A Roman emperor once boasted to Rabbi Joshua ben Chananiah that he wished to throw a banquet large enough to entertain the God of Israel. The rabbi looked at him gravely and said, "You will not be able even to feed the vanguard of His hosts."
The emperor refused to believe him. He ordered every province to send delicacies, every mill to grind flour, every herdsman to supply cattle. Tables were set along the banks of a great river and servants labored for half a year. When everything stood ready, a single wind came up and blew the entire feast into the water, scattering every loaf and platter downstream.
The emperor would not be beaten by the first attempt. He gave new orders, and for another six months his workers prepared a second feast, grander than the first. When the day arrived, the sky opened and rain drowned the banquet in mud.
The rabbi's explanation was quiet. "These," he said, "were only the vanguards of the hosts of Heaven. The wind is one company of angels. The rain is another. They are not yet the main army. You asked to feast the God of Israel, and you could not even get through the scouting parties."
The emperor gave it up (Gaster, Exempla No. 8).
The parable does not mock the emperor's ambition so much as it mocks the scale by which he measured. The Creator is not larger than Rome. The Creator is larger than the categories Rome uses to measure.