RISE AND SHINE!

“At that time shall Michael stand up, the great prince who stands for the children of your people, and there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time: and at that time your people shall be delivered, every one who shall be found written in the book. And multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. And those who are wise shall shine as the brightness of the heavens, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever.” Daniel 12: 1-3

“Awake…arise….shine.”

The junior youth faith exploration class helped me prepare today’s message. Two weeks ago our material broached the subject of eternal life, so class began with them listing their questions about post-resurrection existence. You’ll hear their questions in just a few minutes.

But first, I must acknowledge that I have been told not to preach such a sermon as this, about the next life. Not by anyone here, Thank God. But I am told, and have read, that people today mostly just want to hear about how God and the Christian faith might improve this life, and this world, here and now. And they do help much in this life, I believe. So preach about peace, about wisdom, about motivation and organization for achieving your God-given potential here and now, I read. And those are all good things. But when it comes to eternal life, or the next life, or our accountability to God for our lives, well, that implies one of the subjects we typically want most to avoid: death. As the saying goes, “Everyone wants to go to heaven, but no one wants to die.” Including me, I confess.

If that weren’t enough, doing a sermon series on Old Testament literature would make it even harder to find something to say about heaven, eternal life and the resurrection. Because for most of the Old Testament, there’s nothing about any of those subjects. You might tease out the hint of eternal life from some of the Psalms, like Psalm 73: 24, “You guide me with your counsel, and afterward will receive me into glory.” Or Psalm 23: “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Isaiah also gives us a promise, just before the Exile, that “God will swallow up death in victory, and wipe the tears from all faces.” But understanding those words to mean our personal eternal lives becomes most possible looking backwards, from Jesus’ resurrection, not so much before. For most of Israel’s history, her saints risked death or faced it for their God, their faith and their people believing that God and his people would be eternal, but they were less sure about their own personal immortality.

Until, that is, Daniel’s vision recorded in chapter 12 of his book. Here we read the earliest, clearest promise of resurrection and life eternal for God’s saints in the whole Bible. I don’t know at what point in his life Daniel received this vision and assurance. If he received it near the end of his life, then how amazing it is that he had risked death in the lion’s death for his God and his people without the assurance of any part of himself surviving afterward.

Maybe it was because Daniel and others like him had risked death that he was granted this assurance of eternal life. Maybe this promise and assurance was a gift of Israel’s dire and difficult years of exile, a gift for which she was prepared by 70 years of faithfulness in pagan Babylon. Maybe Israel had to die to the nationhood she had under kings like David and Solomon, before she could hear about the immortality of her saints. Maybe Israel had to be confronted with the brutal reality of the pagan imperialism with which she had long flirted, in which most subjects lived and labored and died like mere drones in a bee hive, before she could hear something that implied the priceless and infinite worth of each individual before God. So for this week and next, I will preach on some of the gifts that came to the world and the church out of Israel’s time of Exile, or because of Israel’s heroic resistance and resilience during this time when she lost so much.

This promise of eternal life is so unmistakably clear in Daniel 12 that by the time of Jesus, those Jews who accepted Daniel as part of their sacred and inspired writings believed in a resurrection, life after death, and the divine assessment of all lives, while those who didn’t accept Daniel as sacred scripture did not believe in life after death or a divine judgment. Jesus was among those Jews who accepted Daniel. He even quoted or alluded to Daniel quite a few times. In a clear reference to the passage we just heard, Jesus spoke of the last judgment and said, “Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father (Mt. 13: 24).” Not only were resurrection and eternal life central to his teaching and preaching on the kingdom of God, he demonstrated them by walking out of his grave, very much alive.

Still, we preachers sometimes counsel each other to stick to more immediate and practical concerns. Yet the more I think about it, the more I think that eternal life is a very immediate and practical concern. May we all live long, happy and healthy lives to the age of 100. But even so, eternal life is closer than we think. People may sometimes criticize us for being “so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly good,” and I can see how they may be right. But I see in Jesus someone who was of such earthly good precisely because he was so heavenly-minded. His miracles and ministry were breakthroughs of the future into the present.

The Apostle Paul said that if we only have hope in this world, we are of all people most to be pitied. So let’s just eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. One can preach and teach all they like on matters of wisdom, peace, justice and virtue in this life, but if death always has the last laugh, its hard not to think that its all pointless. Death is the most unjust of the injustices we face, and the most oppressive of all our oppressors. The fear of death is the most effective tool in the arsenal of dictators and despots. Its how they keep the poor poor and the oppressed oppressed. Thus death is the “last enemy to be put under Christ’s feet.” His resurrection is God’s guarantee that he has as good as won the battle with death. If we can see beyond the humiliation and oppression of death and affirm the eternal and priceless worth of each person, that’s got to make a difference in how we view everyone we encounter, and how we live here and now. That’s one reason for the historic Anabaptist peace position: you read early Anabaptist writers and not only do they say that peace and non-violence are better for this world than the alternatives, their hope of a better resurrection to a better life is what gave them courage and comfort to preach the gospel, to arrange their lives around God’s justice, and to face their enemies non-violently, lovingly and courageously.

But eternity is not in ourselves. The Psalms don’t say that we are everlasting, but that “the steadfast love of God is everlasting.” Anyone whom God loves lives as long as God continues to love him or her, which is forever. As for judgment, its up to us whether we experience such everlasting love as heavenly or hellish, depending upon if we want such love and how we value it. That’s how I understand judgment: out of God’s respect for us, we get what we most deeply, truly want. As John the Gospel writer put it, “This is the judgment: light has come into the world and people preferred darkness.”

More than that, I cannot say. Any attempts to describe everlasting life have to use words for things familiar to us here and now. All the biblical images for everlasting life, of a city in John’s Revelation, or of a temple, only give us symbols and shadows of something better than those things. So I can’t answer fully all the following questions that the junior youth faith exploration class put to me a few Sundays ago, when we had a class on this same subject. But here they are:

• What will we do for all eternity?
• Will we see all the other people who are in heaven? And who will we be with? Our family and church, or more?
• Will there be animals in heaven, and if so, will we be able to communicate with them?
• What will we look like? Will we recognize people familiar to ourselves, or everyone? Or will we need name tags?
• Can we see people on earth who haven’t died yet?

Oh boy. I won’t do like Sylvia Browne, the self-proclaimed psychic and regular on daytime TV talk shows, and claim to answer all those questions about heaven. But I think they reveal some important and universal things about ourselves: that we care about people and relationships, and yet we feel some painful estrangement and separation in this life, and that we are looking for harmony, even union, with God, others and creation. That also implies some justice in this life and the next. We don’t want the estrangement, oppression and suffering of this life to continue nor to triumph.

So I’ll venture a few ideas in response to the reasonable questions of our youth:

As for what will we do in the next life, don’t worry about getting bored after several hundred thousand years. God is timeless and time-free. Could it be that we will be timeless and time-free too? If so, we may literally not have time to get bored. Furthermore, we’ll be with God, who is infinite. Why wouldn’t getting to know God also be infinitely exciting and delightful? The same can be said for everyone else here: infinitely interesting and delightful to get to know in their realest, most intimate selves. We’re also told that we will rule the world with Christ. Rule in the same servanthood sense of Christ. The world is an infinite universe. No way to get bored there, either.

