And when he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto Daniel: and the king spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions? Daniel 6:20
It was a rhetorical question; the type you use when you are teaching a class to emphasize a point that might otherwise slip unnoticed through the hearts and minds of your students.
“Can G_d still deliver during times of need today?”
But this morning I actually chose the question for another reason. Reading the verse quoted above out loud for the first time, despite the time and effort spent in a comprehensive study of the chapter, brought sudden memories boiling into my consciousness from a time long ago where that same question could have been leveled squarely in my direction. The moment the ancient words from King Darius left my lips overwhelmed me, and I needed time to compose myself while I fought to hold back tears.
I pretended I had something in my eye even as the question was met with a resounding ‘Amen!’ from the majority of the class, accompanied by smiles and generally good feelings all around. After all, He certainly can deliver when needed.
These are fearless answers from a safe distance—a Talladega faith travelling on a narrow, forty-mile-an hour county road. But there is another light for asking this question and it is one we do not like to talk about. Ask about deliverance to one who stands before an open casket regretfully saying goodbye to a loved one. Ask them if He can deliver a broken, disheartened soul in those moments. The boss calls a meeting in his office and begins the conversation with “I regret to inform you” and it goes downhill from there. Standing in the unemployment line with thoughts of mortgage payments and insurance skating across your consciousness, you find yourself asking the question, “Is He able to deliver me?” What is the answer when put forth in a courtroom, as a marriage is dissolved and the lawyers haggle over details for child support and visitation rights? The doctor frowns and states, “I don’t like what I’m seeing in your x-rays, we need to schedule some further tests.” A spouse is confronted with the unthinkable: “We’ve drifted apart and I no longer love you.” Can He still deliver from the lions in these situations?
The question may burn, but it burns to be answered.
No matter how secure we think we are in this life, the truth is we are merely a heartbeat away from our own proverbial lion’s den. Life is hard. Life is tough. We live in a fallen world among other sinful descendents of Adam and Eve. It’s bound to get messy or even… worse.
The surety of Darius that Daniels’ G_d could deliver in verse 16 was not so certain later that night when the proof was in the pudding. Likewise a ‘sunny day answer’ pales during our own dark, sleepless nights when our faith is tested by troubles and trials that will still be there—only bigger—when morning’s light finally (mercifully?) arrives. And we long for the answer in the same manner, with our own familiar and lamentable cry: “Is my G_d able to deliver me?”
As I write this from my living room, a comforting flame emanates from the fireplace and the dogs lay curled listlessly under my chair. Outside the temperature has dropped and I’m alone tonight; but there is nothing to fear here. I am safe and warm. Divine deliverance, though much appreciated, is not searched for nor needed in this comfortable hour even though, right now, I am certain it is and always will be there.
I find myself writing in a mindset not unlike Darius before he regretfully gave the command to execute Daniel’s sentence and cast him into the lion’s den. “Thy G_d whom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee.” This is a statement of fact as sure as water is wet and ice is cold—the G_d we serve can and will deliver us.
The winds of change have begun to blow across our nation, and the breeze is beginning to build into the ides of something possibly much more sinister looming just over the horizon. We face an uncertain future, all of us. Now is the time to be thinking, to be making sure in our own hearts, because Darius’ question will be asked soon enough to all of us and we’ll need to trust in our very own answer:
Is He able to deliver us?
The Decree Of The Watchers
Young Adult Sunday School Lesson – March 3, 2013
This matter is by the decree of the watchers, and the demand by the word of the holy ones: to the intent that the living may know that the most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth it to whomsoever he will, and setteth up over it the basest of men. Daniel 4:17
Things are different in the angelic world than they are down here on the human side of creation. From what is stated in Psalms 8 you could contemplate that jealousy might have played a part in this verse, a form of not-so-sibling rivalry being the culprit—possibly. But just maybe the angels close proximity to the Creator merely allows them to see things a little more clearly, you know, the way things truly are.
By the decree of the Watchers. You can’t blame me on this one. The statement is not from my thoughts or rising from an intemperate place in my heart. I only quoted what is recorded here within the truth of G_d’s Word.
Question: How far do you have to drift, how arrogantly evil do you have to be, until it reaches the point when the Watchers and Holy ones in Heaven decree that something needs to be done?
Nebuchadnezzar has had several miraculous revelations of G_d’s will and His power. From the extra sensory perception dream interpretation by Daniel in chapter 2, to the fading embers of a by-now-quenched fiery furnace we read about in class last week; he has been shown beyond a shadow of a doubt the revelation of who really runs things. And this not only applies to his Babylonian kingdom, but throughout the Spiritual realm around him as well. By now all of his doubts should have been removed. He should have understood by firsthand experience the scripture: Remember the former things of old: for I am G_d, and there is none else; I am G_d, and there is none like me.
