There’s something in us that loves control.
Not just a little control.
Not just healthy leadership.
Not just having convictions.
I mean the deeper thing.
The thing that whispers:
My way is better.
My way is right.
My way is safer.
My way makes more sense.
My way is the way things should be done.
And at first, it can feel harmless.
Even justified.
Because sometimes our way does seem to work for a while.
Sometimes it even looks spiritual.
Sometimes it wears the language of wisdom, discernment, doctrine, leadership, conviction.
But underneath all of that can be something far more dangerous:
self at the center.
And once self gets to the center, everything starts to bend around it.
Faith becomes less about following Jesus
and more about defending our preferences.
Church becomes less about surrender
and more about control.
Obedience becomes less about trust
and more about being right.
And that shift—
that subtle, almost invisible shift—
can do enormous damage.
Because when we stop following Jesus and start following ourselves, we may still use spiritual words, but we’re no longer moving in a spiritual direction.
We start building little kingdoms.
Our kingdom.
Our ideas.
Our methods.
Our rules.
Our version of how things should be done.
And if anyone doesn’t go along?
If they won’t bow to our certainty?
If they won’t submit to our preferences?
If they won’t validate our version of faithfulness?
Then suddenly they become the problem.
This is where the story of Haman in Esther hits with uncomfortable force.
Haman had position.
Haman had prominence.
Haman had power.
Haman had the approval of the empire.
But it wasn’t enough.
It’s never enough when pride is driving.
He needed more than influence—
he needed submission.
He wanted people to bow.
And when Mordecai wouldn’t bow, Haman didn’t just get irritated.
He became consumed.
That’s what pride does.
It takes one wound and turns it into a crusade.
One offense.
One bruised ego.
One refusal.
And now everything escalates.
Haman couldn’t simply ignore Mordecai.
He had to attack.
He had to speak against.
He had to manipulate power.
He had to create an edict.
He had to try to destroy the people of God.
Why?
Because when a person is addicted to their own way, anybody who won’t bow becomes a threat.
And that kind of spirit is deadly in any place—
but especially in the church.
When that attitude shows up among the people of Jesus, it becomes deeply destructive.
The church was never meant to be a stage for ego.
Never meant to be a platform for self-importance.
Never meant to be a place where people force their preferences into the shape of divine authority.
The church is meant to point us to Jesus.
To help us see Jesus.
To help us follow Jesus.
Not ourselves.
Not our need to win.
Not our need to be right.
Not our need to be obeyed.
Not our need to prove that our way is the best way.
That road always leads somewhere dark.
Haman is a warning.
A warning about what happens when pride is baptized.
When ego is dressed up as righteousness.
When control is mistaken for conviction.
Because Haman’s story does end in disaster.
But not for God’s people.
For Haman.
The very man who wanted everyone to bow
ended up falling under the weight of his own arrogance.
That’s the irony of pride.
It promises strength
but produces collapse.
It promises elevation
but leads to ruin.
It promises clarity
but blinds us to our own deception.
Maybe that’s the question this story leaves us with:
Where have I confused following Jesus with getting my way?
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