As for being with other people and seeing them, how would eternal life be a restoration and reunion otherwise? All the biblical images include people, not just persons. There’s nothing in the New Jerusalem for anyone who prefers isolation to community, injustice to justice, war to peace, feuds to forgiveness, or revenge to reconciliation. All the more reason to live in justice, love and forgiveness now.

As for how we’ll recognize each other: on that mount of Transfiguration, when the disciples saw Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah, they knew who they were. They didn’t ask, they weren’t introduced, Moses and Elijah weren’t even wearing name tags; they just seem to have recognized Moses and Elijah in their eternal persons. As the words of the old hymn put it, “We shall know each other better when the mist has rolled away.”

As for animals in heaven, and being able to talk with them, I’d really like that to be the case. Many times in the Bible we read about how God loves all of his creation, and delights in his animals especially. The Bible speaks of redemption in terms of liberation for all of creation, not just for us humans. “Let the mountains rejoice and the trees clap their hands,” we read again and again. If anything, I suspect that our relationship with creation will be restored to God’s original intent. So if you have ever felt like your pet dog or your pet cat was a true companion and a source of delight and joy, or if you delighted in the power and partnership of a horse, then perhaps that was something quite spiritual, a foretaste of the coming restoration and renewal of all creation and its intended harmony. I just hope that all of the fish I have caught over the years are forgiving.

As for whether or not the saints now with God can see what is going on among us here and now, part of me looks at the state of the world and says, “I kind of hope not. The fare on the evening news, or the TV Reality shows would only spoil it for them.” From what I read in Daniel 12, I get the impression that their bodies at least are awaiting resurrection. From elsewhere in the New Testament, I get the sense that their souls or spirits are safely resting in God until the day comes when all of God’s saints, body and soul, will “rise and shine” like the sun. For them to rest and delight in God, all they need to contemplate is God. As Paul told his Corinthian disciples, “We would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord (2 Cor. 5: 8).” You go through ancient European graveyards and one word you often see on tombstones before the 18^th Century is “Resurgam,” Latin for, “I shall arise.” I think they had it right: the resurrection that Daniel foresaw will happen in the same moment for all of us, and it will be a reunion of the soul with the body, a resurrection body like that of the resurrected Jesus.

What that resurrection body shall be like I’m at a loss to say. The class wanted to know at what age our resurrected bodies will be. I’d like my 30-year-old body back, when my pants were four sizes smaller. But that’s assuming again that we’ll be living in time the same way we do now. We cannot venture far onto this topic before we must confess with the Apostle Paul, “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, nor has it entered the human mind, all that God has prepared for those who love him (I Cor. 2:9).”

No, let’s come back to the present and lay hold of what this promise meant to Daniel and his fellow Israelites in exile, who had lost a war and a country, but who triumphed by surviving, a people who had lost their nationhood but not their identity, who had lost the respect of other mortals, but not the love and faithfulness of God, who had even lost their temple, only to catch a glimpse of how God would dwell with them forever, not only as a nation, but as persons.

I’ve got to believe that Daniel’s glimpse of the glory to come says the same thing for us, twenty-five centuries later, because of all the ways that Jesus and the apostles build upon this very vision. Especially since we, too, live as an exile people awaiting reunion in that city which God is building. What Daniel saw, in that vision of all mortals rising from the dust for a final accounting, tells us that we each matter, dearly and deeply, to God; that our choices and decisions matter, for eternity; that each person we see is of infinite and eternal value to God, including the person we see in the mirror; that no evil, injustice or oppression has the last word over us, not even the injustice and oppression of death. “So let us not weary in doing good, because in due time we shall reap what we sow.” In effect, life wins. So does God. And so do we. Amen.

(pause)

In a moment we shall sing a hymn that was sung during most of the memorial services over which I presided when I pastored in Kansas, with the words of the recurring refrain, “O seek that beautiful stream.” That’s from a biblical image for eternal life: a stream that never stops flowing, free, clear and refreshing. I think it was requested so often by Kansas Mennonites precisely because such streams are few and far between there, and all the more prized. Also, the generation that was passing had learned the song in the original German during their childhood, and had come to treasure it all the more, for all the memorial services they had attended. I hope I make it through the hymn, because singing it feels like one of those thin places, between time and timelessness, where you feel how much you are already invested in the next world, the resurrection life, because of the beloved friends and family members you have entrusted to the hope of everlasting reunion. Remember, whenever that is, its sooner than we think.

Daniel 6: 13: “Daniel, who is one of the exiles from Judah, pays no attention to you, O king, or to the decree you put in writing. He still prays three times a day.”

(Note: Since the individual’s hope of eternal life remains unclear throughout much of the Old Testament until the last visions of Daniel’s long life, I don’t know how much the hope of resurrection was a factor in Daniel’s willingness to face lions and death at this point in his life. Was his courage more about his people’s survival than his own? Or was it more about the vindication of his God than of himself? Since I don’t know the answer to those questions (someone else may be able to set me straight), I have left that consideration out of what follows: an imaginative attempt –I hope– to put myself into Daniel’s sandals during his long night in the lions’ den.)

My earliest childhood memory is of my Father holding me, rocking me, stroking my head and telling me that everything was all right, that I was safe, and that I could stop screaming. “But what about the lion at the window?” I asked. “There’s no lion,” he replied. “You’ve just had a bad dream.” And that’s when I first heard and learned the meaning of the word “nightmare.” I wish this night were but a dream.

Funny, but before having that nightmare, I had never seen a lion before. I must have heard about lions in songs, folk tales or a Bible story, like the one in which David fought a lion, in his youth, or in which Sampson killed one for sport. As a father, I have comforted all my children, during their early childhood, when they too awakened, screaming from similar nightmares about lions. They’ve never seen one either. I suspect that the fear of lions is something God gives us in our mother’s womb, so that we know better than to go looking for them.

It was only a few years later that I finally saw lions, though still not real ones. A lion was depicted on some of the banners of the Babylonian army while soldiers rampaged through the streets of my home city, Jerusalem, killing, chasing, or capturing every person they found, and burning or knocking down every building that stood, including our precious temple. After my father hid me in an empty water jar, I never saw him, my mother, nor my brother again. I presume that they died in the sack of the city. Sixty years later, I still know neither where nor how they died. I survived simply because the soldiers who discovered me thought I was of the right age to make a good slave.

But the imperial administration of Babylon had different ideas. A slave I became, all right, but to the Imperial Court, to become an advisor. I suppose they originally wanted some token Hebrew mascots to fill out some quota for public relations with all the minorities in the Babylonian Empire. But between myself and my fellow Hebrew adoptees, the royal court got more than it bargained for. `Having heard the letter from Jeremiah to the effect that we exiles were to seek the peace of this city to which God had sent us, we were willing to be good and trustworthy civil servants. But the royal Babylonian court had this incurable tendency to conflate their gods with their kings and queens, and to demand of their subjects the faith and worship that only belong to GOD MOST HIGH. That got us Hebrews in trouble several times.

