Title: Jesus the King who walks with us
Series: Christ the King Sunday
Reading: Daniel 3:1, 8-30 Preacher: Rev Phil Swain
In this sermon we celebrate Christ the King Sunday and we are reminded that Jesus is not a distant ruler sitting on a lofty throne, but a King who walks with us — even in life’s fiery trials. We will exploring Daniel chapter 3 – the story of Shadrack, Meshack and Abednego and the experience of standing up to power and being thrown ito the fiery furnace. We will also ponder what it means to worship a King whose presence brings courage, comfort, and faith in the midst of whatever flames we face. This final Sunday of the church year invites us to lift our eyes to the King who reigns through love and humility, and to prepare our hearts for the coming Advent journey — when we once again wait and watch for the Light of Christ to break into the world.
Sermon Text
Today is Christ the King Sunday — the final Sunday of the church year. Next week we begin Advent, the season of anticipation as we prepare again to receive the Good News and celebrate Jesus’ birth. But before we start lighting candles and singing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” the church calendar gives us one more chance to pause and remember who truly reigns — as we’ve already acknowledged today — it is Christ the King Sunday.
The idea of a king is not something that feels especially relevant for us in Australia — even though technically we have one as head of state. Even so, the word “king” can feel distant or even uncomfortable. But the Bible uses this title for Jesus because there is something in this image that speaks to who Jesus is and how we are to respond to him. The imagery invites us to consider: Who really rules your life? Who do you trust when things get hot?
And that brings us to Daniel 3 — the story of a very different kind of king. King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon loved power. He loved it so much that he built a golden statue — 90 feet tall — and ordered everyone to bow down to it. There has been some debate about whether the statue was of himself or a religious idol … we are not really told … but either way, it was a combination of authoritarianism with a religious twist. He forced everyone to come and participate in public worship before the statue he had built.
It was a state-sponsored worship service — the merging of religion and nationalism. Music, flags, ceremony, fear — it’s all there. Everyone must play along … because if you don’t, you’ll be thrown into a flaming furnace.
The writer plays up the absurdity of this forced type of worship. There are these almost comical lists of the people … “the satraps, prefects, governors, treasurers, judges …” and then all the instruments: “horn, flute, lyre, harp, pipes …” that were present. And every time the decree is read everyone bows — and it happens over and over again! It is comical and weird. The writer is showing just how absurd power looks when it demands worship.
And we might smile, but it’s uncomfortably familiar. The desire for people in power to build golden statues hasn’t disappeared. In our world today there are demands for us to bow to the gods of success, image, comfort, and control. We still wrap flags around our faith or mistake wealth and popularity for blessing. We may not hear the horn and flute, but we know the pressure to fit in, stay quiet, and go along with what everyone else is doing.
And this isn’t just something from the ancient world. Every age produces its Nebuchadnezzars — leaders who confuse loyalty to themselves with loyalty to what is right. Just this week, news reports told of a political figure insisting that the military should obey their personal commands — even if those orders might be illegal. That’s exactly the kind of confusion Daniel 3 warns us about: when human power starts demanding absolute allegiance and expects conscience to bow. Whenever that happens — in any nation, party, or system — people of faith are called to remember that our ultimate loyalty is not to rulers or regimes but to the God of truth and justice. No ruler, no flag, no ideology stands above that.
Nebuchadnezzar’s way is the way of coercive kingship — power maintained by fear and control. It’s about appearance, loyalty, and image. And in that environment, three young Jewish exiles — Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego — quietly refuse to bow.
These three young men do not just go along with the absurd ceremony … they refuse to participate … and when the king hears about it, he’s furious. He drags them before him and gives them one more chance: “Bow down when the music plays — or into the furnace you go! And what god can rescue you from my hand?”
Their reply is one of the most extraordinary statements of faith in the entire Bible (Daniel 3:16-18):
King Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and God will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if God does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.
There is so much in this statement. What jumps out for you?
For me, it is this two-sided statement of faith. On one hand, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego know that God is a God WHO IS ABLE. “If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us.” God is able to do all things — able to do the miraculous, able to step into their situation. They have complete trust in God’s power and ability to intervene. God is able to save us from the fire. GOD IS ABLE.
But they also have the faith to acknowledge the other side of that coin … Yes, God is able, but our real-life experience tells us that sometimes God does not intervene in the ways we might like. God is able to deliver us … but Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego declare that even if God doesn’t save them, that doesn’t make any difference. They still will not serve Nebuchadnezzar’s gods or worship the image of gold.
This isn’t arrogance or defiance. It’s deep trust — the kind of faith that doesn’t make bargains with God. They don’t know how this story will end. They just know who they belong to. Their allegiance isn’t for sale.
That line — “Even if not” — might be the hardest prayer we’ll ever pray. It’s easy to say “I trust God” when everything is working out. It’s harder when the heat is on, when the test results aren’t good, when the job disappears, when the relationship breaks down, when the world feels frightening and unfair. Yet this is where faith becomes real — not certainty that God will keep us out of the fire, but confidence that God will be with us in it.
