"Who's This God That Will Save You?"

Waiting for God (preached the second week of Advent)

by Chelsea Harmon

My friend Annette emigrated from the Netherlands to the U.S. after WWII. Her real name isn't actually Annette. She was born Ankia. But when she started school in America, she was called into the principal's office. He told her that her name was too hard for others to say and they needed to change it if she wanted to fit in. He said, "You'll be Angela from now on." A few days later, "Angela" was playing on the swing set when she realized that she didn't much like her new name, so she went back to the principal's office and asked for a new one. That day, Ankia's identity shifted from a Dutch girl in America, to being Annette, the Dutch-American girl.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego went through a similar identity shift. They were Jews in exile, a foreign people serving in a foreign land and a foreign king. As three of the best and brightest young men, Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah were taken from their family and trained in the Babylonian court in their way of doing things. They were given new Babylonian names, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, to replace their Hebrew ones. Each new day in the Babylonian court seemed to bring with it new obstacle that kept them from their Jewish identity and way of life.

Nebuchadnezzar, the vain-glory driven king, didn't help matters much either. He built statues that displayed his wealth and power. He made laws concerning his subject's worship practices. He let himself be misled by his astrologers as he pursued supreme status in the kingdom. Nebuchadnezzar didn't care about equality and the right to religious expression. He cared about obedience, and he cared about his own greatness.

So when Nebuchadnezzar built a ninety foot tall statue plated in gold to commemorate his greatness, he threw a party, calling anyone who was anybody together for its dedication. Once they were all assembled in the shadow of the statue, the decree was made public. It was now the law that anytime you heard the band strike up and play a tune, you had to bow down and worship the statue. All people. All nations. All languages. No exceptions. Failure to comply was to seal one's fate: death in the flames of the furnace.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego may have been able to hide some of their religious practices like praying and sacrificing up until the day the statue was raised. They may have been able to thwart some of the king's attempt to take away their Jewish identity. But no more. With this decree, whenever they heard the music, they were to do as everyone else did and worship a golden statue.

But hadn't Israel already learned that lesson? Didn't that lesson cost the Israelites forty years in the wilderness? It was the people who built the golden statue while Moses was on the mountain that were not allowed to enter God's promised land.

And hadn't the prophet Hosea told the people of Israel how angry God was that they were worshipping idols? Didn't Hosea warn God's people of their impending destruction and exile for their wayward faithfulness? It was Hosea who symbolically named his children "Not pitied" and "Not my people" to show how God was feeling about his people.

When the Israelites made the statue of Baal during Moses' absence, they did so because they didn't believe that Moses was coming back. The dark times of their slavery were creeping back into their memories and they wanted something – anything – to follow to safety. In Hosea's time, the Israelites were looking to secure their agricultural well-being; it seemed prudent – almost a matter of survival – to worship the god of fertility along with the god of Israel.

For Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego and every other Israelite in exile, worshipping King Nebuchadnezzar's statue was a matter of survival. The king's edict made that clear enough. But Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego weren't dumb. They knew their people's sordid past, that their exile was a punishment for Israel's decisions to live in darkness. They also knew that God called them to faithfulness—even if it seemed rather pointless.

So they stood their ground and were dragged before the king. And Nebuchadnezzar, full of himself and his own power, full of evil, mocked them, "I am the man who captured you. I am the man you serve now. I gave you new names. I own you. There's no other god here. Who's this god that will save you from me?"

Who's this god that will save you?

Who's this god that will save you from economic ruin when your 401 k has dried up and you've lost not only your job but your savings?

Who's this god that will save you from physical harm in a world of abuse, violence and war?

Who's this god that will save you from cancer and Alzheimer's, arthritis and miscarriages?

Who's this god that will save you from oppression and segregation, racism and sexism?

Who's this god that will save you?

We live in a time of crisis. Our identities are shaken and tested by the overwhelming darkness. Will we bow down to the statues of our day – will we do what will help us survive? Nebuchadnezzars come in more forms than prideful kings because evil is very present in our world.

At my church, there's a garden commemorating the numerous children who died too young, some never reaching their first birthday. The unemployment rate in the state of Michigan is the highest its been in almost twenty years. Terrorist attacks in the streets of Mumbai, India target people of all nations and religions. These acts of evil in the world mock us and our faith in God. They ask us, "Who's this god that will save you from me?"