It must be something in the Tigris from which they drink, because now the Medo-Persian alliance that has taken over the empire has done the same thing: they’ve declared Darius the mede a god. I blame the courtesans, opportunists and professional yes-man who hang all over the court like leeches, who stroke the king’s ego, for their own interests and agendas, of course. Sometimes I think they run the empire more than does the king, and I fear they shall run it over a cliff. I also blame the weakness of human nature which, when presented with such power as what Darius has, falls to the temptations of god-hood like a rotten mango in a windstorm. So of course he couldn’t resist their suggestion that he be worshiped as a God. I am the first one to be hustled off to the lion’s den for worshiping a forbidden God.

Which is the way I wanted it. Not that I went out intentionally seeking death. Death came seeking me, and offered me a fool’s bargain for—for what? A few more years, at most? Its not the way my children and grandchildren want it, however. but I believe that I will serve them better in faithfulness unto death, than by buying a few more years of life by compromise and cowardice. If their mother and grandmother, Rachel, were still alive, she would have joined me in prayer and in this lion’s den. Better now that a harmless old man like me be the first test case of this blasphemy and buffoonery than someone younger, and with more to lose. Better by far that the first victim be a high profile public person like me, to make this a high profile, public case. Whether I live or die, my being here in this den will expose the iron teeth behind the empire’s sweet smile. In life or death, the Imperial administration shall again get more than it bargained for with its Hebrew servants.

And now I finally see lions. Up close, through the moonlight through the bars above. They’re both more frightening and more beautiful than what I had imagined. Perfectly proportioned, but for terrifying, pursuing and killing. I get glimpses in the moonlight of their eyes—golden, glowing reflections, like some jewel–yet which strike me as cold, alien and calculating. When they yawn or roar I see their teeth, like daggers, or I glimpse the flash of claws, like iron nails. Their roaring sends a chill spiraling up my spine. Their breath is terrible, like something long dead and rotten on a hot day in the market. It is not mine to ask why my God would make such beautiful, yet dreadful creatures, except to say that surely he did not make them to serve the arrogance and pride of mortal men and their empires. If anything, He may have made lions so as to humble us.

From the call of the crier somewhere on the palace walls I know it is past the 4^th watch of the night. The time remaining among these restless beasts is about as long as the time I have already spent. I was fully prepared to die when they opened the gate and lowered me down into this den. My legs quivered and my knees knocked, while my heart kept rising into my throat. The same feeling comes back whenever one of the lions roars, or passes by me, or looks at me, or when two of them start playing and wrestling with each other, giving me glimpses of their power and skill.

I had prayed to God that either he protect me and spare me while in this den, or that he give me the courage to face death in a way that would honor Him and advance his cause. I confess, I was more prepared for death than for life. I am surprised to be yet whole and breathing, without even a scratch. Should things change and these beasts decide that dinner comes late and I am the main course, I will count the few moments of pain and terror as nothing compared to all the joys of my long and meaningful life.

But as the hours go on and I recite the prayers and the psalms of the night-time vigils, I feel another presence here with me, like that of a lion, only more powerful than these beasts, and infinitely more warm, wise and gracious. And like my human father so long ago, He is holding me, comforting me, re-assuring me that this nightmare too shall vanish with the morning light, and that his truth, and I, shall be vindicated. I don’t have to survive for that to happen. Nothing in this dark and smelly den can take away from me what I hold most dear and have labored for all my life: my testimony to my forbidden God. And yet I am gaining hope that I shall survive to see the sunrise, when, as King David said in the Psalm, “I shall look in triumph upon my enemies.” God reassures me with the prophet’s words to Eli: “Whoever honors me will I honor.”

There is another way in which I am not alone in this den of beasts: All of Israel, God’s people, are here with me, in that I can feel the sustaining, comforting effect of their prayers for me, like Moses praying for the Israelites when they battled the Amalekites (Ex. 17). As long as his hands were raised to the Lord in prayer, his people prevailed. There must be other saints, other watchmen and women up with me this night, awaiting the dawn, holding me up prayerfully in their hands before God. So far, I seem to be prevailing, peacefully, and patiently.

All Israel is here with me in another sense: when have we not been surrounded by threatening beasts? When have we not been sustained and protected by a gracious and fearsome God more powerful and dreadful than ourselves and our foes? Unless we had removed ourselves from his protective embrace? My story tonight is my people’s story since Abraham and Sarah.

All Israel is also here with me in the sense that I represent them in this den of testing; I have taken their place, so that hopefully they need not come to this place. And should they ever come here or to another den of darkness, for trial and testing, they will know that someone else overcame their fear and thus triumphed, in life or in death.

Whether tomorrow they celebrate my deliverance, or bury my bones, this is what I pray that my people remember from this trial: that if we cling to God, God clings to us, anywhere our testimony takes us; and that our forbidden God is powerful enough to deliver us from any situation, and worthy of our praise and loyalty even when He doesn’t immediately deliver us, because He is powerful enough to use even our deaths and defeats to our good. Because our testimony for God, and our life with God, are more valuable than survival itself. With that assurance I turn my attention back to the prayers of the night time vigils and pray the words of the Psalm of David, with any of my people who are yet up with me during this watch of the night: “O Lord, how long will you look on? Rescue my life from their ravages,  my precious life from these lions. Then will I give you thanks in the great assembly;  among throngs of people I will praise you. (Ps. 35: 17-18).”

Daniel 6:10 Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before. 11 Then these men went as a group and found Daniel praying and asking God for help. 12 So they went to the king and spoke to him about his royal decree: “Did you not publish a decree that during the next thirty days anyone who prays to any god or man except to you, O king, would be thrown into the lions’ den?”   The king answered, “The decree stands—in accordance with the laws of the Medes and Persians, which cannot be repealed.” 13 Then they said to the king, “Daniel, who is one of the exiles from Judah, pays no attention to you, O king, or to the decree you put in writing. He still prays three times a day.”

You could say, “But I have the right of way,” as loudly and firmly as you like, but those could be your last words, like other famous last words, such as, “Let’s stay on the water a little bit more to see if the fish really do bite like crazy when a storm’s rolling in.” Being correct would be cold comfort if you insist on your right of way and collide with those three quarters of a ton of big old bull buffalo that just stepped into the road running through Yellowstone National Park, or if you get too close and he decides to collide with you. He doesn’t know the traffic laws. Nor does he understand how insurance works; he just knows that someone in the herd must be the first to step into the road, so that those noisy metal beasts with the rolling rubber feet will come to a stop, and allow the rest of his herd to cross.

