Commentary - Ezekiel 31:1-9

Bird's-eye view

In this section of Ezekiel's prophecy, the Lord delivers a message directed at Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, and his teeming multitudes. The central device used here is a magnificent parable, a taunt song really, comparing a great nation to a towering cedar tree. This isn't just any tree; it's a picture of immense power, beauty, and influence. The prophecy begins by posing a rhetorical question to Pharaoh: who can you possibly be compared to in your greatness? The answer, surprisingly, is Assyria, another fallen empire. This is a backhanded compliment of the highest order. God, through Ezekiel, paints a lush picture of Assyria's former glory, describing it as a colossal cedar in Lebanon, a tree so majestic that it overshadowed all others, even the trees in God's own garden in Eden. The purpose of this elaborate description is to set up the fall. If a tree this great could be brought down, what hope does Egypt have? The passage is a stark warning against national pride and the folly of trusting in created strength rather than the Creator. It’s a classic biblical theme: God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.

The core of the message in verses 1 through 9 is the setup for the punchline that follows in the rest of the chapter. God is baiting the hook. He describes this Assyrian cedar with such lavish detail, its height, its branches providing shade for nations, its roots fed by abundant waters, to make the subsequent judgment all the more dramatic. The jealousy of the other trees, even the trees of Eden, underscores the unparalleled magnificence of this empire. But the key is found in verse 9: "I made it beautiful." All this glory was a gift from God. And as the Giver, He retains the right to take it away. This is a foundational principle of God's sovereignty. The pride of nations is an offense to Him precisely because it is a denial of this reality. They take the gifts of God and boast as though they had produced them themselves. This passage, therefore, is not just a historical oracle against Egypt; it is a timeless sermon on the nature of pride, the source of all true greatness, and the certainty of divine judgment.

Outline

Context In Ezekiel

Ezekiel 31 is part of a larger collection of oracles against the foreign nations, which runs from chapter 25 through 32. These prophecies are not random potshots at Israel's enemies; they are a demonstration of Yahweh's universal sovereignty. God is not just the God of Israel; He is the God of all the earth, and He holds every nation accountable. Egypt, in particular, receives a great deal of attention in these chapters. As a major world power and a frequent source of temptation and false hope for Judah, Egypt represented a kind of worldly security that God's people were often tempted to trust in, rather than trusting in God Himself.

This specific oracle, dated to the eleventh year of Jehoiachin's exile, comes right before the final fall of Jerusalem. The message to Pharaoh serves as a powerful, concurrent warning. Just as Jerusalem is being judged for her unfaithfulness, so too will Egypt be judged for its arrogance and pride. The use of Assyria as the point of comparison is brilliant. By this time, the mighty Assyrian empire was already a historical memory, having been crushed by the Babylonians. The message is clear: empires rise and empires fall, but the Lord remains forever. Pharaoh is being invited to look at the wreckage of a nation even greater than his own and to tremble.

Key Issues

Beginning: The Prophetic Word and the Dating of Revelation

(v. 1) Now it happened in the eleventh year, in the third month, on the first of the month, that the word of Yahweh came to me saying,

The prophecy is meticulously dated. This is characteristic of Ezekiel, and it serves an important theological purpose. This isn't myth or legend; this is history, unfolding in real time according to God's sovereign decree. The word of Yahweh doesn't just float down into a timeless, spiritual ether. It cuts into our timeline at a specific moment. The eleventh year would be around 587 B.C., just a couple of months before Nebuchadnezzar would breach the walls of Jerusalem. The precision anchors the prophecy in the dirt and grime of human events, reminding us that God is the Lord of history. His word is not a collection of abstract principles but a direct intervention into the affairs of men and nations. When God speaks, He speaks into a particular context, with a particular purpose, at a particular time. This is the nature of all biblical revelation.

(v. 2) “Son of man, say to Pharaoh king of Egypt and to his multitude, ‘To whom do you liken yourself in your greatness?

The address is direct: "Son of man," Ezekiel's common designation, is to speak to "Pharaoh king of Egypt and to his multitude." The king and his people are bound together in this. The pride of the leader infects the entire nation, and the judgment on the leader will fall upon them all. The question that follows is the heart of the matter. It's a challenge, a verbal gauntlet thrown down. "To whom do you liken yourself in your greatness?" This is the fundamental question that pride always fails to answer correctly. Pride is essentially a problem of improper comparison. Pharaoh, looking at his river, his armies, his wealth, sees himself as peerless. God is about to provide him with a proper standard of comparison, not to affirm his greatness, but to predict his doom.

The Parable of the Proud Cedar

(v. 3) Behold, Assyria was a cedar in Lebanon With beautiful branches and forest shade And lofty in height, And its top was among the clouds.

