Serving Continually

When Daniel, at the command of Darius the king, had been cast into the den of lions, we are told that the king, after a night of anxiety and fasting, went very early in the morning to see what had taken place. The outlook was not promising. Without was the great stone, sealed with the royal signet and laid before the mouth of the den, while within were the hungry lions; yet there must have been in the thought of the king some faint shadow of hope that somehow his friend would yet be alive. The day before, when he had reluctantly pronounced sentence upon his trusted counselor, he had said, “Thy God whom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee.” Now his first words show that his thought is still upon some higher power than any which he himself has ever known. “O Daniel,” he cries, “servant of the living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee from the lions?” We remember the brave, sweet answer: “O king, live forever. My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths, that they have not hurt me.”

It is a significant fact that in addressing Daniel the king had twice referred to him as one who served his God “continually.” This fidelity and steadfastness on Daniel’s part, in the midst of persecution, intolerance, ignorance, and superstition, had evidently impressed Darius, just as it will impress us when we begin to see that this very thing was an important factor in securing Daniel’s speedy release from his most trying situation. We are always interested in learning more of how Daniel, as the saying is, “made his demonstration,” for this Hebrew captive of centuries ago is not the only person who has ever believed himself thrown into a den of lions, and some have not gotten out so quickly as did he. We may recall that for what appeared to be an endless length of time we beat upon the stone walls of our dungeon without response. We cried aloud for succor, but nobody seemed to hear. Surely, we thought, God is able to save us! He who is “the same yesterday, and today, and forever,” will not fail us!

Just at this point we stopped beating upon the walls and began to think. God is indeed “the same yesterday, and today, and forever,” but what were we doing yesterday, and the day before that, and the week before that, and the month before that? Were we acknowledging God’s allness, reflecting His goodness, rejoicing in His presence and power, gratefully recognizing ourselves as the expression of this infinite All, this supreme I am of Spirit, or were we idly amusing ourselves in a satisfied sense of ease in matter? It is not an easy thing to readjust one’s thinking in an instant. Christian Science teaches that “to understand God is the work of eternity, and demands absolute consecration of thought, energy, and desire” (Science and Health, p. 3). As Christian Scientists we have undertaken a great and holy task, even the amelioration of sin, sickness, and death; shall we therefore be less earnest, less devoted, less steadfast than was this Hebrew captive of old, who went into his chamber thrice daily, opened his windows “toward Jerusalem,” and “prayed, and gave thanks before his God”?

It seems so easy to forget! Sense testimony whispers that we live, not in “the atmosphere of Spirit, where Soul is supreme” (Science and Health, p. 590), but in a material world, amid all sorts of material surroundings. It tells us that this is an age of luxury and ease, of many and diversified interests, of countless interruptions, of increasing demands, of feverish unrest. It tells us that one cannot afford to be thought “queer;” that the easiest way is to drift along with the current of popular opinion, to do what everybody else does, to go where everybody else goes, to say what everybody else says, to think what everybody else thinks. There are so many things to be done before we can settle down to do our studying and reading, and our quiet mental work. We would like to serve continually, and we will, after a while; but in the mean time,—and then down we suddenly go into the den of lions, and straightway call loudly upon God to get us out.

He can, He will, He does, for such is the all-inclusive compassion of Love’s infinite plan; but if the getting out process is sometimes accomplished only after many strange delays and discouragements, shall we not be honest enough to place the responsibility where it really belongs? It was easy for Daniel to turn quickly to God in his trouble, for his mental processes required but little readjustment. With other Hebrew youths he had been brought, a prisoner, into one of the most corrupt and demoralized courts on earth; but he had not eaten the king’s meat, neither had he partaken of wine at the king’s table. He had been in the world, but not of it, like the disciples for whom Jesus prayed, “Not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil.” Surely it was no hard thing for him who had been in the habit of opening his windows thrice daily “toward Jerusalem,” to look up through the little window of his prison and realize the omnipotence of good, of infinite Truth and Love.

Type of the true Christian Scientist is this intrepid Daniel, mingling quietly with his fellows, making the best of a bad situation, living in peace even among a race of aliens and idolaters, but never allowing anything to interfere with the serving of his God continually; for to serve as he did is to think right always. He who “shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty” is he who “dwelleth in the secret place of the most High,” not he who goes there only when he is in trouble. The true Christian Scientist dwells so constantly in Mind’s abiding presence that his thoughts spontaneously go out in unconscious healing. He does not always need to speak; he lives in an atmosphere of right thinking, which speaks for itself, like the fragrance of a summer garden, silently abloom. Jesus on one occasion had only to turn and look upon Peter to send that weak disciple forth, healed of his fault, and weeping bitterly.

The true Christian Scientist is one who often blesses without knowing it. No one can even casually meet him without feeling better, or take his hand without realizing the sincerity of its clasp, or look into his eyes without remembering that the pure in heart see God. He does not have his moments of rapturous exaltation, followed by the swing of the pendulum to the other extreme, but is ever poised, alert, awake, listening for the Father’s voice, ready to go, to come, to wait, to speak or to keep silent, as the Father wills. He is the Daniel of the twentieth century; and when he is cast into the den of lions,—as he sometimes is,—we know that after his night of vigil the quiet hour of dawn will come, when he will serenely look up into the anxious face of his would-be persecutor and say, as did that other one who served continually: “O king, live forever. My God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions’ mouths, that they have not hurt me.”