Who is the god that will save you when you're bed-ridden and frail? When you are lonely and depressed and wonder if people really do love you? When your kids no longer want to speak to you because of some rift or heartache? Who is the god that will save you when the darkness is all around and seems to smother any hope of light?

As they moved from the shadow of the statue to the shadow of the king, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were in the thick of darkness. They knew that they were walking to their deaths. What they didn't know was what God was going to do. These three Jewish men told the king matter-of-factly that they had no need to defend themselves before evil and darkness in the world. They had to stand for the light. They answered the king's "Who will save you?" with a steady reply: "Our God is able to save us from you, King Nebuchadnezzar. But even if our God doesn't, we're still not going to bow down to your golden statue."

Their defiance sent the mighty king into an uproar. Who were these Jews to disobey him? Nebuchadnezzar wasted no time turning the heat up, seven times hotter than before—the hottest it could get. He rushed to have his guards tie up Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. He threw them into the flames of the furnace. He thought that'd be the end of the fight, that he – and evil – would have the last word.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego just stood up to the most powerful man in the country. The men who threw them into a blaze of flames all died instantly. And yet, here they were in the flames, but not consumed by them. Surrounded by the heat and scorch, but not singed or burned.

And there's this fourth person in the furnace, untying them, walking around with them, calling them by their real names: Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah. Maybe they've died and this is some sort of ritual cleansing by the angel. Or maybe, just maybe, they are still alive, still living and breathing in the Babylonian court, still standing up instead of bowing down before an idol.

Within those flames of darkness, the life-giving light of the world shone forth. Within that furnace was God with us, Emmanuel. And Emmanuel, with great care and might of his own to outmatch Nebuchadnezzar, untied Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and freed them from the evil that desired to take their lives and identities away. Darkness was all around them. Evil tried to consume them in the flames of the furnace. But God was there too, and in God's light, there is no darkness that can overwhelm.

It's easy for us to see God's hand and miracles in this story. Even the proud king was humbled by the almighty God who stayed and sustained in the flames of the furnace. But what if Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego had died? Would we still read this story? Would we tell it to the next generation as an example of God's faithfulness?

In the catacombs of the persecuted church, the story of the fiery furnace is painted all over the walls. It's painted there because it gave Christians hope as they suffered in their own flames of evil and as they watched their loved ones be consumed by it. The story of the three Jewish guys in the flames of the furnace spoke the truth of a good God who is able to save, but doesn't always in this life. The death of the martyrs speak clearly with the same resolve of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego to the mocking question of oppression and evil, "Who will save you?" Their deaths resound the truth and pronounce, "Our God is able, but even if he doesn't we will not bow down and give in to the darkness of evil."

Unlike Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, there are many in this world and in history that were not delivered from the flames unscathed. But unlike Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, we know one very important thing:

We know what God's going to do.

We are advent people waiting for Jesus to return and end all suffering once and for all. In these little candle's flames that we lit this morning, we look forward to when Jesus will bring flames of his own, destroying evil and building a new heaven and earth. In the new heaven and earth there's no room for the furnaces of Dachau and Nebuchadnezzar or the mass gravesites of the Rwanda and the forced exile of any of God's people. There's no room for lonely nights in hospital beds, frailty and dying. There's no room for pilfered savings accounts, or communication breakdown among friends and family. In the new heaven and new earth, there's no room for bread lines and food stamps, hunger and poverty. There's no room for darkness and evil.

There's no room for darkness and evil because in Emmanuel, God with us, the world has seen a great light. The Emmanuel who was in the flames of the furnace so long ago, came to this earth once before and gave us a glimpse of what's to come—what we're waiting for this advent season. The Emmanuel who untied Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego from the bonds of the evil king, freed us from sin and suffering in this world by his death on the cross. But he also fed the hungry and cured the sick. He healed the broken and he loved deeply. He preached good news and said, "I will save you completely. I will give you eternal life." For truly no other God can save in this way.

Waiting in advent is waiting for eternity to begin. Waiting in advent is to begin to live into the reality of God "breaking in" to the darkness of this world. It's doing our part, proclaiming God's truths and doing God's work by the power of the Holy Spirit. Like Jesus, it's feeding the hungry and loving deeply. Like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, we stand for light as we follow Christ's model.

So when suffering and evil and the world mocks you, and asks, "Who's this god who will save you from me?" wait for the advent of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and proclaim with the resolve of Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego and the martyrs of all times and places, that our God is able to save us from the darkness of evil. Now and for all eternity. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

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