Then out of those shiny metal beasts come those two-legged creatures with flashing cameras, cell phones and video cameras. He turns his shaggy head both directions and casts a baleful, defiant eye at the cars and the tourists, as though he’s thinking, “Yeah, make my day and come a little closer.” But he’s already had plenty of fights with other threats to his herd, like wolves and grizzly bears, and he has the scars to show it. He stands his ground in the middle of the road while out of the meadows and the woods come dozens of cows, calves and some younger bulls, some of them his sons, some of them potential rivals. One of them may one day replace him as the leader, father and protector of the herd. They are crossing the road looking for water or better pasture, and his risky behavior—just stepping onto the road first– makes crossing the road less risky for them. When the last of the cows and the littlest of the calves have crossed the road, then off he slowly ambles after his herd. “Did you see that?” ask the moms and dads and littlest children. “Yeah,” say some of the other kids, barely looking up from texting their friends or playing games on their I-Phones. Such a bold buffalo crossing is a daily occurrence somewhere in Yellowstone National Park.

In today’s Bible passage, God’s people faced a dangerous crossing, and an old bull has stepped out into traffic to take the risk and give them cover. Fifty years into Israel’s Exile, Babylon is under new management: an alliance of Medes and Persians has conquered Babylon and now rules the land to which the Jews were taken. But spiritually, things are no different. They’re at it again, trying to make gods out of mortal men. Whenever that happens, Daniel and his Jewish friends know the drill: love and respect all mortals equally and indiscriminately, from the king to the lowliest commoner; but worship and trust only God absolutely, whatever the cost, and God will vindicate himself and you, whether in life or death. But in previous instances of resistance to idolatry and blasphemy, they went about their faithfulness and worship without much fuss or publicity, until their enemies caught them at it. Otherwise, they didn’t go out to provoke a public confrontation over their faith.

But in this instance, the old bull, Daniel, steps out into the road, so to speak. For that’s what he is, after fifty years in Babylon, an old bull with leadership responsibilities for his nation and his people. Since Daniel was already a boy when the Exile started, I’d put him at about 60 years plus, which seems younger to me every year.

To stop the traffic, so to speak, Daniel opens the window of his prayer room so that people can see him praying three times a day, illegally, to a god other than the king. Did you know that prayer could be an act of nonviolent direct action and protest? It is whenever idolatry rules the land.

Now, what if Daniel had not provoked this showdown with his public prayers? What if he had said to himself, “Its up to me not to offend anyone and provoke a conflict, so I’ll keep doing my prayers in private, only more so?”

Remember, the jealous, manipulative and unscrupulous people who are out gunning for Daniel and his title, who have manipulated the king into signing this idolatrous decree, that all prayers and worship are to go only to himself for thirty days, show all the characteristics of predators and bullies. Like all bullies and predators, they prefer their victims cheap and easy. What if their first victims, to be fed to the lions, were not Daniel but the young, the weak, the elderly, young parents, children, those wavering in their faith, who may have renounced their faith at the first smell of lion breath, while Daniel continued to live in privilege and security, protected by his proximity to the king? What good then to himself would have been his long life and his leadership among God’s people? How could he even live with himself if others went first into the lions’ den because of him? More than five hundred years before the cross of Calvary, we see in Daniel a foreshadowing of Jesus, who said, “I lay down my life willingly; it is not taken from me.”

I am reminded here of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. They were leading a coordinated campaign of sit-ins and pray-ins, marches and other peaceful efforts to overturn their legalized, segregated, second-class citizenship. But the police chief, Bull Connor, engineered enough court injunctions to make every conceivable Constitutional avenue of free speech and free assembly illegal.

Dr. King and other leaders of the campaign met secretly in a hotel room to discuss their options. There was much debate and hand-wringing over the possibility that, if they went ahead with a march that had already been declared, many young people would not finish high school without a criminal record. And any who had already been arrested before could be put away for years if they get arrested again. Do they call it off, or do they go ahead at that terrible price?

Finally, Dr. King said, “I’m going to my room to pray.” Once in prayer, a strange peace and a sense of purpose settled over him. He emerged a little later a changed man, literally. He had traded in his dapper suit and tie for denim jeans and a casual shirt. “These are my goin’-to-jail clothes,” said Dr. King. He led the next planned street march, and was promptly arrested. Again. And while he was writing his Letter From a Birmingham Jail in solitary confinement, or even because he was in solitary confinement, thousands of Birmingham’s black citizens, and many white friends, young and old and all ages in between, found renewed courage to continue the marches, even in the face of police dogs, fire hoses and billy clubs.

Which brings me to a point I wish to make about leadership. I feel proud and privileged around the kind of leadership our members exhibit in the commissions of this church, in ministries to the wider community, leadership in inter-Mennonite agencies like the local relief sale and Ten Thousand Villages, leadership in the conference (like with Gebremichael Heramo) and even in the wider denomination (like with Kim Friesen).

Both Dr. King and the prophet Daniel show us that the first task of leadership is to be and to do that which we would encourage in others. Our most effective tool of leadership is our example, by going where we would lead, even when there are risks. Especially when there are risks. Leadership like what Daniel and Dr. King exhibited, is first about living the truth, then telling the truth, and then taking the heat for doing both.

But to lead in that way requires courage. And that is what I wish to focus on most this morning: courage. Courage is not the absence of fear; it is the mastery of fear. Christian faith is all about courage, more than it is about certainty or figuring everything out. Karl Barth, the Swiss theologian, defined Christian faith as “the courage to accept that we are accepted.” Accepting that we are accepted takes courage in a world that is always telling us, “You’re worth less than him or her or them; you’re too much of this, too little of that.” That’s why leadership requires much time in prayer and attention to the spiritual life, the reason why I have a spiritual director. So that we lead and live out of the assurance of our acceptance with God, and not out of any fear of others.

Courage is not anything we can master once and for all, and then hang up on the shelf like a trophy. Every stage of our lives requires that we find and show anew the courage to face the challenges, risks and responsibilities that come with that stage, before we can move on to the next one. Daniel, at the age of 60 or more, acted more boldly and provocatively than he did in his previous run-ins with imperial injustice and idolatry. But this is a different life stage, when he has public responsibilities toward his country and his people. So he acts in a way that is public and provocative.

Which makes me wonder: Do we have this whole life cycle thing backwards? Don’t we usually think that youth is the major time for bold, risky behavior, while the later years of life are for conserving and consolidating all that we have gained, by being careful, conventional and constrained? But in the life of Daniel, we see the opposite: just when we might expect him to say, “I’ve taken my risks, I’ve rallied to the cause so many times already, I’m tired—let someone else take the lead and the heat this time,” the elder has stepped forth to risk life and limb for the young, the weak and the impressionable. Its as though the general has come out of the trenches to draw enemy fire, so that the younger troops can live to fight another day. After all, this particular attack was about Daniel.

Or consider the case of the retirement age grandmothers and great-grandmothers who lately have been showing up at military recruitment centers around the country, saying, “Send me to Iraq or Afghanistan; I’ll go in the place of those dear young people who should be home with their parents or their children, or their spouses, who should be starting their marriages, their families, their college educations or their careers; I’ve lived my life—let them live theirs.” I can’t help thinking that maybe they should induct them and send them. Not with weapons or in uniform, but just to bring the gifts of their love, their experiences and their wisdom to the common struggle to be human. After all, President Carter’s mother, Lillian Carter, joined the Peace Corps and served in India for two years, at the age of 68.

