Life Lessons from Daniel and Esther: Faith Under Pressure

by Max Lucado

The Bible is not a newspaper to be skimmed but rather a mine to be quarried.

Nebuchadnezzar had no peers. He was the uncontested ruler of the world. Babylon rose out of the desert plains like a Manhattan skyline. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, which he built for his wife, were one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. The walls of his royal palace were 320 feet high and 80 feet thick. Two four-horse chariots could ride abreast on them. The mighty Euphrates River flowed through the city. During Nebuchadnezzar’s forty-three-year rule, greater Babylon’s population reached as high as half a million people. The king was part oil baron, part royalty, part hedge-fund billionaire. Were he alive today, he would dominate the Forbes list of billionaires. .

Nebuchadnezzar refused to listen. Even as the words were on his lips, a voice came from heaven, “This is what is decreed for you, King Nebuchadnezzar: Your royal authority has been taken from you. You will be driven away from people and will live with the wild animals; you will eat grass like the ox” (verses 31–32). The king became an ancient version of Howard Hughes: corkscrew fingernails, wild hair, animalistic. . . . When the mighty fall, the fall is mighty. One minute he was on the cover of Time magazine; the next he was banished like a caged creature. And we are left with a lesson: God hates pride. (From Unshakable Hope by Max Lucado.)

King Nebuchadnezzar died c. 562 BC after ruling over Babylon for forty-three years. Upon his death a number of successors vied for power, culminating in a revolt that took place in 556 BC. A man named Nabonidus, one of the conspirators, assumed the throne and eventually installed his son Belshazzar as co-regent. In the meantime, the powerful new empire of the Medes and Persians began conquering territories under the leadership of Cyrus the Great. By 539 BC, the Persian army had reached the city of Babylon, surrounding King Belshazzar in his palace. In the face of this crisis, the king decided to hold a great feast . . . and made the unfortunate choice of using goblets taken from the temple in Jerusalem to pay homage to their Babylonian gods.

The overthrow of King Belshazzar and the Babylonians in 539 BC meant that Daniel was now under a new system of government in the form of the Persian Empire. The authority over Daniel was now a man named “Darius,” which was either another name for Cyrus the Great or who was a governor of Babylon appointed by Cyrus. This ruler begins to organize his territory by appointing 120 satraps (regional rulers) to govern, one of whom is Daniel. By this point, Daniel had so distinguished himself among the rest that the king “planned to set him over the whole kingdom” (Daniel 6:3). Of course, this does not sit well with the other satraps, and they soon begin devising ways to eliminate Daniel—by any means—from power in the land.

John Egglen had never preached a sermon in his life. Never. Wasn’t that he didn’t want to, just never needed to. But then one morning he did. The snow left his town of Colchester, England, buried in white. When he awoke on that January Sunday in 1850, he thought of staying home. Who would go to church in such weather? But he reconsidered. He was, after all, a deacon. And if the deacons didn’t go, who would? So he put on his boots, hat, and coat and walked the six miles to the Methodist Church. He wasn’t the only member who considered staying home. In fact, he was one of the few who came. Only thirteen people were present. Twelve members and one visitor. Even the minister was snowed in. Someone suggested they go home. Egglen would hear none of that. They’d come this far; they would have a service. Besides, they had a visitor. A thirteen-year-old boy. But who would preach? Egglen was the only deacon. It fell to him. And so he did. His sermon lasted only ten minutes. It drifted and wandered and made no point in an effort to make several. But at the end, an uncharacteristic courage settled upon the man. He lifted his eyes and looked straight at the boy and challenged: “Young man, look to Jesus. Look! Look! Look!” Did the challenge make a difference? Let the boy, now a man, answer. “I did look, and then and there the cloud on my heart lifted, the darkness rolled away, and at that moment I saw the sun.” The boy’s name? Charles Haddon Spurgeon. England’s prince of preachers.

In the days leading up to the war with Germany, the British government commissioned a series of posters. The idea was to capture encouraging slogans on paper and distribute them about the country. Capital letters in a distinct typeface were used, and a simple two-color format was selected. The only graphic was the crown of King George VI. The first poster was distributed in September of 1939. It read, “Your Courage—Your Cheerfulness—Your Resolution—Will Bring Us Victory.” Soon thereafter a second poster was produced: “Freedom Is in Peril—Defend It with All Your Might.” These two posters appeared up and down the British countryside. On railroad platforms and in pubs, stores, and restaurants. They were everywhere. A third poster was created yet never distributed. More than 2.5 million copies were printed yet never seen until nearly sixty years later when a bookstore owner in northeast England discovered one in a box of old books he had purchased at an auction. It read: KEEP CALM and CARRY ON The poster bore the same crown and style of the first two posters. It was never released to the public, however, but was held in reserve for an extreme crisis, such as invasion by Germany. The bookstore owner framed it and hung it on the wall. It became so popular that the bookstore began producing identical images of the original design on coffee mugs, postcards, and posters. Everyone, it seems, appreciated the reminder from another generation to keep calm and carry on. . . . You can’t ...