No Kings?

The Lie of Self-Crowning—and the Freedom of Letting Go

The nation was rocked by protests yesterday, ringing with a loud and defiant cry: “NO KINGS!”

Whatever the political context, what struck me most was the spiritual resonance of that phrase.

Because taken to its logical conclusion, “No kings” doesn’t just reject bad rulers. It rejects the very idea of rule itself. It imagines freedom as the absence of all authority. But in practice, it simply leaves the throne vacant—and the crown in your own hands.

And whether consciously or not, many place it upon their own heads.

In rejecting all kings, we become our own.

There’s a famous painting of Napoleon crowning himself emperor. Historically, rulers knelt before the pope, who would place the crown upon their heads—symbolizing submission to divine authority. But Napoleon refused to kneel. He took the crown and placed it on himself.

Coronation of Emperor Napoleon I and Coronation of Empress Josephine in Notre Dame Cathedral of Paris, December 2, 1804, by Jacques-Louis David and Georges Rouget, 1805-1807

That moment is more than historical drama—it’s a picture of the modern soul.

We may not wear literal crowns, but we still insist: “I will not bow. I will rule.”

It’s the ancient lie of Eden, repackaged as empowerment: You will be like God.

And our culture has baptized this rebellion with slogans: Follow your heart. Be your truth. You do you.

But here’s the problem: the crown is heavy.

The illusion of sovereignty creates its own kind of slavery. Slavery to fear. To image. To our need for control. As Paul writes in Romans 6, no one is truly autonomous. Everyone serves something. The only question is what—or who.

The Christian, then, is a deeply peculiar creature. Because we do something strange, even offensive:

We throw down our crowns.

We follow a crucified King. One born in obscurity. One crowned with thorns. One who overcame not by force, but by surrender. And in His kingdom, the way up is down. The path to life is death to self. The road to rest is paved with submission.

And here’s the paradox:

We who say “We have no king but Jesus” are also called to submit to earthly rulers—emperors, kings, governors, presidents. Even unjust ones.

Peter wrote those very words in 1 Peter 2v13–17 while under the violent reign of Nero—a ruler so brutal he would eventually oversee Peter’s own execution. Still, Peter urged the church:

“Submit yourselves for the Lord’s sake to every human authority… Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God’s slaves. Show proper respect to everyone… fear God, honor the emperor.”

—1 Peter 2v13–17 (NIV)

This isn’t cowardice. It’s kingdom citizenship.

Later, in Revelation 4, we’re given a picture of twenty-four elders gathered around the throne of God. What are they doing?

Falling facedown.

Casting down their crowns.

Worshipping the One who reigns forever.

That’s not just celestial choreography or heavenly liturgy—It’s a pattern for earthly discipleship.

Because the only throne that won’t weigh you down is the one you bow before, not the one you try to sit on.

And the only crown that won’t enslave you is the one you lay down.

So let me ask:

What crown are you carrying right now?

What illusion of control are you still clinging to?

What would it look like to release that today—to surrender it at the feet of the only King who won’t exploit or abandon you?

Would you consider bending the knee to Jesus?

Because in surrender, there is peace.

In obedience, there is joy.

And in the peculiar kingdom of Jesus,

freedom begins where self-rule ends.