The text says Daniel slept with lions. The text
also says King Darius was up all night, afraid.
Now you tell me, who was really the trapped one?
Today we are standing at the edge of a hole in
the ground. Not a storybook cave, not a children's
Bible illustration. A real pit cut into stone
by an empire that knows how to make death official.
Torches flicker above it, lions panting below.
And an old man named Daniel stands quietly at
the edge, not protesting, not performing, not
changing a single thing about who he's been for
decades. The law has been signed, the system
is in motion, and faithfulness is about to be
tested in the dark. And wherever you are right
now, kitchen table, car seat, night shift, break
room, couch with a TV still glowing, you have
wandered into a small town church on a Sunday
morning. The doors are open. The service has
started. We're going to talk today about Daniel
in the lion's den, about systems that can't repent,
and about a God who still works overnight. And
I'll see you on the other side. in the lion's
den today and i bet i hope that there is going
to be something about the way that we talk about
daniel in the lion's den today that maybe you
hadn't thought of before i hope so i'm gonna
jump right in you're gonna join with me okay
church i want you to imagine a night that smells
and feels like cold stone and fear. Okay? This,
not in church right now. No hymns, no altar,
no incense curling towards heaven, no choir humming
a song softly in the background, assuring us
that everything is going to be all right. No,
friends, I want you to imagine Just a pit cut
into the earth by men who got paid by the hour.
Cold, permanent, official. The kind of hole a
government digs when it wants you to know that
the dying that takes place there is sanctioned.
This is not some cartoony fairy tale cave with
ivory around the edges and a Disney soundtrack
swelling in the background. This is state infrastructure.
It is a sanctioned execution site. The kind of
place built by an empire that does not plan on
apologizing and has no plans on leaving. The
Persian Empire didn't build things for a season.
They built things to last. And this pit, this
den, was built to outlast. the men that were
thrown into it. And somewhere above that pit,
torches hiss and crackle against the evening
wind. Somewhere below it, lions pace. Not roaring
yet. That's a detail we need to sit with for
a second. The lions aren't performing. They're
not agitated. They are just breathing, waiting.
They've done this before. The empire feeds them
on a schedule. And tonight, the schedule says
a man is coming. And that's all the lions know.
That's all the lions need to know. And standing
at the edge of the hole, looking down into the
dark the way you look into anything that might
have the capacity to swallow you whole, is an
old man who has survived more regimes than anyone
in that room could count. Daniel, wide -haired,
steady -eyed, hands... Shaped by decades of prayer,
knuckles thick, fingers bent slightly inward
from years of pressing palms together on a foreign
floor, praying towards a city he hasn't seen
since he was a very small boy. And he's not shouting
scripture. And he's not pleading his case. He's
not calling down fire or rattling off his resume.
Or, nor is he reminding anyone that he's been
fateful longer than most of them had been alive.
He's quiet. And that is what makes this story
dangerous. Because a man who is quiet at the
edge of his own execution is a man who's already
settled something the rest of the room hasn't
even started wrestling with yet. Now, the story
of Daniel in the lion's den, right? We often
tell this story about bravery and just felt bold
and bulletproof. Like one morning, he strapped
on courage the way you might strap on armor,
looked in the mirror and said, today I am going
to show the empire who's boss. The Bible doesn't
say that. Not even close. Bible says the king
signed a law, a law that said for 30 days, no
one could pray to any God. Except Darius himself.
And Daniel went home. Chapter 6 and 10. When
Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went
into his house. He kneeled on his knees three
times a day and prayed and gave thanks before
God as he had done before. As he had done before.
I need you to hear those four words like they're
a hammer hitting a nail. No escalation. No social
media announcement. No dramatic pause where he
turns to the camera and delivers a monologue
about standing firm. Daniel doesn't react to
the law. He doesn't even dignify it. with a change
to his routine. He goes upstairs, he opens his
window towards Jerusalem, the same window he
has been opening for decades, and he prays. The
law reacts to Daniel, not the other way around.
And that's the first thing text this morning
wants us to notice. The most dangerous thing
Daniel does in the whole story. is refused to
be novel. He just keeps being who he's been.
That is enough to get him killed. Listen now
to the word as it comes to us from the prophecy
of Daniel, chapter 6, verses 11 and 12. Then
these men assembled together and found Daniel
making petition and supplication before his God.
Then they came near and spoke before the king
concerning his decree, that every man who makes
petition to any God or man within thirty days
except to you, O king, shall be cast into the
den of lions. Notice they don't accuse Daniel
of treason. They don't accuse him of conspiracy
or rebellion or plotting a coup. They accuse
him of routine. He's doing what he's always done.
