Hannah
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the statue. A giant thing. With jagged pieces. Pure gold. It was huge. A thousand feet tall. A hundred feet wide. Pure gold that caught the sun and blinded me but turned pink as the sun closed in on the horizon. It cast a shadow that followed us, and was so black, blocking the moon, I was afraid. I couldn’t stop looking.
Rumor said it was modeled after a dream so vivid and so hidden that our king almost slaughtered his wise men because they pcouldn’t tell him what it meant or what it was because he did not remember. Why would he kill his wise men just because they didn’t know something impossible? Who would guide him, guide us if they were all dead? We heard the dream came in parts-gold head, silver chest and arms, bronze thighs, iron legs, iron and clay feet. A stone rolled down over it shattering it. Then it swelled until it covered the whole earth. These were kingdoms of the world. And a stone would smash them, a stone would grow into a mountain filling the whole world. That’s what my husband, Mishael, said he heard. He said G-d dropped Daniel to his belly, set up the statue in a vision, spelled out what it meant.
But this statue was pure gold, made to look like King Nebuchadnezzer. Blinding in the sun. A darkness over the town darker than any shadow. The face looked so fierce, like he ruled the world, like he was a god, our king was making a god, better than the one he saw in his dream. Our king who wanted to slaughter his wisdom, who almost killed my beloved. How could he take God’s name in vain?
I was full of dread over that statue, hoping the workmen would take their time. But I loved watching them bring timbers from Lebanon to make a web of ribs so it could stand. I loved seeing pieces of gold, rolled in by giant horses. And the men tinier and tinier as they fashioned it, way up high. I couldn’t take my eyes off, even though it looked more and more evil the larger it grew, far grander than the stone phalluses and golden bulls that infuriated G-d, and got us carried to Babylon. The last thing we wanted to do was worship any god but the G-d who cried out through Jeremiah, “Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the Lord, for my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves that can hold no water” (Jer. 2:12 – 13, ESV).
Five times a day we turned to Jerusalem and prayed: “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul! I will praise the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being. Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation. When his breath departs, he returns to earth; on that day his plans perish” (Psalm 146: 1 – 4).
We sang, “Put not your trust in princes.” But the king was keeping us safe. No bands of screaming men rode down on our villages. We could grow our food, tend our livestock. We could buy goods when caravans came. God had told us to settle here. To plant vineyards, build houses. He said he would make us prosper. “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future” (Jer. 29: 11, NIV).
But this statue was so big, so grand, it filled my eyes day after day. I fell for it. It was like strong wine that I couldn’t stop drinking. I could feel my heart following my eyes, turning toward it.
My husband leaned over to my ear, whispered, “Remember in the dream, the feet were clay and iron. Remember a mountain tipped over and rolled down its own sides and smashed the statue.” But there in front of me the monster was pure gold. There were no mountains here on the plain of Dura.
Then the King said he would burn us alive if we did not worship his image. When the music played we would worship. What did it matter if I went along, if I chanted my prayer in my heart: “Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man…”
The night before the dance, I heard fragments of music, as the musicians tuned their instruments. The stars were so bright they hurt my eyes. The king god reflected them. But it wasn’t the stars. It was gold, magnificent gold, rich beyond compare, but made by hands, dug out of the ground, smelted. My feet stood in grass that wrapped around them, that cooled them. But I saw how the king god was made. I don’t know how the stars were made. Or the grass. Or the sun that made it glow.
The music captured our hearts and bodies. The people began dancing, then falling to their bellies, stretched out. I thought of Daniel flattened to the ground. My heart pounded. “Blessed is he, whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord our God, who made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them, who keeps faith forever, who executes justice for the oppressed and gives food for the hungry” (Psalm 146: 5 – 6).
I felt defiance gather behind my breastbone, a defiance that announced that I worship the God who made these stars, the God who told Daniel the vision. No, I would not dance. I would not bow. My heart pounded. Nobody cared that I did not bow. I was a woman.
Mishael would not, he did not drop to his knees.
A few days later, he was called before the king. He put on his wedding robes, robes he’d brought with him, from the beautiful land. He put his hands on my shoulders, his eyes deep pools, water trickling down his cheeks, water seeping from rock, water called forth from the desert. His voice rasped: “Behold you are beautiful my love; behold you are beautiful; your eyes are doves. As a lily among brambles so is my love among young women. I came to my garden my sister, my bride, I gathered the myrrh with my spice, I ate my honeycomb with my honey, I drank my wine with my milk” (Song of Solomon 1: 15 , 2: 2, 5: 1). He kissed me between my eyes.
“Stay,” he said. “One way or the other, God will deliver me.”
I couldn’t stay .
What Happened to Mishael
The king’s fury was terrible, but he gave us a chance. He played the frantic music, beautiful in its own way to give them a chance to fall in front of the statue. We did not fall. My heart pounded. Tears seeped out of my eyes. Hannah’s perfume filled me, so sweet, so ripe with harvest.
The music silenced. The king’s voice rang out, golden and deep. “Who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?”
I felt defiance gather behind my breastbone, a defiance that announced that I worship the God who made the stars, the God who told Daniel the vision. No, I would not dance. I would not bow. I spoke, “If God chooses to deliver us from the fires you’ve stoked in that furnace, He will. If not, you be sure to know, we will not serve your gods or worship your golden image.”
“Make it burn hotter,” the king raged.
His servants wrapped us in our clothes. Tied ropes around us. My heart pounded. I could not breathe. I heard a wail off in the distance. Saw Hannah by the river. Her women holding her. My knees became water. My heart beat so hard, my head hurt. Who would keep watch? God will you? We three lifted our voices, “Praise the Lord! Praise the name of the Lord, give praise, O servants of the Lord, in the courts of the house of our God! Praise the Lord for the Lord is good; sing to his name for it is pleasant!” (Psalm 135: 1 – 3).
The fire leaped and roared out of the furnace, orange and blue bellies, jostling to be the fattest. The men with their iron fists on our arms and legs screamed, as the fire caught their clothes. And we fell in. Only we fell in water. The flames were like water. We held our breath. The flames patted us like a gentle rain, like Hannah’s quiet hands on my back and thighs and legs.
A man stepped through the door, the fire dancing as though it was bowing. His eyes were flames of fire, his clothes whiter than thunderheads. We glowed brighter than when the sun caught the statue. We could hardly bear the joy soaring through us.
The king called, “Come out” his voice golden and deep. And we stepped out. Not even our eyebrows were singed. The king’s face drooped in one big Oh. His golden voice, now hoarse. His face damp. “Blessed be the G-d of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants who trusted in him and ignored my command and yielded up their bodies rather than to serve or worship any G-d except their own G-d” (Dan 3:28, ESV).
Then he issued a decree, “Any people, nation or language that speaks anything against the G-d of Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego shall be torn limb from limb and their houses laid in ruins, for there is no other God who is able to rescue in this way” (Daniel 3:29,ESV).
Hannah
I cried and sobbed and couldn’t breathe. I screamed, “Please don’t.” My friends, the women, pinned my arms, held their hands across my mouth. I could not move. My screams silenced.
When, he walked out, my friends let me drop to the ground. I clawed the dust and didn’t know if I felt fear or joy or relief. I could not run to my beloved. My beloved is mine, and I am his; he grazes among the lilies. Until the day breathes and the shadows flee, turn my beloved, be like a gazelle or a young stag on the cleft mountains” (Song of Sol 2;16 – 17). But I had to wait for him to come to me, like waiting for a baby to be born. I know my place.
