is when we seek after God the more we find how dependent we are to Him. That’s the goal… more of Him and less of me.
Humble Ourselves…Before Pride Does
There's something deeply unsettling about losing control. We build our lives, our careers, our reputations—brick by careful brick—only to discover that the foundation we trusted wasn't as solid as we believed. The story of King Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel chapter 4 presents one of Scripture's most dramatic illustrations of what happens when human pride collides with divine purpose.
The Tree That Reached Heaven
Nebuchadnezzar was the most powerful man in the known world. His Babylonian empire stretched across nations, his wealth was unimaginable, and his influence was absolute. Yet despite all his earthly power, he found himself troubled by a recurring dream—a vision of a magnificent tree.
This wasn't just any tree. It was enormous, reaching toward the heavens, with beautiful leaves that provided shade and abundant fruit that fed countless creatures. The tree represented strength, provision, and prosperity. But then, in the dream, an angel descended with a disturbing command: "Chop down the tree and destroy it, but leave the stump of its roots in the earth."
The symbolism was unmistakable. The tree was Nebuchadnezzar himself—his kingdom, his power, his legacy. And the message was clear: what he had built would be cut down because he had forgotten the source of his blessing.
The Danger of Self-Worship
We live in an age that celebrates self-made success. Social media platforms overflow with people promoting themselves, their achievements, their carefully curated lives. The language of modern culture is saturated with "I" and "my"—my accomplishments, my empire, my brand.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: sanity begins when self-worship ends.
An idol doesn't have to be a golden statue or a graven image. It can be anything we place before God—our careers, our appearance, our reputation, our plans. When we worship at the altar of our own achievements, we're engaging in the same dangerous pride that brought down history's mightiest king.
Nebuchadnezzar had everything the world could offer, yet he lacked the one thing that mattered most: a proper understanding of his place before God. He had witnessed miracles—the three Hebrew boys walking unharmed from a fiery furnace, Daniel interpreting impossible dreams—yet his heart remained hardened by pride.
The Grace Before Judgment
What's remarkable about this story is God's patience. Even after revealing the dream's meaning through Daniel, God provided Nebuchadnezzar with a way out. Daniel advised him: "Break off your sins by practicing righteousness and your iniquities by showing mercy to the oppressed, that there may perhaps be a lengthening of your prosperity."
This is the pattern we see throughout Scripture. God's judgment is real, but His grace always provides a pathway to redemption. He disciplines us, sometimes immediately, sometimes with patience, but He never closes the door to repentance.
For twelve months, Nebuchadnezzar had the opportunity to humble himself. Twelve months to acknowledge that his kingdom was a gift, not a conquest. Twelve months to turn from pride to gratitude.
But pride is a stubborn master.
The Fall
Standing on his palace roof, surveying the magnificent city he had built, Nebuchadnezzar spoke words that sealed his fate: "Is not this great Babylon, which I have built by my mighty power as a royal residence and for the glory of my majesty?"
Before the words had finished leaving his lips, judgment fell. The most powerful man on earth was driven from human society, condemned to live like an animal in the field. For seven years, he ate grass like a cow, his hair grew like feathers, his nails became like claws. The mighty king was reduced to a state of madness, a condition we might today call boanthropy—the psychological delusion of believing oneself to be cattle.
It's a horrifying image, yet it perfectly illustrates what happens when we refuse to acknowledge our dependence on God. When we stop hearing His voice, when we push away His warnings again and again, we become spiritually insensible—no different than an animal grazing in a field, oblivious to our true purpose.
The Stump That Remained
But here's where the story takes a redemptive turn. The angel's command included a crucial detail: "Leave the stump of its roots in the earth." That stump represented hope. Even in judgment, God preserved the possibility of restoration.
We still have hope. We still have time. God isn't finished with us yet.
After seven years of humiliation, something miraculous happened. Nebuchadnezzar lifted his eyes to heaven, and his sanity returned. But more than his sanity—his perspective was transformed. The proud king who once claimed credit for everything became a worshiper of the Most High God.
In his own words, written in what stands as the only chapter of Scripture penned by a pagan king, Nebuchadnezzar declared: "Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble."
The Question We Must Answer
This ancient story confronts us with urgent questions today. Where have we allowed pride to take root in our hearts? What thrones are we sitting on that belong to God alone?
For some, pride manifests as intellectual arrogance—believing we're smarter than God, continually trying to out plan and outperform His wisdom. For others, it appears as self-sufficiency—the belief that we can fix our own problems without divine intervention. Still others struggle with vanity, deriving worth from appearance or achievement rather than from their identity as children of God.
The truth is, when we forget that our purpose is part of God's purpose, we become less than what He intended us to be. Every blessing we enjoy, every talent we possess, every opportunity we receive—these are gifts, not achievements. The moment we take credit for what God has done, we step onto dangerous ground.
The Path Forward
The good news is that God is a God of restoration. Like that stump left in the ground, there's always potential for new growth when we humble ourselves before Him. The journey with Christ isn't about achieving perfection immediately; it's about walking in honesty, acknowledging our failures, and allowing Him to work through our struggles.
Don't hide from God. Don't pretend the sin issues aren't there. Don't keep blocking His voice until you can't hear it anymore. Total surrender—giving every ounce of our lives to Him, including our failures, our past, and our pride—is where true freedom begins.
Heaven is our home only through Jesus Christ, and living for Him rather than ourselves transforms the journey from empty striving to abundant purpose. The question isn't whether we're perfect, but whether we're trusting Him.
Those who walk in pride, He is able to humble. But those who humble themselves, He is able to restore, redeem, and use for His glory. The choice, as it was for Nebuchadnezzar, remains ours.