Here the comparison begins, and it is a stunner. God doesn't compare Egypt to some second-rate power. He reaches back to Assyria, the fallen superpower, the terror of the ancient world. The imagery is of a magnificent cedar of Lebanon. These trees were legendary for their size, strength, and beauty. This cedar is described as having it all: aesthetic appeal ("beautiful branches"), practical utility ("forest shade"), and transcendent ambition ("lofty in height, and its top was among the clouds"). This is a picture of an empire at its zenith. Its influence provided a covering for other nations, and its pride was sky-high, reaching into the heavens. This is the very definition of hubris. Man, or a nation of men, building a tower to make a name for themselves. It’s the spirit of Babel all over again.

(v. 4) The waters made it grow; the deep made it high. With its rivers it was going all around its planting place And sent out its conduits to all the trees of the field.

The source of this greatness is now described. "The waters made it grow." In the arid ancient world, water was life, wealth, and power. This cedar was not just surviving; it was thriving, nourished by "the deep" and its own network of rivers and conduits. This is a picture of economic and military power. The empire's influence (its "conduits") extended to "all the trees of the field," meaning the lesser nations. Assyria was the source, the fountainhead of regional stability and commerce, and all the other nations benefited from their connection to it. But the language here is subtle. While it describes the visible means of Assyria's growth, it points to a deeper reality. Where did the waters ultimately come from? Who set the deep in its place? The description of Assyria's prosperity is simultaneously an indictment of its failure to recognize the true source of that prosperity.

(v. 5-6) Therefore its height was loftier than all the trees of the field, And its boughs became many and its branches long Because of many waters as it spread them out. All the birds of the sky nested in its boughs, And under its branches all the beasts of the field gave birth, And all great nations lived under its shade.

The results of this abundant provision are spelled out. The cedar's dominance was absolute; it was "loftier than all the trees of the field." Its influence was extensive. The imagery of birds nesting and beasts giving birth under its protection is a common biblical metaphor for a kingdom that provides peace and security for its subjects and vassals. "All great nations lived under its shade." This was a global empire, a true superpower that cast a long shadow over the entire known world. Ezekiel is painting a picture of what political scientists today would call a hegemon. There is nothing wrong with a nation being great, providing shade and security. The problem is when the nation begins to believe it is the source of its own shade.

The Jealousy of Eden

(v. 7-8) So it was beautiful in its greatness, in the length of its foliage; For its roots extended to many waters. The cedars in God’s garden could not match it; The cypresses could not liken themselves with its boughs, And the plane trees were not like its branches. No tree in God’s garden could liken itself with it in its beauty.

The description now escalates into the celestial realm. The beauty of this Assyrian cedar was so profound that it surpassed even the trees in "God's garden." This is a staggering claim. The cypresses and plane trees, part of the original perfect creation, were second-rate by comparison. This is hyperbole, of course, but it's inspired hyperbole with a sharp theological point. The glory of this man-made empire, in its own eyes and in the eyes of the world, had eclipsed the glory of God's own perfect creation. Man had created something that, on a purely external level, seemed more impressive than what God had made. This is the pinnacle of humanistic pride. It is the creature vaunting itself over the Creator.

(v. 9) I made it beautiful with the multitude of its foliage, And all the trees of Eden, which were in the garden of God, were jealous of it.

And here, at the peak of the description, God drops the hammer. "I made it beautiful." All that glory, all that loftiness, all that shade, it was all a divine gift. Assyria was simply the vessel. God was the potter. The jealousy of the trees of Eden is the final stroke in the portrait of this tree's magnificence. But this jealousy also hints at the discord that such pride introduces into the created order. This kind of towering, self-referential glory is unnatural. It disrupts the harmony of God's world, which is designed to reflect His glory, not the glory of a particular nation-state. The stage is now perfectly set. God has established the unparalleled greatness of Assyria, a greatness that He Himself authored. And having established that, He is now ready to tell Pharaoh what He did to that tree, and what He is about to do to him.

Application

The message for Pharaoh is a message for every king, every president, every prime minister, and every citizen of every proud nation. Where does our strength come from? Do we look at our economic prosperity, our military might, our cultural influence, and say, "My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth"? That is the path to the axe. This passage is a call to national humility.

For the believer, the application is even more personal. We are tempted to the same pride. We build our little empires of personal accomplishment, career success, or moral respectability, and we subtly begin to think that our top is among the clouds. We forget that every good and perfect gift is from above. The water that nourishes our roots is a gift of grace. The gospel reminds us that we are not the great cedar. We are the dry bones in the valley. Our only hope is the creative, sovereign word of God to breathe life into us. True greatness is not found in being a towering cedar, but in being a humble branch grafted into the true vine, who is Christ Jesus. He is the one who, though He was in the form of God, humbled Himself. And because He humbled Himself, God has highly exalted Him. That is the pattern of the kingdom, for nations and for individuals.