This is the turning point of the story — and really, the turning point of our lives too: the moment when our trust in God becomes deeper than our need for control.
Of course, Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t like being told no. Authoritarians like him never do. The story says his face “was distorted with rage.” He orders the furnace heated seven times hotter and has the men tied up and thrown in.
And in his fury, he doesn’t even notice that his own soldiers die from the heat. That’s how dangerous angry power can be — it burns even its own followers. Nebuchadnezzar is the picture of fragile leadership — a man whose ego is so brittle that any act of conscience feels like an attack.
Is there a lesson here for us too? When our own power or pride are challenged, do we respond like Nebuchadnezzar — with control and rage — or like Jesus, who emptied himself and took the form of a servant?
Anyway, back to the story … because the miracle comes.
As the king peers through the flames, he jumps up in shock. “Didn’t we throw three men bound into the fire? Look — I see four, walking around unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods!”
There in the flames — a fourth presence, shining with divine light. The ropes are gone. The men are free. And not even the smell of smoke clings to them — that’s the real miracle!
Ok … let’s address the question — “Who is the fourth man?”
Jewish tradition says he was an angel — the messenger of God’s protection. Christian imagination sees something even more: that this is Jesus — the one who walks with us and enters every furnace of human suffering. Either way, the message is the same:
Faith doesn’t keep us out of the fire. Faith gives us someone in the fire with us.
Jesus, our King, is not far away in a heavenly throne room, untouched by our pain. Jesus is the King who walks with us. As we begin to acknowledge next week in Advent … Jesus Emmanuel is the one who joined our humanity, who set aside his glory and came close. Jesus is not a king who commands from above, but a king who stands beside.
This is why Daniel 3 is such a powerful reading for Christ the King Sunday. It gives us the perfect contrast:
| Nebuchadnezzar | Jesus |
| Demands worship | Deserves worship |
| Rules by fear | Reigns through love |
| Throws others into fire | Enters the fire himself |
| Uses power to control | Uses power to heal |
| Protects his image | Bears our image |
The two kings could not be more different.
Nebuchadnezzar’s glory burns others.
Jesus’ glory restores others.
Nebuchadnezzar’s fire destroys.
Jesus’ fire purifies and redeems.
So what does this story mean for us here and now — in our workplaces, homes, and communities? Let me offer four simple invitations.
- Give your ultimate allegiance to Christ alone.
There will always be statues demanding our attention — career, possessions, nationalism, even religion itself when it becomes about image rather than love. Christ the King calls us to worship no other name. “You shall have no other gods before me” isn’t a threat — it’s an invitation to be free.
- Stand firm in faith when the pressure comes.
Like the three friends, we may face moments when following Jesus puts us at odds with what’s popular or convenient. Faithfulness sometimes costs. But as they discovered, integrity burns less than compromise.
- Trust that Christ is present in your fire.
Whatever furnace you face — grief, anxiety, illness, uncertainty — Jesus is there. He may not take you out of the fire immediately, but He will walk with you until the flames become light.
- Let your faith become a witness.
Nebuchadnezzar ends up praising their God: “No other god can save in this way!” Our quiet perseverance can speak louder than any sermon. When others see courage, grace, and peace in us, they see Christ the King through us.
This might be a good spot to finish the sermon, but as I hinted at earlier … this passage seems to speak particularly to the time we find ourselves in.
We live in a world that still builds golden statues — and still demands compliance through power and fear. The challenge of Daniel 3 for people of faith is to live differently: to refuse to bow to false images but instead to live with compassion and integrity, to walk with the One who has already walked through the fire.
It’s also a word of solidarity. This story was written for exiles — people far from home, trying to stay faithful in a culture that didn’t share their values. It reminds us that our God stands with the oppressed, the refugee, and the minority voice. When others face the heat, we are called to be the presence of the fourth person — to stand beside, to protect, and to love.
That’s what Christlike kingship looks like in the world today — not domination, but solidarity.
And so we arrive at the end of the church year — and the threshold of Advent.
Next week we’ll begin lighting candles again — candles of hope, peace, joy, and love. But notice how Daniel 3 already prepares us. Before the Advent flame of hope is lit, there’s another fire burning — the fire of faith tested, purified, and made courageous.
Jesus the King is not a distant monarch.
He is Immanuel – God with us.
He walks with us in the furnace,
and He walks with us into the future.
When you pass through the waters, He will be with you.
When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned.
For He has called you by name — and you are His.
So on this Christ the King Sunday, before we begin Advent’s waiting, let’s declare again who our King really is:
Not the king of coercion, but the King of compassion.
Not the ruler who burns others, but the Saviour who bears the heat Himself.
Not a king seated far away, but the King who walks right beside us — in the furnace, in the hospital room, in the storm, in the ache of our hearts.
Let us worship Jesus — the King who walks with us.
Amen.