Who Are You Calling Belteshazzar?

In Daniel 1, four young men from Judah are brought into the Babylonian court to be trained for service. Immediately, something small but meaningful happens: their names are changed. Daniel becomes Belteshazzar. Hananiah becomes Shadrach. Mishael becomes Meshach. Azariah becomes Abednego.

Name Tags with a Hidden Agenda

It's easy to skim past this moment, but the detail stuck with me. Names carry weight. They tell us who we are, where we come from, and what we belong to. In ancient cultures, names often connected people to their families, their beliefs, and their god. So what does it mean that the Babylonian officials gave these young men new names?

According to the footnotes, each of their original Hebrew names referred to the God of Israel. The new Babylonian names, on the other hand, likely referenced Babylonian gods. This wasn’t just a bureaucratic change—it was a subtle shift in identity. It was as if their captors were saying, “You’re not who you were. You belong to us now.”

Answering to Someone Else's Story

I wonder how that felt. Did they answer to their new names right away? Did it feel like betrayal to respond? Or did they see it as a strategy for survival, a necessary adaptation in a foreign system they didn’t choose?

Daniel, at least, seems to hold on to who he is in other ways. He refuses the royal food and drink, choosing instead a diet that aligns with his traditions. Maybe he couldn't stop people from calling him Belteshazzar, but he could still decide what he put into his body. That choice seems quiet but powerful.

Labels, Assumptions, and the Fight to Stay You

There’s something universal in the experience of having others define you. Sometimes it happens in big ways, like legal systems or cultural institutions. Other times, it's subtle—nicknames that stick, assumptions people make, job titles that flatten who you really are. How much of that do we accept, and how much do we resist?

Daniel and his friends didn’t seem to protest the name change openly, but the rest of the story suggests they didn’t let it erase them either. Later chapters show them making bold decisions that reflect the people they were before Babylon. Maybe identity is less about what people call us, and more about how we live.

Quiet Resistance in Loud Times

This part of the story makes me think less about ancient Babylon and more about modern life—about all the ways identity gets shaped, claimed, or imposed. Whether through language, expectations, or systems of power, the struggle to stay true to yourself feels ongoing.

And yet, Daniel’s story suggests it’s possible. Not always by shouting or protesting, but sometimes through quieter forms of integrity. Even when the name is different.