There are so many mission and service teams, here and abroad, staffed by people who are eager, driven, energetic, well-intentioned, quite sure of themselves… and usually young. Some of them crash and burn, frustrated by the inevitable gap between their aspirations and their aggravations, the aggravations of facing overwhelming needs with underwhelming resources, and sometimes the aggravations and tribulations of getting along with other workers who are equally as eager, driven, motivated, well-intentioned, sure of themselves…. and young. Sometimes they can use a grandfatherly or grandmotherly figure who can tell them, “Slow down; you’ve got time; you’ll get the hang of it; you don’t have to know it all now, nor to do it all now; don’t take yourself so seriously; you’re not indispensable; take a nap; take care of yourself; and trust God.” That’s one reason why we have a mentoring program in this church.

Whatever our age or stage in life, then, the kingdom of God has a place, a task and a challenge for us, all of which require courage. The very last task, the one which may require of us the most courage, will be to let it all go as we die, and to confide the fruits of our labors, our loves and our leadership to the gracious hands of God. Before then, we may retire from our careers. But we can never retire our courage.

As for the young, when I read wisdom literature in the Bible, I see that the young are doubly and triply enjoined to watch their steps and to apply themselves to learning wisdom, prudence and the fear of God. Says the first chapter of Proverbs: “Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They will be a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck.” As an elder King Solomon said to the youth of his day, in the last chapter of Ecclesiastes, “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, ‘I find no pleasure in them.’”

In other words, youth is not just for experimenting, pushing the envelope and testing our limits. Yes, youth, do that service assignment, or do that semester of study and service abroad, yes, even try and see if whitewater kayaking or rock climbing are for you. Its easier now than it will be in sixty years. But youth is also for laying the groundwork and foundation for wisdom in later ages and stages of life. So, as Proverbs chapter 2 says, “Turn your ear to wisdom and apply your heart to understanding, and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God.” Like Daniel did, in his youth.

That also requires courage, especially when everyone around us is saying, “Revolt and rebel! Boundaries are just for breaking!” Especially in the commercial youth culture of today. But if we start early, facing the challenges, risks and responsibilities of youth with courage and a heart seeking wisdom, we’ll have more resources and strength with which to face the challenges of all the ages and stages that follow. The courage with which Daniel stepped onto the road for the sake of his people and his God did not suddenly come in the mail one day with his first social security check. It had been growing and developing through all the previous stages of his life, in the life-long pursuit of wisdom.

So, again, Christian life begins, continues and ends with courage. Christian faith is a stance of courage, “the courage to accept that we are accepted” by God. Every age and stage of life requires courage, the courage to to avoid worthless risks, and the courage to take necessary risks, like Daniel did, and the wisdom to know the difference between them. For that, it pays to start early, and keep it up, all through life, to the very end. Like Daniel did.

Daniel 4: “I, Nebuchadnezzar, raised my eyes toward heaven, and my sanity was restored. Then I praised the Most High; I honored and glorified him who lives forever.”

I. Recognize the Craziness around us: a craziness of god-like thinking and wanting.

What would have happened if the emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had returned to France from exile, not just once, as he did to fight the Battle of Waterloo, only to lose and get sent back to exile, but again, to try a third time for the throne he had already lost twice? That was the point of a delightful movie, made over fifteen years ago, called, The Emperor’s New Clothes. In it, a switch is made on the island of Elba, where Napoleon lived his last years in exile, so that a Napoleon look-alike stays on under British imprisonment. Meanwhile, the real Napoleon has been smuggled onto a ship, bound for France. There, some spies and agents await him, ready to declare him emperor and try, one more time, to help him conquer and rule Europe again.

But things go awry. For one thing, the Napoleon look-alike so enjoys the pampered life of luxury under British control that he conveniently neglects to declare himself for the impostor he is. And his captors are none the wiser. So the real former emperor of France has to live like a poor man and a beggar under the name of Eugene Lenormand, waiting for a declaration from the Island of Elba: “I am not the emperor—he is among you.” But it never comes. In fact, the impostor so much enjoys his life of Riley that he dies in that role, probably of too much wine and rich foods. From then on, all his efforts to declare himself the real Napoleon are met with laughter and scorn. “They just took away the last person who thought he was Napoleon! Take a number and stand in line!”

Among the peasants and the poor of inner-city Paris, Napoleon meets a boy and his mother, a grieving, recently-bereaved widow. She falls in love with him, and he with her. But when he keeps insisting that he is the Emperor Napoleon, and that soon, she shall be Empress of France and all Europe, she thinks he’s having crazy spells. She weeps and pleads with him to come to his senses and accept all the simple joys and pleasures of life already available to them, and not to risk it for some loony-tunes scheme for overthrowing the government.

But Napoleon remains un-dissuaded until one night a wrong turn lands him inside the walls of the grounds of a hospital and asylum for delusional and hallucinating patients. Especially for a certain kind of delusional and hallucinating patient. All of them are walking around with their hands inside their coats, with hats turned sideways on their heads, claiming to be Napoleon, Emperor of France and conquerer of Europe. Seeing such craziness, the former Emperor can’t help but wonder, “Which one of us is crazy, and who is sane?”

And that gets him to wondering: Is my quest for empire crazy? And the human cost of sending thousands of young men off to kill, conquer and die for my pride and ambition, what is that, if not crazy? Or that they would obey my orders to do so, at the cost of their lives, their loves, their homes and their humanity? Or that, having failed twice already, and at such terrible human toll, I should try it again? Especially when I already have enough to make me happy: a woman I love, who loves me, and her son, who looks up to me like a father, unlike the son I had by the empress Josephine? That’s the choice before the emperor: not so much if he would be king, but how he will be king, where will he be king, and over what kind of realm. Will he try again to rule a vast, un-manageable and corrupt realm taken by force, and ruled by fear, or a simple, sacred, peaceable and manageable realm of hearth and home where a queen and a prince already have given him their loyalty, out of love, which is already his for the pleasure of his love and loyalty in return?

I won’t tell you how Napoleon decides. But we know how King Nebuchadnezzar decided, for he could have turned in his crown and his scepter any day of the year. But he didn’t. According to today’s text, it was in fact taken from him for a time.

Archaeologists and historians have no independent record that I am aware of to the effect that, for seven years, Nebuchadnezzar was absent from his throne while he wandered the hillsides eating grass like a cow. But its not the kind of thing that the Babylonians would have wanted to post on their official imperial monuments. The unity and durability of their empire depended upon the emperor being seen as perfect, infallible, even as a god.

On the other hand, from what little I know of Babylonian religion, I wonder if his spell of madness may have impressed the priests and the magicians, astrologers and sorcerers in his court, who would have seen him crawling around on all fours and grunting, and thought, “Cool! He is indeed touched by heaven, a true son of the gods.” It would be entirely possible, within the magical, mystical pagan mind of much of the world even today, that people would believe that they could—and did—change places and shapes with animals, rocks, trees and other creations. If they had enough magical, mystical power to do so, of course. It happened all the time in their myths, magic and legends. Kind of like the man who told his doctor, “I keep feeling like I’m really a dog.” The doctor asked him, “How long has that been going on?” To which the patient answered: “Oh, a long time, doctor. Ever since I was a puppy.”