But once again, Nebuchadnezzar has a dream. Again it is a nightmare. Again, he calls for the magicians and soothsayers to interpret the dream for him. Again, it is only Daniel who can interpret the dream and its warnings for an all-to-human King who is still shackled by his belief in far too many gods. Does he trust in Daniel’s G_d? Certainly. Yet to him, Jehovah is merely one deity among many who can suit his religious purposes, but only on an as needed basis.
(Before I cast stones here, am I much different? Am I prone to worship the G_d of Heaven on Sunday yet revert to the god of self-reliance and objectivity by Monday morning? Is my so-called worship on Sunday something I do simply to feel better about myself or to rationalize any fears that I face for my own future?)
The Watchers had seen enough. The decree went out in a dream and Daniel interpreted it, and even as he spoke, the proverbial clock began ticking for Nebuchadnezzar. For a full year (12 months) Nebuchadnezzar neither repented nor changed his ways, and finally judgment fell. By the decree of the Watchers, and the demand of the Holy ones, it was Daniel’s G_d who took away Nebuchadnezzar’s mental abilities and left him eating grass while pawing listlessly in the dirt.
G_d is Holy, Divine, and Omnipotent. He did not need the Watchers or the Holy ones to tell Him what to do or how to react. What is amazing here (and scary at the same time) is that the angels noticed the evil for themselves. They observe in each moment and understand the most important thing, which is their part of the Spiritual pecking order that we as humans are sometimes prone to forget: “the most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth it to whomsoever he will, and setteth up over it the basest of men.”
Thankfully (Wonderfully!) in this passage of scripture, we also get a glimpse of G_d’s Amazing Grace. After seven long years, Nebuchadnezzar’s understanding and mental facilities return, and He glorifies Jehovah as the Supreme G_d. Finally, finally, he learns. At long last, he gets it.
An interesting thought here is I believe those same Watchers and Holy ones who earlier condemned his actions were applauding Nebuchadnezzar as he repented. Jesus explains, “Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of G_d over one sinner that repenteth.”
I’ll take that favored applause of Heaven over heavenly judgment any day of the week. I’ll bet if he were here, Nebuchadnezzar would tell you the same thing.
Apple Pie Grace
“My man!” I called out cheerfully to the vending machine technician, who was busy refilling the unit in the break-room. He shook my hand and smiled—a good smile for a Monday morning—and then turned meticulously back to his work. He’s one of the faster guys at his job, and his movements are orchestrated to complete the task and move on down the road to the next plant or office in the next city. A pleasant man and long time acquaintance of mine, he insures that Pay Days and Milky Ways are available to any of those willing to partake of their so-called empty caloric content.
I made a move toward the coffee pot, the destination for this mid-morning side trip into the realm of the hourly employees. A cheerful wrapper beckoned to me as I passed it on the table – an apple pie in a fancy wrapper, too expensive for casual tastes when one counted its worth against the listed retail price.
“How ‘bout them Niners?” His voice split the room, jerking my mind out of its reverie of all things American.
Mom and apple pie? Isn’t that the old saying?
“Nah. don’t care for the Niners.” I offered back. “First time in my adult life I can honestly admit I was pulling for Atlanta.”
“C’mon man.” He interjected. “What about Joe Montana and Jerry Rice?”
“These aren’t those Niners.” I objected. “This team couldn’t tie their shoelaces.”
The coffee pot was empty (of course) so with an under-the-breath sigh, I placed the pot in the sink and began rinsing it while simultaneously scanning the counter-top for a fresh pack of coffee and a filter.
“You want that pie on the table?” He pointed with his eyes. His words hung in the air for a miniscule second, one of those moments in time you’ll scarce remember and soon forget. By the time I had entertained the thought, he had turned and was once again neck-deep into his vending machine.
I eyed the package on the table. Usually because the pies are expiration dated and seldom sell in time, he pulls them from the machine and gives them away. I was hungry. The pie would be good—maybe great. Add a fresh cup of coffee into the mix and, well, you’ve certainly got something good there. But then again, there was probably one of the hourly guys on the floor a lot hungrier than I was at the moment. And truth be told, they probably needed it a lot more than I did.
“Thanks anyway, but I think I’ll pass.” I went back to my goal of making that fresh pot of coffee.
He stuck his head back out of the machine.
“I pulled that one for you, man.” The disappointment showed in his face. “It’s not even close to being out of date. You’ll love it, I promise.” With a wink he turned back to his machine, leaving me to ponder what it would smell like when I opened it—an aroma of apples and cinnamon. I could almost taste that pie!
I dug out my wallet, remembering before I opened the worn, leather folds that it would be empty. Direct deposit has a sneaky way of leaving you without cash at the most inopportune of moments. I could not offer him anything for the pie. Yet even though it was free, it still didn’t seem right.
“What if I take the pie and then catch you when you come by on Thursday and pay you for it?” I asked. “I’ll even buy another pie from you and boost your profits.”
He leaned back out of the machine, eyeing me as if I had just uttered the inner secrets of nuclear fusion to a native of Borneo. “Why?” He asked. “It’s free, dude.”
