Daniel 7:13–14 (NIV)
In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all nations and peoples of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.
CONSIDER THIS
If the Ancient of Days is God, with whom did God share his glory? Who is it that was worshiped by all nations and peoples of every language? Given the strictures of biblical monotheism, Daniel paints a perplexing picture, and it sits right at the heart of our Old Testament Scriptures.
As we flip through the Gospels, an easy mistake is to understand the significance of Jesus’s title “son of man” to refer to his humanity, while the title “son of God” to be a proof for his divinity. The Old Testament, however, had it the other way around. The Son of Man was a divine figure—though having human likeness. On the other hand, royal figures like David were often referred to as “sons of God” (Psalm 89:20, 27). In the ancient hierarchies, kings were often viewed as divine or semi-divine figures. Rulers, including some of the most brutal Roman Caesars with their emperor cults, posed as divine to justify their authority.
This impulse to bring the gods down from heaven (or its inverse, to ascend the ladder to heaven) is as ancient as it is pervasive. We see it in the consumption of the forbidden fruit in Eden, in the tower of Babel, and it is the basic assumption in how pagan myths understood reality, in all its tragic brilliance. It is perhaps an old attempt at consolation, or a grasp for meaning and purpose. This mythic view of the world collapses the divine into the mundane. And it is rightly considered a manifestation of pride, which is, ultimately, what all idolatry turns into.
Many Christian commentators have noted that myths were grasping for the truth, and they perceived it faintly, despite their propensity for being satisfied with something less than what God actually is. It’s why sometimes we see parallels of Jesus in literary archetypes, and the reason why C. S. Lewis called Christianity “the myth becoming fact.” (see Acts 17; Titus 1:12).
But if this is true, why is Christ and his cross foolishness for the Gentiles (1 Cor. 1:18; 23)? As I see it, it had something to with the limitations of that ancient worldview (or for that matter, any worldview working from the bottom up). The divine Being permanently refused to “deign to visit” our meetings, as the ancient poet Catullus put it. Human evil has turned the face of the divine away, and our world is not dignified enough for such a reception anyway. Any other lesser gods, or intermediary figures, simply couldn’t get the job done. But if by any chance the divine did visit, surely it wouldn’t be in such a lowly state—announced to trivial characters, and with the fading glory of angels who disappeared as quickly as they first made their entrance. And finally, just to exhaust all possibilities, surely the divine Being couldn’t possibly be fated to die the shameful death of a Roman cross.
But this is where Jesus shines most. Though he was never far, now he has drawn ever near. The Son of God burst onto the scene, as if heaven could no longer hold him—the love of God expanding outward into the four corners of the earth. And when the Son of God . . . or rather . . . the Son of Man leapt from heaven he wedded our humanity to his divinity, forever.
Christmas revealed what was always lurking in the shadows of myth: there is one true King, and his kingdom is coming. We witness this when the Spirit of God pulls back the veil from reality just a bit. Sometimes he showcased the multitude of angels singing his praise outside of Bethlehem. Other times we see Jesus joined by the prophets on the Mount of Transfiguration. For Daniel and his fellow Israelites in exile, the vision of the Son of Man served as reminder that the transitioning kingdoms, fierce as they may seem, were only pretenders.
Christmas reminds us that heaven is on a crash course with earth, and those who have eyes to see will be the welcoming party as creation prepares its permanent abode for the Son of Man. Though he was never far, now he has drawn ever near.
THE PRAYER
Almighty God, our true and mighty and gentle king. May your reign, your kingdom, be known across the world. Purify the eyes of our hearts from the idolatrous gaze, and give us the eyes to see you and your coming kingdom, everywhere it is manifesting itself—even now. Rid us of all fear or admiration of people and things that rob you of your glory and splendor. Sow your everlasting kingdom in our hearts today. Amen.
THE QUESTION
How does the title son of man sit with you—have you ever considered this context from the book of Daniel when you read the Gospels? Is there any king or kingdom other than Jesus that currently has your ultimate allegiance? Is there any other king or kingdom captivating your attention, either with admiration or unease? What might Jesus be saying to you as the Son of Man who brings with him an everlasting kingdom?
For the Awakening,
Andrew Dragos