But the Jewish Bible says that Nebuchadnezzar only thought he was a beast. And so he acted like one. True to the human condition, it was when Nebuchadnezzar believed most that he was a god, that he became the most bestial and animal. And thereby the story also says what was unspeakable, dangerous and subversive in its time to say: that anyone with so much unlimited power and who cultivated and enjoyed the worship of others was in danger of going stark raving crazy. Because absolute power can corrupt more than our morals. Or that to give such power and worship to another human being, or to claim them for oneself, was already stark raving crazy. It might also be saying to Daniel’s friends, and to future generations of God’s people, that now that the impressive grandeur and glory of Babylon the Great is getting old and you’re starting to see how it has feet of clay, and that, in its success and excess it is sowing the seeds of its own coming decay and destruction, even while people worship it and their leaders, if you see through all that, you’re not the crazy ones. If you have started to wonder if this non-stop imperial compulsion to always either expand or die is crazy, or if the tendency to overreach and conquer more territory than it can control, defend and maintain is crazy, and to always stir up trouble on its margins to destabilize its neighbors and thus make enemies out of needed allies is crazy and self-defeating, then, no, you’re not alone. You can trust your God-given perceptions. Don’t give in to the worship of the emperor, his empire, and his gods going on around you. Its all crazy. And their days are numbered.

When Nebuchadnezzar got down on all fours and began eating grass, maybe it was not so much that God made him crazy. Rather, maybe God simply lifted the veil on the craziness of believing that our own powers match those of God; that we are entirely self-made people who alone are responsible for all the good things we have and have done. There’s even some irony in the fact that the king whose symbol and mascot was a four-footed animal– the lion– came to look like a lion, with a shaggy mane and long claws, but was reduced to acting and eating like a cow.

This is not just an ancient thing. In our recent economic turmoil, we have suffered from some of the same crazyness: banks, businesses and brokerage firms that got too big to fail, but which almost did fail after they went for wealth and rewards that were too good to be true. Or for nations to try policing the world and build other nations while their own bridges fall and their schools fail is also Nebuchadnezzar-like crazy-ness.

And its not just a political or a business thing. The one dark side of our wonderful new computerized technological world is that the more we can conceivably do, the more we are often expected to do. Or the more we may feel ourselves obligated to do. For example, how many of us grew up printing our own photos? Now we can, and its good fun if you have the time, the skill and the pieces of technology that communicate with each other. If not, it can be an exercise in sheer frustration, and a waste of time. The other morning I pushed the print button on my computer and nothing happened at my personal printer. It still hasn’t happened, and I’m not sure why. Its too complex for me. In my befuddlement I remembered how “printing” used to be something I did with a big fat number two pencil on a Big Chief tablet on a slanted wooden desk during second grade. And I started to miss those days.

New versions and advances in technology are being hawked to us all the time, on the self-evident virtue that they are new and improved. But will they really free up time for more important things, or will they eat up our time, take us away from God, creation and each other? If we suspect that that may be the case, it doesn’t mean that we’re crazy. And should the newest, latest thing break down, we see the other side of the coin: the more we can do, the more we are expected to do, until we can’t, for reasons beyond our control. And then we’re left more helpless than we were back in the days of number two pencils and Big Chief tablets. I call this compulsion to do as much as we can, because we conceivably can, “obligation inflation.”

Speaking of “obligation inflation,” yesterday we started that nine week non-stop season of holiday observances that someone called, “HalloNewThankMas.” I especially love the Advent and Thanksgiving parts. But it seems that there’s barely time to catch one’s breath after one big bash before the next one starts heating up. And if last year we sent 125 Christmas cards and attended 3 holiday parties and spent $600, then obligation inflation means that this year the pressure is on to send 145 cards, attend 4 holiday parties and single-handedly try to rescue the economy.

In the face of all this crazy-making obligation inflation, it might us help to survive and find our way if we remember that we serve a God who has been known to say No, a timeless God who even rested on the seventh day of creation. To survive and stay sane we must learn to recognize the craziness of imperial thinking and its attendant obligation inflation, and to hear instead the still, small voice of God reminding us that he is God and we are human, as Daniel did, and to trust our gut instincts, whenever we need to say, “That’s too much, that’s too far, or even, that’s just plain crazy.” That’s my first point this morning: learn to recognize the craziness of this imperial mindset that disdains our human limits and which constantly reaches for god-hood, whatever the cost. Sometimes, the most godly thing to say is “No” or “Enough.”

II That we regularly push the reset buttons on our sanity through prayer and worship.

And whenever we do recognize the craziness around us and taking root within us, then we need to push our sanity reset buttons. Which leads me to my second point: that we regularly reset our sanity buttons through prayer and worship; that we even think of prayer and worship as how we re-set our sanity buttons. People sometimes tell me, “My reset button is going for a walk in the woods, or a run, or listening to good music.” Which is great. Keep it up. But Christian prayer and worship have this element and this purpose that running, waling, yoga or good music may lack: they challenge the most supreme craziness, the hardest one to recognize and remove– the craziness of Nebuchadnezzar, believing ourselves to be entirely self-made people, no, make that, self-made gods.

For me, its not enough to challenge this craziness and push the reset button just once a week in worship, though that helps. Every day, every morning when I pray, there’s something settling and cleansing about lifting the eyes of my soul, up from all the undone and sometimes undo-able things clamoring for immediate attention, lifting them heavenward, to see and to remember who is God, and who is not.

Especially this week. It has been an especially busy week for me, and not just me alone. When my head starts buzzing with such busyness, I have found solace again and again in the words of the Psalm, “and then my soul remembered God (Psalm 77: 3).”

That’s when sanity returned to Nebuchadnezzar. “I raised my eyes toward heaven,” he said, “and my sanity was restored. Then I praised the Most High; I honored and glorified him who lives forever.” Indeed, that was sanity, remembering who God is and that we are not God. That’s the second step of Alcoholics Anonymous and other Twelve Step programs: “I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.” Believing that there is a power greater than ourselves IS sanity, as well as one of the first steps to it. When we do that, then the surprising thing is that we find out just how really truly remarkable we already are, how high and wondrous it already is just to simply be human.

III LIVE LIKE TRUE ROYALTY, IN SUBMISSION TO GOD

And that leads me to my third point: that we find our true glory in submission to God. Glorify God through prayer and worship, yes, but also through our simple human loves and labors, within our simple human limits. Just being human was already plenty for King Nebuchadnezzar to marvel at and rejoice over, without getting all full of himself. And so there is plenty for us to marvel at, even within the limits of our human knowledge and powers. Just to grow a garden, just to love and be loved, just to be able to talk, read, sing, laugh, love, tell jokes and stories, to be human, that’s pretty powerful stuff already.

If anything, I would say that maybe King Nebuchadnezzar’s problem was that he didn’t look high enough, that he wasn’t bold and daring enough, that maybe he was actually too limited, (dare I say, too humble?) in his boasting and his rejoicing. For he was only looking at worldly, temporary cities and towers and powers and walls and wonders and battlements and monuments. He was only looking to himself, and to his own powers and potential, when his heart rose up in boastful exaltation. He was rejoicing in great and glamorous things, all right, but great and glorious only in comparison with other human kings and empires. How puny.

