The air is thick with the weight of occupation. The Greek kingdom presses down on Israel, a yoke described as "completely enslaving." From far away, stories travel along trade routes and in the mouths of travelers: tales of a republic, powerful and disciplined, known as the Romans. These stories paint a picture of strategic patience, of defeated kings, of tribute gathered from distant lands like Spain and Gaul. They are described as loyal, keeping friendship "with their allies and those who rely on them." Yet, they are also relentless, crushing Philip, Perseus, and even Antiochus the Great. In this desperate situation, Judas, called Maccabeus, sees a potential lifeline. He makes a calculation, choosing two men, Eupolemus and Jason, to embark on the "long journey to Rome." Their mission: to "establish friendship, alliance" and find relief from oppression.
Reflections
The Lord is conspicuously silent in this passage. The text is filled with human calculation, observation, and strategy. Judas "heard about the Romans' reputation"; he "was told" of their wars and brave deeds; he "chose" ambassadors. The Romans, in turn, act with "planning and patience" and govern themselves through a senate of "three hundred twenty senators" who "plan constantly." Unlike other moments in Israel’s history, there is no prophet consulted, no prayer recorded, no appeal for a divine miracle. The power being analyzed is not God's, but Rome's. The focus is entirely on human agency and political maneuvering. The passage reveals a turn toward human-led solutions, and the resulting covenant is a human document, etched on "bronze tablets" as a "memorial of peace and alliance" built by men.
When facing overwhelming circumstances, the appeal of a powerful, tangible ally is magnetic. The text captures a universal human dilemma: the choice between holding out for a perfect, divine intervention and grasping the imperfect, practical help that is offered. The "Greek kingdom was completely enslaving Israel"; this is the reality of their oppression. In that context, Rome's reputation, even with its own history of conquest ("they plundered them... and enslaved them"), looks like a reasonable option. Judas is making a pragmatic, geopolitical calculation. It highlights the difficult compromises leaders and individuals must often make. Is it wise to ally with a greater power to defeat a current enemy, even if that new ally is feared "as many as have heard of their reputation"? It is the timeless gamble of survival, where choices are rarely clean and ideal.
We often find ourselves in situations that feel too heavy, where "the yoke" is burdensome. In those moments, we also look for allies. We build our own "senate" of advisors: friends, experts, or powerful systems we believe can help us. This passage invites us to examine our own alliances. On what, or whom, do we rely when pressed? Do we, like Judas, hear reports of strength and "planning and patience" and immediately seek to align ourselves with that power? There is a profound difference between seeking wise counsel and placing ultimate trust in human systems, whether they are political, financial, or relational. The text asks us to consider the "bronze tablets" we are engraving in our own lives; are the treaties we make, the loyalties we pledge, leading us toward true freedom or simply exchanging one form of dependence for another?