And somehow that has become the most threatening
thing to the empire. Verse 14. Then the king,
when he heard these words, was very displeased
with himself, set his heart on Daniel to deliver
him, and he labored until the going down of the
sun to deliver him. Now hold that line. We're
going to come back to that line here in a second,
because that verse is doing a lot more work than
most sermons give it credit for. So here we are
in the story. Daniel is calm. The conspirators
are smug. And the king, the most powerful man
in the known world, is unraveling like a cheap
suit in the rain. Which should already tell you
something about where the real power is in this
room. Because it's not on the throne. It's on
the floor, on its knees, facing Jerusalem. Church,
we have been trained to ask the wrong question
about this story. Every Sunday school flannel
board, every VBS craft table, every children's
Bible with the cartoon Daniel smiling next to
a lion that looks as if it has wandered. in from
a stuffed animal factory. And they all train
us to ask, how did Daniel survive the lions?
But the text shows us something and asks us something
else entirely. Because... The text keeps circling
back to a question that's harder and sharper
and a lot less fun for a coloring page. Why couldn't
the king save him? Now, King Darius here is not
a cartoon villain. He's not Smedley McPeel twisting
his mustache, whatever. He likes Daniel. He depends
on Daniel. Promoted Daniel over every other administrator
in the empire because the man, Daniel, had what
the text calls an excellent spirit. This is a
king who trusts the man he is about to throw
into this hole. And the law? We're talking about
here. The law wasn't even written to kill Daniel.
It was written to flatter Darius. And that's
the part that should make our blood run cold.
The conspirators didn't draft legislation against
Daniel. They drafted legislation for the king's
ego. Daniel just happened to be standing in the
blast zone. And now the king discovers something
that is absolutely terrifying. He's not sovereign.
The system is. The law of the Medes and the Persians,
which does not alter, which cannot alter. has
more authority in that room than the man wearing
the crown. Darius can conquer nations, but he
can't pardon a friend. Now, let me say it plain,
because the text says it plain. Lions are not
the real danger in our story today. The law is.
Specifically, a law that cannot repent. Verse
12, the king said the thing is true according
to the law of the Medes and the Persians, which
does not alter. That probably chilled him down
to the soles of his sandals. A law that does
not alter. A rule that cannot bend. A system
that cannot say I was wrong. That's not strength.
That's rigor mortis wearing a crown. That's a
corpse pretending to govern. Anything that cannot
repent is already dead. Just hasn't stopped moving
yet. Darius spends the entire day trying to find
a loophole, calling advisors, re -reading the
fine print, pacing the halls of a palace he supposedly
owns, trying to find one crack in the wall to
a law he himself signed into existence. And when
the sun goes down, he's got nothing. No precedent,
no exception, no escape clause. And verse 18,
he gives the order. Then the king went to his
palace and spent the night fasting. No musical
instruments were brought before him and his sleep
fled from him. Let that sink in. Daniel sleeps
with lions. The king doesn't sleep at all that
night. So I'll ask you, who's really trapped
here? Who's really in the den tonight? Because
from where I'm standing, the man in the pit appears
to be a heck of a lot freer than the man in the
palace. And this is where we usually rush. We
hurry past the night because we already know
the morning part. We sprint to the angel. We
fast forward to the miracle. Skip the dark part
because the dark part often makes us uncomfortable.
But the miracle takes all night. Which means
something else happens first. Something the text
refuses to let us skip. Verse 16. Daniel is lowered
into the pit. Then the king commanded and they
brought Daniel and cast him into the den of lions.
The king spoke and said to Daniel, your God whom
you serve continually, he will deliver you. Notice
it does not end with a question mark. It's a
declarative statement. Let's stop. Do you, can
you hear the hope and? Hopelessness tangled together
in that sentence like two threads you can't pull
apart. I believe in your God. I, Darius, I just
can't do anything about this. That is a confession
and a surrender in the same breath. admitting
out loud that his kingdom is not strong enough
to protect an innocent man. And that sentence,
that sentence still gets people killed. Every
time someone in power says, I know this is wrong,
but my hands are tied, somewhere a stone is rolling
over a pit. Verse 17, a stone was brought and
laid on the mouth of the den and the king sealed
it with his own signet and with the signet of
his lords. The paperwork is now complete. The
seal has been pressed. The system has done what
systems do. It has processed a human being into
a category and filed him under resolved. And
now the law gets what it demands. Or so it thinks.
Scripture gives us almost nothing about Daniel's
night. No dialogue, no panic. There's no prayer
recorded. We do not have the benefit of any angelic
conversation transcribed for our future study.
Just silence. Just a man and some lions and the
God who made them both alone in the dark. And
when Daniel finally speaks, when morning comes,
Stone is rolled away and the king calls down
with a voice the text describes as lamentable,
a voice that had been crying all night. Daniel
says this, my God has sent his angel and has
shut the lion's mouths and they have not hurt
me. Notice, What Daniel doesn't say, he doesn't
say God removed the lions. He doesn't say God
killed them. He doesn't say God turned them into
kittens or teleported them to another province.
God shut their mouths. The lions stay lions.
The system stays violent. The pit is still a
pit. But their power has been interrupted. Something
between the teeth and the man and the teeth close
on nothing. The system executes its sentence,
but the sentence doesn't land. Now church, here
is where the story steps off the pages and into
our living rooms. Into our kitchens. Into that
2 a .m. silence when you're staring at the ceiling
and wondering if faithfulness even matters anymore.
