One of our great modern American fallacies is that our faith is a private matter. While it’s true that our faith is deeply personal and stems from the core of our being, it is most often expressed in community and lived out corporately. In fact, the concept of “privacy” as we know it, even the “right to privacy,” is a relatively new concept rising from Western culture, primarily North America, in the last century. The right to religious freedom does not mean our faith is private. The right of free speech does not mean our faith has no place in the public square. In talking with a lawyer friend a few years ago, I learned that courts sometimes equate one’s religious practice with other “hobbies” like community theater or playing softball. The risk of insisting that faith is a private affair is that it becomes secondary to our culture, our American-ism, our common life.
Daniel and his three Judean cohorts, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, were products of their own culture. They had no expectation of privacy or freedom of religion. They were subject to the king. They had adopted their new Babylonian names. And so, their expression of faith in God by remaining upright in the public square when others bowed was a calculated demonstration much like Rosa Parks sitting in the front of the bus or Malala speaking out for the rights of girls to attend school. By refusing to offer prayers to the statue of the king, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were making a public statement about who and what rules their lives, about the limited power of a human king, about the faith of a people who were being consumed by the prevailing culture.
Daniel, too, never had the expectation of privacy while praying to God. He knew the law, and he probably knew it was schemed in order to put him and his “god” in their place. Yet, Daniel chose to pray aloud … for others to overhear. This reminds me of the story I heard from a Chinese pastor about the way he coped during the Cultural Revolution. When communism came to China, the educated and religious leaders were banned. Some were imprisoned; others sent to workhouses.
Rev. Qigui Shui while visiting Baytown, TX, February 2001
The Rev. Qigui Shui, a Christian pastor and a musician/composer, worked as a delivery man. After a long day of bicycling packages around the city, he would play Chinese national songs on his piano in his small apartment. He knew they could be heard by his neighbors and those passing by, but, even so, he worked the melodies of traditional Christian hymns into his arrangements. Those who knew the hymns could quietly and privately hum along; it was a sign of strength and a message to keep on singing.
There is a time when our faith may need to “go underground” as it did for Rev. Shui. And there is a time when we no longer work the hymn tunes surreptitiously into national anthems, but sing them out for all to hear. Daniel and the other three men knew when to blend in and when to stand up and be counted. It’s not that they knew that God would save them, but that they knew God was worth the risk.
We live in a culture that is calling us to worship … our country, our prosperity, our celebrities, our economics, our olympic teams, our fashion, our stock portfolios, our technology, etc. etc. etc. If we keep our faith private, we risk it being trivialized as no more important than our preference in sports teams. If we witness an expression to God outside of our sanctuaries and in our workplaces, in our families, in our communities … No, I don’t mean wearing a Christian t-shirt, listening to Christian music, “liking” a Christian Facebook meme, or even fighting for prayer in school. I mean doing something real, something risky, something counter-cultural, something as scandalous as Jesus.
What? What, then, do we do to publicly witness our faith in a radical Christ? Let’s talk about that.
I have some ideas … but it starts by loving God more than anything else (or at least striving to). It starts by knowing Jesus as a cultural renegade. It starts by having a deep compassion for all people and being willing to put our own security, preferences, and comfort on the line for them. It starts with love.
Rev. Shui told us a number of stories during our visit that stuck with me. Another was about his trip to the grocer. He stood in line for a very long time to get his allotted one kilo of flour. When he got to the front of the line, the grocer had given him twice as much as he had asked for (or that he was allotted). He tried to hand it back, but the grocer, in a very hushed voice said, “no, keep it, you are pastor, you know who needs it.” And he did. Even when we try to keep it all a secret, the love of Christ shouts out to be noticed.
The Story 