In our propensity toward Mennonite humility and simplicity, which I encourage in this day of runaway arrogance and complexity, let us also remember that we are given, by God’s Word, a right and even an invitation to boast and to revel. But not in ourselves, nor in our works. “Let him who boasts boast in the Lord,” said the Apostle Paul.

Don’t settle for making comparisons based on the world and on people, like Nebuchadnezzar comparing himself with human kingdoms around him and before him. He was a big fish, all right. But only when compared to all the other minnows, in a very little pond. Let God and his eternal kingdom be the gold standard by which we measure ourselves and all things. While that might keep us humble and simple—how far we fall short of the glory of God—it will also give us every right and reason to rejoice and to revel. Again, not in ourselves, but in God and his love for us.

If anything, then, we are too timid. Jesus was not timid when he stood before Pilate, bound and beaten, and Pilate asked him, “Are you a king?” I can just hear the irony and surprise in his voice. Are you, this seemingly helpless and defeated man, betrayed and abandoned by his friends, humiliated by his enemies, rejected by his peers, probably already bruised, with one eye closed, by the beating he had taken by the mob and the henchmen of the Sanhedrin, are you the King of the Jews?

Jesus did not deny, but affirmed, “Yes—it is as you say….but my kingdom is not of this world.” That is either the stunning truth, or it is madness and presumption beyond the scale of Napoleon or Nebuchadnezzar. And if that is not wild enough, Jesus taught his disciples, ordinary, poor, suffering, oppressed and troubled men and women, to pray and to read the Bible as though they were kings and royalty too. Whenever we pray Jesus’ prayer and call God, “Father,” that comes right out of the Psalms for the enthronement of Israel’s kings and queens. “Today you are my Son; this day have I begotten you (Psalm 2). “Son of God” is a term of royalty from the Psalms. Jesus, “Son of God,” teaches us to pray like sons and daughters of God: kings and queens.

In which case, either Jesus is crazy, or he is right: that all who receive him become royalty and join him on his heavenly throne. We become kings and queens not over ever-expanding and warring empires, but royalty over our own realms of the soul, royalty in relation to God, not the world, royalty in our own hearths and homes, in our lives and our loves, not royalty who fight other royalty for dignity, territory, and glory, but royalty who bring out the royalty and dignity and glory in everyone else.

The proofs and signs of our royalty and our majesty are not the great works we do with little love, like King Nebuchadnezzar building the most impressive city on earth, by conquest and killing. Instead, our royalty is displayed in all the little things we can do with great love. Compared to God-given royal powers and titles like that, Nebuchadnezzar was humble and timid to a fault. To just settle for the title of some self-proclaimed semi-divine king of the greatest kingdom in the world of the time, when he already was a human being, a child of God and could have been royalty in the kingdom of God, now that is stark raving loony.

Nebuchadnezzar’s sad story of a crazy stupid choice—to consider himself a god for all the things he had done– tells us three things: 1) to recognize and be on guard against such craziness in the world around us, so that it doesn’t get into us; 2) and when it does, because it does, to reset our sanity buttons on a regular basis, especially by prayer and worship of the God who is God; and 3) find our true glory and honor where it really lies—in the One who made us and redeems us, and in the way he made us: human beings, the ultimate wonder of the universe, children of earth and heaven’s King, joint heirs with Jesus the Son, seated with him on his throne, saved and redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. What titles could match that? What more could we possibly want that would be less than all that? Why, that would be…. crazy!

This message was for Anabaptist History Sunday, the last Sunday of October. My thanks to Tony and Nathan Schrock, who did such convincing acting as Anabaptist hunters, and who surprised the daylights out of the congregation by interrupting my sermon and carrying me away from the pulpit (although I wonder if  such an example might encourage similar interruptions and endings to sermons in the future–better keep them short).

^{Daniel 3: 17} “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. ¹⁸ But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.”

A TESTIMONY

Based on Daniel 3

Background: When the alliance of European thrones and the Roman Church began to break up with the Protestant Reformation in the early 16^th Century, there arose many small, independent communities of local churches called the “Anabaptists,” because of their practice of re-baptizing those who had been baptized into the state churches in their infancy. Even though most of these Anabaptists were pacifists and peaceful, law-abiding citizens, most of the kings, bishops and other authorities in the state and church system saw them as threats to the social order. So, in many parts of Europe, they hunted them down and tortured and killed them, mercilessly, sometimes by publicly burning them at the stake. In Roman Catholic areas, one favorite way of revealing and capturing Anabaptists was to parade the communion bread through the streets of the cities, so that the faithful Catholic believers might bow down to it, on the understanding that the priest, by saying the words, “This is my body….” had actually turned it into the real body and presence of the real Christ. Because Anabaptists see more of Christ in the sharing of the bread, than in the literal bread itself (and anything else we need for life), they usually refused to bow down to it, considering it an idol, and a means of social control.

The following message is an imaginative attempt to link this Anabaptist history with a story from The Book of Daniel, Chapter 3, about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Like the Anabaptist martyrs some 21 centuries later, their faith was tested and revealed in the fires of tyranny and idolatry. Its a sermon much like what I imagine a 16^th Century Anabaptist preacher, somewhere in South Germany or Bavaria, giving.

Brothers and sisters, the Word of God tells us to “work out our salvation with fear and trembling, because it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to do his good pleasure.” I confess that I am here, preaching this morning with fear and trembling, both because of the high, holy, sacred calling of God to be his people and to enjoy his eternity, but also because of risk and the cost of gathering this morning, as David says, “in the presence of my enemies.” We can do our best to be prudent and not risk capture or death foolishly. But finally, our fate is in God’s hands, whether alone, or whenever we gather. And gather we must, both to obey and to enjoy.

Our fear and trembling are made all the worse for the loss we sustained this past week, in the death of our sister Angelique, who surrendered her life and who testified to her faith in the same way and in the same spirit as did Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, when they told the king who threw them to the flames, “the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” Those are the very words on which I wish to concentrate this morning, in order to bolster our faith, brothers and sisters, if ever we should have to face the same choice that our sister Angelique, and our forefathers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, faced.

Oh, how much we labored in prayer, with tears and groaning and fasting, brothers and sisters, on behalf of sister Angelique, that God indeed might spare her the fiery trial of her testimony before the crowds who gathered to mock her and to celebrate her terrible death. But there was no avoiding the terrible choice: death now and life forever, or life now and death forever. In the end, she was certain that she had made the choice that was both hardest and most correct. With her we wait until the day her body is indeed restored to be like that of our three friends who also went through the flames. The next time we see her, Sister Angelique will likewise bear no hint or scent of the fiery trial through which she passed, but, as Jesus promised for the righteous, she will “shine like the sun in the kingdom of my Father.”