The pot was gurgling at this point; coffee saddled with a promise of life returning to normal on this cold winter morning. I could take the pie, sure. But then, somewhere in his mind—or at least in my mind—wouldn’t I owe him something for his supposed generosity? Shades of Hamlet and ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be’ floated up from my collegiate memory.
He closed the machine as I poured my cup a few seconds later, and walked on over, dropping the pie on the counter beside me. “Here man, take it. On me.”
“OK, OK.” I spread my hands in resignation. “I’ll take the pie and help you gather up your boxes and carry stuff out to your truck. Then we’ll be even.”
“Don’t need your help. Don’t need your money. Don’t need your time.” He smiled. “I’ve gotta go. The pie is yours and I’ll see you, maybe, on Thursday. Have a great week and hopefully you’ll see the light about those Niners, bud.” He was out the door and well on his way to his truck before I could respond; no wasted effort or motion in any of his actions.
I stared down at the green and white wrapper. It was indeed, free. I had no money on me to pay for it. And though somebody out on the floor might want it or need it worse than I, he had chosen me to benefit from his gift.
Today.
Things might be different tomorrow, or later in the plant down the street. But today I was the recipient of his gift. All I had to do was accept it, pick it up, and walk back my office and enjoy his donation, his grace, with my coffee.
What to do, what to do?
I made a move toward the coffee pot, the destination for this mid-morning side trip into the realm of the hourly employees. A cheerful wrapper beckoned to me as I passed it on the table – an apple pie in a fancy wrapper, too expensive for casual tastes when one counted its worth against the listed retail price.
“How ‘bout them Niners?” His voice split the room, jerking my mind out of its reverie of all things American.
Mom and apple pie? Isn’t that the old saying?
“Nah. don’t care for the Niners.” I offered back. “First time in my adult life I can honestly admit I was pulling for Atlanta.”
“C’mon man.” He interjected. “What about Joe Montana and Jerry Rice?”
“These aren’t those Niners.” I objected. “This team couldn’t tie their shoelaces.”
The coffee pot was empty (of course) so with an under-the-breath sigh, I placed the pot in the sink and began rinsing it while simultaneously scanning the counter-top for a fresh pack of coffee and a filter.
“You want that pie on the table?” He pointed with his eyes. His words hung in the air for a miniscule second, one of those moments in time you’ll scarce remember and soon forget. By the time I had entertained the thought, he had turned and was once again neck-deep into his vending machine.
I eyed the package on the table. Usually because the pies are expiration dated and seldom sell in time, he pulls them from the machine and gives them away. I was hungry. The pie would be good—maybe great. Add a fresh cup of coffee into the mix and, well, you’ve certainly got something good there. But then again, there was probably one of the hourly guys on the floor a lot hungrier than I was at the moment. And truth be told, they probably needed it a lot more than I did.
“Thanks anyway, but I think I’ll pass.” I went back to my goal of making that fresh pot of coffee.
He stuck his head back out of the machine.
“I pulled that one for you, man.” The disappointment showed in his face. “It’s not even close to being out of date. You’ll love it, I promise.” With a wink he turned back to his machine, leaving me to ponder what it would smell like when I opened it—an aroma of apples and cinnamon. I could almost taste that pie!
I dug out my wallet, remembering before I opened the worn, leather folds that it would be empty. Direct deposit has a sneaky way of leaving you without cash at the most inopportune of moments. I could not offer him anything for the pie. Yet even though it was free, it still didn’t seem right.
“What if I take the pie and then catch you when you come by on Thursday and pay you for it?” I asked. “I’ll even buy another pie from you and boost your profits.”
He leaned back out of the machine, eyeing me as if I had just uttered the inner secrets of nuclear fusion to a native of Borneo. “Why?” He asked. “It’s free, dude.”
The pot was gurgling at this point; coffee saddled with a promise of life returning to normal on this cold winter morning. I could take the pie, sure. But then, somewhere in his mind—or at least in my mind—wouldn’t I owe him something for his supposed generosity? Shades of Hamlet and ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be’ floated up from my collegiate memory.
He closed the machine as I poured my cup a few seconds later, and walked on over, dropping the pie on the counter beside me. “Here man, take it. On me.”
“OK, OK.” I spread my hands in resignation. “I’ll take the pie and help you gather up your boxes and carry stuff out to your truck. Then we’ll be even.”
“Don’t need your help. Don’t need your money. Don’t need your time.” He smiled. “I’ve gotta go. The pie is yours and I’ll see you, maybe, on Thursday. Have a great week and hopefully you’ll see the light about those Niners, bud.” He was out the door and well on his way to his truck before I could respond; no wasted effort or motion in any of his actions.
I stared down at the green and white wrapper. It was indeed, free. I had no money on me to pay for it. And though somebody out on the floor might want it or need it worse than I, he had chosen me to benefit from his gift.
Today.
Things might be different tomorrow, or later in the plant down the street. But today I was the recipient of his gift. All I had to do was accept it, pick it up, and walk back my office and enjoy his donation, his grace, with my coffee.
What to do, what to do?
But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8
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