On several trips to the land of Israel over the past few years, I have been privileged to have as my guide a gracious and well-informed Jew, named at birth Philip Halperin. Philip was the name of one of the kings of Romania, and it was not a wise thing to give Hebrew names to little Jewish boys in wartime Europe. It could be dangerous for their health.
Philip was one of the fortunate ones. His family was able to escape. Making their way to Palestine, however, they were stopped by the British blockade and sent to a detention camp on Cyprus until the end of the British mandate and the declaration of the state of Israel. Philip’s brother was born in the camp.
Finally settled in their homeland, little Philip began attending school. “Philip?” queried the teacher, looking down at the little fellow who had already lived a lifetime in the span of his few years. “That’s not a Jewish name! From now on, you will be Yechiel.” And so it was.
Yechiel means long live God. Fortunately, in a world full of worry, that is not one of the issues we need be concerned about. Our God not only is the possessor of eternal life, but the giver of such life to all who seek it from Him.
But the life of God seems so remote, so unlike the life we have, or even the life we need for our earthly pilgrimage. If only we could see it up close — a life that could weep, yet smile through the tears and find a certain hope beyond the grave. If only there was someone like us (and yet unlike us) who could walk with us and talk of God in such a way that we could know this One who dwells in light unapproachable. If only…
Moses longed for this. “He said, I beseech Thee, show me Thy glory” (Ex. 33:18). But the Lord could show him only the afterglow as he hid in the cleft of the rock for, said the Lord, “Thou canst not see My face: for there shall no man see Me, and live” (v. 20).
Job desired a daysman “that might lay his hand upon us both” because God, said Job, “is not a man, as I am” (Job 9:32-33).
David cried, “Bow Thy heavens, O Lord, and come down” (Ps. 144:5), as did Isaiah: “Oh that Thou wouldest rend the heavens, that Thou wouldest come down” (Isa. 64:1).
At last He did! The King came down, down from His palace to a stable, from a throne to a manger. No longer was it the afterglow, but the “light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:6). Not a daysman to lay hands upon us both, but “one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; who gave Himself a ransom for all” (1 Tim. 2:5-6). He did not rend the heavens in a mighty display of His power, but slipped quietly in among us, making Himself “of no reputation, and took upon Him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men” (Phil. 2:7).
In human affairs, as one king succumbs to the Last Enemy and another takes his place on the throne, the cry is heard through the land: “The king is dead. Long live the king.” With the best of kings or the worst of kings, it was ever the same. The scepter would slip from their grasp and the sovereign would become another subject to the King of Terrors. Until this King came.
Born to die, He followed His mission unerringly through life. At last He came to His coronation at the hands of men. They fashioned for His diadem the symbol of the cursed earth, the curse He would bear for them. The royal scarlet He wore was drawn from His back with the lash. And then, alone, He descended into the hideous darkness of death to deliver His subjects from its bondage, and blaze a pathway of light through it into the very presence of God.
Standing by the cross, they watched the King die. Over His head His charge had been inscribed: This is Jesus of Nazareth, the King . . . At last, a shout of triumph, and the King is dead.
Heaven, Bethlehem, Nazareth, Galilee, Jerusalem, Gethsemane, Gabbatha, Golgotha, the grave, the glory. Long live the King!
The King has promised a return. The colt will be exchanged for a prancing steed; the thorny wreath for diadems of glory; knees will bow again, not now in mockery. “And of His kingdom there shall be no end” (Luke 1:33).