How much we have also labored in prayer, with tears, groaning and fasting on behalf of her three children who must now grow up without their mother, as well as without their father, after he died a believer in the plague that decimated our ranks last year. The magistrate who tried her case sought to dissuade her from her testimony, by telling her that her children needed their mother to live and to raise them, and that surely her God and her conscience would relent and permit her this one reason to escape judgment, for their sake, if not hers. But Sister Angelique replied with words that I now commend to all of us: that we never know when death may take us, for whatever reason, as it had her husband. What her children needed most, she said, was for her to be faithful to her God and her conscience even at the cost of life itself, and not for them to take the place of her God, however greatly she loved them. And how greatly she did love them, like Jesus, who loved his disciples dearly, to the end, not by avoiding death but by being faithful unto death.

I hope and pray that, in the future, those children will treasure the letter she wrote them, with her heart-felt, tear-stained exhortations to be faithful unto death, as were Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. In that letter she also entrusted them to the care of God and of his church. I can assure you that each of them have found new homes among us, in our family of faith.

As with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, Angelique’s faith was revealed in contrast to the idolatry of her age. Just as those three Hebrew men would never bow down to the golden statue of King Nebuchadnezzar, neither would she bow down when the priest and the mayor paraded the bread of communion from the cathedral through the streets of the market, claiming that in that gold-covered box they carried the very body of Christ our Lord himself. If indeed it were Christ himself walking the streets of our city in flesh that we might see him, we would bow down instantly, with haste, reverence and joy! But they, in their devilish scheming, parade the communion host through the streets to see who bows down or not, and thereby reveal, and capture, any who are believers of the free and simple church of Christ, by their courageous refusal to bow down before a piece of bread.

As Angelique said in her letter to her children, if she had bowed down then and there in the street to save her life, she would have begun dying the living death of a thousand cuts and blows to her spirit and her conscience. Once begun, when would the cowardice and the compromises stop? How calmly and courageously she stood out from the crowd, on her feet, back straight, head high, while everyone else bowed, in abject fear of the authorities. She said nothing to reproach anyone. She was nothing if not peaceful and respectful. But the goose she was carrying to market to sell, I’m told, honked loudly enough, and harshly enough at the authorities to make them look ridiculous.

Oh, how cruelly she was mocked and cursed when she refused to join everyone else in the street in prostrating herself before a priest, a box of gold and a mere piece of bread. And how calmly and peacefully she bore up before such abuse. Like Christ her Lord before Pontius Pilate, she made the good confession. Like the Apostle Paul before Caesar, she fought the good fight of faith.

As our blessed Lord Jesus stood peacefully, respectfully but firmly before Pilate, so he stood there with our sister Angelique. Those who saw her, as she was led away in chains, could testify that her face was like that of an angel. And of course: she was released of the burden of any secrets left between herself and the world, with nothing left to lose in this life, and everything to gain in the next. Perhaps she saw what the blessed St. Steven saw when he was about to be killed for his testimony: the Lamb on his Throne, next to His Father, standing up to honor the one who stands up for Him.

Perhaps she even saw what King Nebuchadnezzar saw when he looked into the fire: a fourth figure walking amidst the flames with the three men who were tossed into it. “Did we not toss three men into the flames?” the king asked. “The fourth I see, walking with them is like unto a son of the gods,” he added.

Now I don’t know exactly what King Nebuchadnezzar had in mind when he said he saw “a son of the gods” in that fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Did he mean an angel or a cherub or some other heavenly being? Or did God use him to say to us, thousands of years later, that should ever we walk through the fire and the flames in faithful testimony to him, there walks with us The Son of God, true God of true God, of one Substance with the Father, who has gone that way before us, even to death and through death, and who will guide us and sustain us through it? Who is this Jesus our Lord if he is not Emmanuel, God with us, even in the hottest of fires and the deepest of waters?

And so I tell us what Angelique would tell us, from the words of Jesus himself: “Fear not those who can only kill the body but who have no power over the soul. Fear him who has power to cast both body and soul into hell” if we refuse his grace and flee instead into the arms of the world. “Love not the world and the things thereof,” writes John the Beloved. “Love one another,” he says, especially since we never know when the Anabaptist hunters might catch any one of us, and we might need to commend our wives, our husbands, our children or our aging parents into the care of other brothers and sisters. “But the things of this world, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life and the love of possessions,” John says, “are passing away” with that same world.

When I think of Nebuchadnezzar’s statue of gold, before which men and women of all the races and tribes and languages in his empire were to bow down and worship, I am reminded of something I once read about an ancient statue somewhere in the hot and desert regions of the world. It is also a tall, imposing and impressive statue of an ancient king, who, like Nebuchadnezzar, demanded not only the loyalty and the law-abiding respect of his subjects—we would have no quarrel with that—but who demanded the faith and the worship of his subjects. That we cannot give; it is blasphemous. On this statue are written the words, “I am King of Kings; Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair!” Despair, he says, because there were no palaces nor pyramids nor armies nor cities nor fortresses nor walls nor monuments in that ancient day to match his. Despair, he says, of ever matching him in glory, grandeur and might.

But that same statue, I also read, is now broken, with the head of the so-called King of Kings, lying at an angle next to his broken, eroded feet. All around his statue lie only rocks, rubble and sand, the rubbish of the passing ages. And thus has it lain since before the days of the apostles. Yes, look upon his works, ye mighty, and despair, for such fate awaits all empires, armies and monuments and everything else you wish for men to worship and to fear, after the flesh and the world. The same fate awaits all those who today construct castles and cathedrals over the bodies and with the blood of the poor and the martyrs. Around us are the ruins of ampitheaters, aquaducts and the pagan temples of civilizations long passed. When the same decay shall overtake the cathedrals and the castles of our day, in which are hatched the schemes of those who hunt down true saints like Sister Angelique, the kingdom for which she died, and for which we live, will stand as her vindication, and ours.

And if our daily prayers for the king and the mayor and the city elders are answered, our prayers for wisdom, justice and peace, so that we may one day serve God and humanity in peace, and without fear of fire or hunger, remember that our courage will be still needed in that day of tolerance and freedom. For the beloved Apostle Paul told us that “all who seek to live godly lives in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” If not with fire, rack and sword, then with enticement, ridicule and rejection.

So when it comes to bowing down before a mere box of gold with a mere sliver of bread inside, and bowing down only to the One who walks through the fire with us, let us remember which choice leads to eternal life, and which one leads to eternal death. If you have been baptized again, as an adult, and have professed your faith anew, voluntarily, and have repented of your sins, mended the wicked ways of your past, and now seek to live in harmless, defenseless love for God and all mortals, you have already invested too much in God’s eternal kingdom to lose heart, turn back and forfeit the glorious eternal reward that awaits you. Compared to eternity, it is only a little while that we must wait and wonder what shall befall us in this world, and if God counts us worthy, to suffer for his glory. Whether its the flames, the ax or the rack we must face, the One who walks the flames with us will deliver us through them, even if he does not deliver us from them. And if it helps, remember Sister Angelique…..

Actors break in through the back door and say: “All right, you, we’ve heard enough of your treason and heresy! We’re taking you in to see the Mayor and the Bishop. Let’s see if you still preach such a bold sermon then!”