Because some of us are Daniels this morning.
Not loud, not building a brand around our convictions,
just faithful. In ways that are so ordinary,
so daily, so unremarkable that the world barely
notices until it decides it can't tolerate us
anymore. You're the one who keeps praying, who
keeps showing up, who keeps opening the window
towards Jerusalem even when Jerusalem feels like
a distant rumor. Nobody applauds that kind of
faithfulness, not until it becomes inconvenient
enough to punish. And some of us are Darius.
We signed things we didn't read closely. We nodded
along with the rules while they worked because
the rules kept things tidy, orderly. And they
flattered us just enough to make us feel important.
We benefited from systems until those systems
turned on someone we love. Suddenly, we discover
a terrible truth. A system that cannot repent
eventually will demand blood, even from its architects,
even from its friends, even... From a king. The
lions are honest. They only do what lions do.
You can't blame a lion for being a lion. But
the law, the law pretends. The law pretends to
be righteous while destroying the innocent. The
law wears a robe and a seal and speaks in a passive
voice, so nobody has to take responsibility.
The decree has been issued. The statute requires.
The policy states. No fingerprints, no names,
just a stone rolling over someone's pit. And
if the story sounds familiar, it should. Because
the Bible is telling us this story twice, isn't
it? Another innocent man. Another unjust system.
Another stone sealed over the mouth, the earth.
Another long night. Another morning that changes
everything. Pilate knows Jesus is innocent. Darius
knows that Daniel is faithful. Both say in their
own words, with their own accents, in their own
empires, I can't stop this. And both are wrong.
Because God isn't trapped by our paperwork. God
doesn't recognize the finality of our systems.
God doesn't read our legislation and say, well,
I guess my hands are tied. God does his best
work overnight in the dark, in the places we've
sealed shut and signed off on and walked away
from. The stone on Daniel's den has a seal. The
stone on Jesus' tomb has a guard. And God rolls
them both back like they're nothing. Because
to God, They are nothing. Every empire that has
ever sealed a stone over the mouth of the faithful
has discovered the same thing in the morning.
The seal is broken. The stone is moved. And the
one you buried is standing. Verse 19, chapter
6. Then the king arose. Very early in the morning
and went in haste to the den of the lions. He
doesn't stroll. He runs. The king running through
corridors, past guards, down steps slick with
dew. He runs like a man who's been holding his
breath for eight hours and can't hold it one
second longer. Verse 20, when he came near to
the den of Daniel, he cried with a lamentable
voice, O Daniel, servant of the living God, is
your God, whom you serve continually, able to
deliver you from the lions? Able. Not willing,
able. That's not a theological question. That's
a man begging the universe to still be good.
Somebody else's God. Daniel answers from the
darkness, from below, from the place the system
put him, from the sealed Psalm 21. O King, live
forever. My God has sent his angel. The first
voice the king hears at dawn is a testimony that
the empire tried to silence. And it's not angry
and it's not bitter. It says, live forever. Grace,
climbing out of the pit. Grace, blessing the
man who couldn't save him. Grace, stubborn as
always, finding a crack to sneak through. Church,
the good news today is not that lions stop being
lions. Lions will always be lions. Systems, man,
they will always be systems. Paperwork will always
be waiting. The good news is God is not impressed
by systems that claim to be irreversible. The
good news is that faithfulness does not need
to be dramatic to be dangerous. The good news
is that the night is not the end of the sentence,
it's the pause before God speaks. So, if you're
praying quietly this morning, if you're tired
of being told you're not loud enough, not brave
enough, not... Enough, enough. If you're faithful
in ways nobody notices until they decide to punish
you for it, hear this. Night is not as long as
it feels. Stone is not as final as it looks.
And the lions don't get the last word. Remember,
the first voice of mourning is always testimony.
Amen? Amen. Friend, before you go back to whatever
waits for you on the other side of this moment,
I want to sit with you for just a second longer.
Because some of you are tired in a way that sleep
doesn't seem to fix. You have been faithful without
applause. You've kept praying without seeing
much change. You've done the ordinary quiet work
of showing up and lately you have been wondering
if it even matters. Today's story says that it
does. It says the night is not proof that God
has left. It says the dark is often where God
does his most precise work. And it gently asks
us something too. Where have we trusted systems
that cannot represent more than God? Where have
we trusted systems that cannot repent more than
the God who can still shut the mouths of lions?
And that question isn't to shame you. It's meant
to wake you up. Comfort and conviction. Holding
hands like they always do in the Gospels. Now,
if you heard something today you hadn't heard
before, or if an old story opened up in a new
way, go ahead and throw that like in the offering
plate. It just lets us know you were here and
you listened. And if you want to keep walking
with us into the new year, how about you type
your subscribe? That way you'll know when we're
having church again. Until then, friend, Be blessed.