“…while strolling
on the roof of
the royal palace
in Babylon, the king
was saying: Great
Babylon! Was it not
built by me… and
for the majesty of
my glory?” (Daniel 4: 26-27)
I am a walker. I love
to get up early and go for walks alone through the neighborhood, down to the
park, saying hi to the neighbors who are also early birds. Over the year we have become a little sunrise
community. And we notice when someone is missing. For instance, I had been
sleeping in for a few days recently and when I got back out at my normal time,
a man I see most mornings greeted me with an enthusiastic: Hola, mi amigo.
His voice was so full of cheer and welcome that I was practically
walking on air most of the day. Hola,
mi amigo. Not only was it nice to
feel noticed, and greeted with such friendliness, but I have to say I was also
struck by the words, the sound of the phrase: mi amigo. My friend is what it means, but the
sound of it says something more; that interior rhyme –the two “mi” sounds—gives
this greeting a kind of warmth and lightness that the English phrase: my friend
lacks. There is a kind of delight in this
phrase that endears it to me and endears that speaker to me. He is someone whose name I don’t know. Before now, I have always greeted him with a
smile and a friendly, “Good morning.” But now, I think I can’t stop thinking
about his smile, his slightly leaning gait, and that delightful greeting. And
now, I want to say something more to “mi amigo.”
As I was saying, for most of the day I was delighted by the
memory of that greeting echoing in my ear.
It gave an incomprehensible sense of peace and joy. I felt not only noticed, but somehow, I felt
loved because of the gentle and sweet words of a stranger.
The next time you see a neighbor on the street, remember that. A simple, sincere greeting can mean so much.
Back to my other point: Because I am a walker, I think I
probably pick up on that image when it shows up in books and poems and movies.
I feel a kinship with the “walkers” of the world. And here I was reading about the king of
Babylon strolling on his rooftop, surveying his own glorious kingdom and giving
thanks to the one who built it: himself! For his own majesty and glory. Nebuchadnezzar goes for a walk on his palace
rooftop and gazing at his own splendid kingdom begins to sing his own praises,
his own glory. Life is pretty good when
you are the king of Babylon. He’s
conquered most of the known world, has enslaved the people of Israel and now
has a moment to rest and reflect and what does he see, what does he reflect on
but his own power and glory and majesty. He is –as far as he can tell—the king
of the world and he deserves all the credit, all the praise, all the glory.
Because he did it all! And –as Frank Sinatra used to sing—he “did it, MY way……”
I have read the book of Daniel several times, and this is
the first time I noticed that Nebuchadnezzar’s walking on the palace rooftop
comes right after three other characters go for a walk in a very different
setting. And both times, in both strolls,
the characters are singing someone’s praises. In chapter 3 we have the famous story of the
fiery furnace and Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. In that story three young men
(Israelites) are thrown into a fiery furnace because they refuse to honor
Nebuchadnezzar’s decree and worship his golden statue (another sign of his
splendor). He has them thrown into the furnace to be burned alive, only to see
them walking unharmed among the flames, “praising God and blessing the Lord”
(3:24)[1]. And
when the king calls them out of the flames, he discovers they are unharmed, not
even the smell of smoke on their clothes or in their hair. Even in their suffering they gave thanks to
God and were delivered unharmed for the glory of God. That is one way of walking through life. To
give thanks to God for whatever we have, good or bad, to receive it and be
grateful –if not for the flame itself, for the fact that God’s presence is
there every day walking our path with us. Our amigo.
Another way is Nebuchadnezzar’s approach, to give thanks for
his own glory, his own ingenuity, his own success, to give thanks to himself
for all the great things he has achieved! Thinking only of himself, and his abilities,
his awesomeness. And what happens to
Nebuchadnezzar after he goes for his walk alone (his solo stroll)? He ends up going mad. He goes into a kind of
frenzy and starts living out in the fields like a beast, eating grass like an
oxen, sleeping on the cold damp ground, wet with dew, his fingernails become
like talons and his hair like a bird’s feathers (4:30). Placing ourselves at the center of our
universe, building up our own egos with golden statues and mighty palaces,
kingdoms of our own glory, leads to madness. Turns us into animals, or
something worse: a self-destructive beast.
But, when we are willing to see that we are not in charge, that the
world, the fates, God in all His glory, is actually in charge—then we can find
peace even when we walk through flames. Even when the world seeks to destroy
us, we can find peace and even a kind of joy that comes from knowing, we aren’t
in charge. The world does not depend on us.
We are here because God wants us here, we are seeds He has planted and
we are called to grow and bloom right there --wherever we are planted.
I tend to like to walk alone. To get out by myself and wander. But walking alone can become a habit, or even what we used to call a near occasion of sin. I could be tempted to become like King Nebuchadnezzar, walking alone and thinking only of myself and my importance, my independence and solitude, my worries and my concerns. I can become overly isolated and "independent" in the worst of all possible ways.
To find joy and delight even in the hardships, even in the fiery furnace, even in this time of social distancing and quarantines, we must walk with others. We must share our gifts, share our joys, the peace, the delight that God plants within us. We must share it with anyone (and everyone) we meet. Because whether we are walking on the rooftop of a palace or amid the flames of a fiery furnace, we are never truly alone. There is another who walks with us. A friend. A savior. Someone we might even call--mi amigo. We are communal creatures, made to be in relationship with others. Literally made for others. Don't hide from it, and please don't hide your lamp under a basket. We need every light shining, especially now. Go out into the world and be light, be a friend, be an amigo.
I tend to like to walk alone. To get out by myself and wander. But walking alone can become a habit, or even what we used to call a near occasion of sin. I could be tempted to become like King Nebuchadnezzar, walking alone and thinking only of myself and my importance, my independence and solitude, my worries and my concerns. I can become overly isolated and "independent" in the worst of all possible ways.
To find joy and delight even in the hardships, even in the fiery furnace, even in this time of social distancing and quarantines, we must walk with others. We must share our gifts, share our joys, the peace, the delight that God plants within us. We must share it with anyone (and everyone) we meet. Because whether we are walking on the rooftop of a palace or amid the flames of a fiery furnace, we are never truly alone. There is another who walks with us. A friend. A savior. Someone we might even call--mi amigo. We are communal creatures, made to be in relationship with others. Literally made for others. Don't hide from it, and please don't hide your lamp under a basket. We need every light shining, especially now. Go out into the world and be light, be a friend, be an amigo.
[1]
This part of the story comes from the Greek text of the OT and is usually
included in the Apocrypha in most Protestant Bibles. But it is considered canonical by all the Orthodox
churches and the Roman Catholic church and is therefore included in the Book of
Daniel in these versions. If it isn’t in your Bible, here
is a link to it.
