The mighty Babylonian tyrant specifically casts himself as a god, assuming we can tie this golden image to the golden head in the previous story. In fact, we must tie them together, for the text fastens them to each other with tight bonds of shared vocabulary and close juxtaposition. In literary terms, in other words, to bow before this image is to admit that no god can challenge Nebuchadnezzar. It's a functional claim to deity, though the text (and the monarch) carefully avoids saying that the image is an image of Nebuchadnezzar. It doesn't have to be to symbolize his unchallenged power, any more than we need to paint stars and stripes on the flanks of our ICBMs to let our enemies know that the destruction unleashed on them is "courtesy of the red, white, and blue." Into this carefully staged display of the tyrant's majesty step Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, three Judeans who believe in a God who can challenge Nebuchadnezzar for supremacy. Such a story is already inspiring enough. But this one really stands out because within it, Yahweh actually does challenge Nebuchadnezzar, and handily beat him in a way that the mighty tyrant respects. With God's help this evening I will show you that against the numbing power of imperial repetition, the three young men speak the truth that God saves, even if He lets us die — and then God's Son comes in person to save the young men, and even the tyrant sees it.