The Handwriting on the Wall

 מנא מנא תקל ופרסין

Are We Ignoring Warnings from God?

There’s a story in the book of Daniel that’s short, powerful, and honestly, a little scary. Not scary like a horror movie—scary like looking in the mirror and realizing you’ve been ignoring something important. Maybe even ignoring God. It’s the kind of story that makes you stop mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-life, and go, “Wait… is that about me too?”

It happens in Daniel chapter 5, deep in the middle of a wild party. A king named Belshazzar—ruler of the great empire of Babylon—is throwing a drunken banquet. And this isn’t just a feast; it’s a mockery. In the middle of the wine and laughter, he calls for the gold and silver cups that were stolen from the temple in Jerusalem—the ones meant for worshiping the living God. He hands them out like party favors, raising them in a toast to false gods made of gold, silver, wood, and stone. It’s the ultimate disrespect. Like saying to God, “You don’t matter. I’ll do what I want with what’s Yours.”

And then, in a moment so strange it almost doesn’t seem real, a hand appears. Just a hand. No body. No voice. It starts writing a message on the wall, right above the lamp where everyone can see. The room goes silent. Belshazzar turns pale. His knees are shaking. Nobody’s laughing anymore.

The words are there, glowing in the light, but no one knows what they mean. They’re written in Aramaic—the everyday language—but something about them is... different. They’re known words, but no one in the room can explain what they mean or why they’re there. The king’s magicians and astrologers are useless. No one can help. Fear is rising.

Then someone remembers Daniel. He’s older now, but known throughout the kingdom for having the Spirit of God. He’s interpreted dreams before. He sees through mysteries. So they bring him in, and Belshazzar promises him rewards—wealth, power, a royal robe—if he can explain the writing.

Daniel doesn’t take the gifts. He doesn’t even flinch. He just speaks the truth.

Before he translates the message, Daniel gives the king a history lesson. He reminds Belshazzar of his grandfather, Nebuchadnezzar, the mighty ruler who once stood tall in pride until God brought him low. That king lost his mind and lived like a wild animal until he finally admitted that God is the true King over all kings. Belshazzar had heard that story. He knew how God had humbled his grandfather. And still, he didn’t listen. He didn’t learn. He chose pride over humility, arrogance over reverence. He lifted himself up instead of bowing down.

And then Daniel reads the writing.

Mene. Mene. Tekel. Upharsin.

Four simple words. But packed with meaning that hits like a hammer.

Mene means “numbered.” It’s repeated twice for emphasis, like a divine underline. God is saying, “Your days are numbered. Your reign is over.” Not a warning of what might happen. A declaration. Final. Done. The clock has run out.

Tekel means “weighed.” God has weighed Belshazzar’s life—his heart, his choices, his pride—and found it lacking. He doesn’t measure up. Not by human standards, but by God’s. The scales of Heaven are just. And Belshazzar is found light, empty, hollow.

Upharsin—also said as “Peres”—means “divided.” His kingdom will be torn apart, given to the Medes and the Persians. It’s not just the end of his rule. It’s the end of the empire as he knows it.

That very night, while the party guests were still sobering up and the wine still wet on their lips, the prophecy came true. Babylon was invaded. The walls, thought to be impenetrable, were bypassed. The city fell. Belshazzar was killed. It all happened exactly as God said.

Now, we might hear a story like that and think, “Wow. Intense. Glad I’m not a king.” But that would be missing the whole point. Because this isn’t just about a king who got too proud. This is about a God who still writes. A God who still warns. And a people—us—who are still tempted to ignore Him.

We don’t need a glowing hand on the wall to know when we’re drifting. God speaks in all kinds of ways. Sometimes it’s through Scripture. A verse we keep running into, like it’s chasing us down. Sometimes it’s through conviction—that heavy feeling in your chest when you know something’s off, even if no one else knows. Sometimes He speaks through people, or events, or closed doors, or that small whisper in the middle of the night that says, “Turn back.”

But we’re good at ignoring Him. We distract ourselves. We turn up the volume. We call it “overthinking” or “stress.” But underneath it all, we know. We know when God is trying to get our attention. And like Belshazzar, we either humble ourselves and listen… or we keep partying at the edge of destruction.

God’s warnings aren’t about punishment. They’re about mercy. He warns because He wants us to turn. Not to scare us, but to save us. To draw us back before it’s too late.

The words on that wall aren’t just ancient history. They’re still true today.

Mene — your days are numbered. None of us live forever. Every breath is a gift. Every heartbeat a countdown. Not to make us afraid, but to remind us how precious time is. You don’t have forever to get right with God.

Tekel — you’ve been weighed. We all have. Not by society, not by popularity, not by good intentions—but by the scales of truth and righteousness. And if we’re honest, none of us measure up. That’s why we need mercy.

Upharsin — things fall apart when we try to rule our own lives without God. Kingdoms crumble. Marriages unravel. Peace disappears. Division sneaks in wherever pride takes the throne.

But here’s the beauty of it all. This same God—this Holy, powerful, just God—is also full of compassion. He doesn’t write us off. He invites us in. Over and over again. Through stories like this, through quiet moments, through truth spoken in love.

You don’t have to wait until the writing’s on your wall.

You can respond right now.

You can surrender your pride, your plans, your fear, your past. You can let go of the need to have it all figured out. You can fall into the arms of the One who holds time, weighs hearts, and still divides light from darkness.

You don’t need to be a Bible scholar or perfect or even religious. You just need to be honest. "God, I’ve been ignoring You. Forgive me. Help me hear You. Change me."

He listens to prayers like that. The angels lean in for moments like that. Because that’s where everything changes—not in palaces or parties or power plays, but in quiet hearts that finally say, “I’m ready to listen.”

So the real question isn’t “What was the writing on Belshazzar’s wall?” It’s this:

What’s God writing on yours?

And are you reading it... before it’s too late?

 

 

 

 image will be repaired soon. i saw the mistake when i posted this.

image by deepdream generator at my direction (and it took forever to get it like that - and THAT still isn't even close to what i wanted.)