My Name Is Daniel (part 1)

My name is Daniel. It’s a good name, and I’m quite fond of it. It of course brings to mind the prophet Daniel of Old Testament fame, one of the most fascinating characters of the Bible, and one of the few of whom nothing negative is recounted. It is also a bit of amusement that my name Dan Wright sounds very close to “damn right.” The jokes are constant, but welcome. Until recently, this was all that my name meant to me.

“Daniel” is a Hebrew name that means “God is my judge.” I was raised to believe that this was a frightening thing. Some see God as the Santa Claus who wants to grant us our every desire; I saw Him as a Santa Claus focused more on his “naughty” list, looking hard for any excuse to leave me a stocking full of fire and brimstone.

I recall very clearly a sermon I had to sit through as a child. This elderly preacher was either a guest at my home church, or a featured speaker at one of the campmeetings I had to attend with my family every year. His sermon was about restitution, and he spoke of a time when, as an adult, he felt convicted by God about an incident in his childhood when he shoplifted a packet of grape Kool-Aid. He said that he knew then that despite his years in ministry, and despite decades of relationship with God, that he would surely be bound for hell if he did not make restitution for that small offense early in life. So he found that store, apologized to its totally nonplussed current manager, and paid the pennies that item had cost. Only then could he find peace, and find relief after narrowly avoiding a certain descent into damnation.

One can easily imagine how this story might affect an impressionable child. I wrestled for years with the fear that some unknown sin would condemn my soul, or that I might die immediately after committing some trivial sin, without time to make restitution. It (among other things) cultivated in me a deep desire to leave the community in which I’d been raised just as soon as it was possible. At the very beginning of my junior year of high school I began the college hunt, only really considering schools well out of state. And it was only until I was long gone that I was able to suppress the feeling that Damocles’ old sword was hanging over my head everywhere I went. I still didn’t have a healthy view of God’s character, but I’d managed to develop a sense of nonchalance towards sin in my life. That was really all I could do just to stay sane and not give up completely.

And so this understanding of God as judge was suppressed, if only for the sake of survival. The meaning of my name was never brought to mind. Until recently.

It was only after years of spiritual, emotional, and social maturation that the meaning of my name returned to mind. And it was right in that moment that God showed me the intense freedom that comes from knowing that He is Judge.

God had grown me into someone completely different from the little boy who’d had the hell scared out of him during every altar call, every revival service. But I still had the tendency to carry around every negative word spoken into my life. I had a healthier view of God, but not a healthier view of myself. I didn’t walk under the condemnation of God, but I did walk under the condemnation of everyone around me, and of myself. I would become indignant if something damaging was said about someone I loved, but I would accept and excuse the damaging things that were said to me. I could never imagine saying something hateful to another person, but I was absolutely ruthless in criticizing myself.

What God pointed out to me that night was that yes, He is my judge. And no one else. My family cannot judge me. My friends cannot judge me. My pastors cannot judge me. And most of all, I cannot judge myself. All the words that have been said in condemnation of me carry no authority. And nothing I say to tear myself down can carry any weight when I remember that only God’s opinion matters.

So yes, God is my judge. And I’ll own that. While it is a sobering fact that should certainly be considered with proper gravity, it is also incredibly freeing. Ever since then, I feel far less weight on my shoulders. Self-deprecating comments have become much less automatic from me, though not without conscious effort (after all, it requires conscious effort at first to kick a bad habit). And I care less what others think about me. Everything that has been said or done to diminish my self-worth has gradually been losing its chokehold on my heart. Yes, I have a very long way to go until I’m fully healthy in this regard, but the progress is unmistakable. I am not the same person I was a year or two ago, and it is all through the healing power of God’s truth.

Like Tupac once said, only God can judge me.