THEOSISJohn Chrysostom
Consider his devotion. "I turned my face," he states, indicating that before he faced humiliation, he felt shame, but now he boldly asserts, "I turned my face." Had he sought what was rightfully his, he would not have expressed it as "I turned my face," suggesting a sense of peril involved. However, despite being favored by both God and the king, he does not indulge in his blessings; instead, he carries a heart more burdened than those who are suffering, as if he himself were enduring hardships. How can we not be astounded by his nobility? Observe how he refrained from approaching God until he felt the appropriate time had arrived. What fate awaits us, the wretched ones? What do you say, Daniel?
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You are surrounded by favors, esteemed by both God and humanity; why do you concern yourself with others? Moses showed a similar inclination. And what did he declare? "In fasting, and sackcloth, and ashes," he sought the due recompense. Why, then, if it was due? Because he feared the Jews might be undeserving of it. God has no needs; He transcends the law. "And I turned my face to the Lord God," he proclaims, "with prayer and supplication." He first inquires, "Will God allow me to intercede for them?" For he had learned from Jeremiah, "But thou shalt not ask for this people, nor offer up prayer and supplication for them" (Jeremiah 7:16). Even with captivity, the approaching end, his innate goodness, and his countless sufferings acting as his advocates, he still lacks boldness; he is covered in ashes and clothed in sackcloth as he prays. What shall we do, who are so indifferent? We must strive to emulate him. To guard against the notion that the other prophets acted from poverty, he, the most esteemed, displays the deepest humility. He descended from a royal lineage and received abundant blessings. This embodies the proper way to lament personal misfortunes and to show compassion towards our neighbors; this is the heartfelt response of the prophets. See how particularly notable he was in this regard. Moses interceded, saying, "Forgive them their sin; and if not, blot me out of Thy book" (Exodus 32:32). Daniel was persistent in fasting and weeping. Paul was continuously in tears, prepared to venture even into the depths of hell. None of them took pleasure in their own fortunes; rather, like the eye of the body, beautiful yet insensible to its own beauty when one’s feet are damaged, so it was with them. What purpose did the ashes serve? They reminded him of his own mortality. What of the sackcloth? Its roughness fosters humility. What of fasting? It reminds one of the paradise that was lost. Such is the path of the devout: they pursue that which brings sorrow. "I am unworthy," he professes, "not even deserving of earth, clothing, or any gifts of nature, but rather deserving of the severe penalty, even though I am adorned in fine silks and wear a royal headdress." When we see masters imprisoning their servants for significant and repeated transgressions, we may not instantly seek mercy; rather, we often wait until after a few days of reflection before we approach the masters with requests, banking on the passage of time. The prophet did similarly: after the Jews had suffered a punishment, albeit not proportional to their offenses but complete nonetheless, he presented his prayers to God on their behalf.