There's something deeply unsettling about losing control. We build our lives, our careers, our reputations—brick by careful brick—only to discover that the foundation we trusted wasn't as solid as we believed. The story of King Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel chapter 4 presents one of Scripture's most dramatic illustrations of what happens when human pride collides with divine purpose.
The Tree That Reached Heaven
Nebuchadnezzar was the most powerful man in the known world. His Babylonian empire stretched across nations, his wealth was unimaginable, and his influence was absolute. Yet despite all his earthly power, he found himself troubled by a recurring dream—a vision of a magnificent tree.
This wasn't just any tree. It was enormous, reaching toward the heavens, with beautiful leaves that provided shade and abundant fruit that fed countless creatures. The tree represented strength, provision, and prosperity. But then, in the dream, an angel descended with a disturbing command: "Chop down the tree and destroy it, but leave the stump of its roots in the earth."
The symbolism was unmistakable. The tree was Nebuchadnezzar himself—his kingdom, his power, his legacy. And the message was clear: what he had built would be cut down because he had forgotten the source of his blessing.
The Danger of Self-Worship
We live in an age that celebrates self-made success. Social media platforms overflow with people promoting themselves, their achievements, their carefully curated lives. The language of modern culture is saturated with "I" and "my"—my accomplishments, my empire, my brand.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: sanity begins when self-worship ends.
An idol doesn't have to be a golden statue or a graven image. It can be anything we place before God—our careers, our appearance, our reputation, our plans. When we worship at the altar of our own achievements, we're engaging in the same dangerous pride that brought down history's mightiest king.
Nebuchadnezzar had everything the world could offer, yet he lacked the one thing that mattered most: a proper understanding of his place before God. He had witnessed miracles—the three Hebrew boys walking unharmed from a fiery furnace, Daniel interpreting impossible dreams—yet his heart remained hardened by pride.
The Grace Before Judgment
What's remarkable about this story is God's patience. Even after revealing the dream's meaning through Daniel, God provided Nebuchadnezzar with a way out. Daniel advised him: "Break off your sins by practicing righteousness and your iniquities by showing mercy to the oppressed, that there may perhaps be a lengthening of your prosperity."
This is the pattern we see throughout Scripture. God's judgment is real, but His grace always provides a pathway to redemption. He disciplines us, sometimes immediately, sometimes with patience, but He never closes the door to repentance.
For twelve months, Nebuchadnezzar had the opportunity to humble himself. Twelve months to acknowledge that his kingdom was a gift, not a conquest. Twelve months to turn from pride to gratitude.
But pride is a stubborn master.
The Fall
Standing on his palace roof, surveying the magnificent city he had built, Nebuchadnezzar spoke words that sealed his fate: "Is not this great Babylon, which I have built by my mighty power as a royal residence and for the glory of my majesty?"
Before the words had finished leaving his lips, judgment fell. The most powerful man on earth was driven from human society, condemned to live like an animal in the field. For seven years, he ate grass like a cow, his hair grew like feathers, his nails became like claws. The mighty king was reduced to a state of madness, a condition we might today call boanthropy—the psychological delusion of believing oneself to be cattle.
It's a horrifying image, yet it perfectly illustrates what happens when we refuse to acknowledge our dependence on God. When we stop hearing His voice, when we push away His warnings again and again, we become spiritually insensible—no different than an animal grazing in a field, oblivious to our true purpose.
The Stump That Remained
But here's where the story takes a redemptive turn. The angel's command included a crucial detail: "Leave the stump of its roots in the earth." That stump represented hope. Even in judgment, God preserved the possibility of restoration.
We still have hope. We still have time. God isn't finished with us yet.
After seven years of humiliation, something miraculous happened. Nebuchadnezzar lifted his eyes to heaven, and his sanity returned. But more than his sanity—his perspective was transformed. The proud king who once claimed credit for everything became a worshiper of the Most High God.
In his own words, written in what stands as the only chapter of Scripture penned by a pagan king, Nebuchadnezzar declared: "Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble."
The Question We Must Answer
This ancient story confronts us with urgent questions today. Where have we allowed pride to take root in our hearts? What thrones are we sitting on that belong to God alone?
For some, pride manifests as intellectual arrogance—believing we're smarter than God, continually trying to out plan and outperform His wisdom. For others, it appears as self-sufficiency—the belief that we can fix our own problems without divine intervention. Still others struggle with vanity, deriving worth from appearance or achievement rather than from their identity as children of God.
The truth is, when we forget that our purpose is part of God's purpose, we become less than what He intended us to be. Every blessing we enjoy, every talent we possess, every opportunity we receive—these are gifts, not achievements. The moment we take credit for what God has done, we step onto dangerous ground.
The Path Forward
The good news is that God is a God of restoration. Like that stump left in the ground, there's always potential for new growth when we humble ourselves before Him. The journey with Christ isn't about achieving perfection immediately; it's about walking in honesty, acknowledging our failures, and allowing Him to work through our struggles.
Don't hide from God. Don't pretend the sin issues aren't there. Don't keep blocking His voice until you can't hear it anymore. Total surrender—giving every ounce of our lives to Him, including our failures, our past, and our pride—is where true freedom begins.
Heaven is our home only through Jesus Christ, and living for Him rather than ourselves transforms the journey from empty striving to abundant purpose. The question isn't whether we're perfect, but whether we're trusting Him.
Those who walk in pride, He is able to humble. But those who humble themselves, He is able to restore, redeem, and use for His glory. The choice, as it was for Nebuchadnezzar, remains ours.
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