Tag: antitype

“Son of Man”: Ezekiel, Jesus, and the Pattern of Prophetic Humility

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

Brent Pollard

When God called Ezekiel to his prophetic ministry, He chose not to address him by name, but by a title that would echo through the corridors of time: “Son of Man.” Ezekiel heard this title over ninety times from God’s lips throughout the book that bears his name. The Hebrew, ben adam, means “descendant of man” or “human one.” At first glance, it might seem like a poetic flourish. Since the title “son of man” is intentionally repeated and later used by Jesus of Nazareth, we should pause and ask: Why did He choose this title for both figures?

Isaiah may rightly bear the title “Messianic Prophet” for his remarkable prophecies of Christ’s birth, suffering, and coming reign (Isaiah 7.14; 9.6; 53). But Ezekiel’s role as “son of man” unveils something equally profound—it foreshadows the very form the Messiah would take, especially in His humble incarnation and prophetic ministry.

A Title That Humbles and Separates

Adam Clarke observed with penetrating insight that this term serves to humble Ezekiel, preventing him from being exalted in his mind because of the extraordinary revelations granted to him. Here is God’s gentle yet firm reminder of Ezekiel’s frailty and mortality—set against the backdrop of those overwhelming divine visions, particularly that awe-inspiring glimpse of the Almighty’s throne in Ezekiel 1. Matthew Henry echoes this truth, observing that despite the abundance of revelations, Ezekiel remains “a son of man, a mean, weak, mortal creature.”

God repeatedly reminds Ezekiel that he is not superhuman. He is a mortal man, chosen to carry the very words of God to a rebellious and hard-hearted people. His identity itself—son of man—becomes a walking testimony to humility.

John Gill observes deeper significance in this choice, noting that this title connects Ezekiel to the coming Christ. He points out that “this is a name which our Lord frequently took to himself in his state of humiliation” and that “the reason of it is, because he was an eminent type of Christ.” Thus, “son of man” becomes more than humiliation—it points forward to the One who would perfectly embody both human weakness and divine mission.

Prophetic Suffering and True Representation

Beyond its humbling power, the term “son of man” positions Ezekiel as one who truly represents his people. He stands not as an outsider hurling judgment from afar, but as a fellow exile (Ezekiel 1.1-3). God called Ezekiel to speak as one of them—and more, to suffer in symbolic ways that would paint vivid pictures of their coming condition (Ezekiel 4–5).

Burton Coffman observes that Ezekiel’s very actions embodied the message he delivered: lying upon his side for appointed days, shaving his head with a sword, cooking with defiled fuel, refusing to mourn when his beloved wife died—each act a living parable of Israel’s approaching judgment. In this suffering service, Ezekiel points forward to a greater Prophet yet to come, One who would bear not symbolic griefs but actual sorrows, not representative suffering but substitutionary sacrifice.

Daniel’s Vision: The Title Transformed

In Daniel 7.13-14, something remarkable happens. “Son of Man” takes on entirely different colors. Daniel sees in his night visions “one like a son of man” coming with the clouds of heaven, receiving dominion that shall never pass away. What a contrast! Ezekiel’s “son of man” is lowly, suffering, and representative of human weakness. Daniel’s “Son of Man” is exalted, glorious, clothed with eternal authority.

Yet both point toward the same magnificent Person: Jesus Christ. In the Gospels, our Lord refers to Himself as “the Son of Man” more than eighty times—more than any other title He claims. In taking this name, Jesus gathers up both streams—Ezekiel’s humble suffering and Daniel’s eternal glory.

Jesus bears the full weight of human suffering, as Ezekiel did in shadow and type. Yet He also inherits that eternal kingdom promised in Daniel’s soaring vision.

Ezekiel: Pattern of the Incarnate Christ

Here then is the glory of it: if Isaiah introduces us to the person and mission of the coming Messiah, Ezekiel shows us the very form He would take—a suffering servant, fully human, yet burning with divine purpose. The constant repetition of “son of man” in Ezekiel prepares our hearts to recognize the breathtaking paradox of the incarnation itself—God in human flesh, humble yet holy, obedient unto death, acquainted with our griefs (Isaiah 53.3; Philippians 2.5-8).

Jesus, the true and ultimate Son of Man, fulfilled every aspect of Ezekiel’s prophecy, not only through His words but also through His life. He was the ideal representative of all people, carrying God’s final message as well as everyone’s sins.

Conclusion: The Seed of Eternal Purpose

It was not God’s caprice leading him to employ the phrase “son of man” to reference Ezekiel. The expression was a designation of Ezekiel’s humanity, prophetic duty, and role as the people’s representative. Yet, we understand it also served as a divinely planted seed, preparing hearts and minds to understand the Messiah—not only as conquering King and eternal Savior, but as One who would walk among us in perfect humility and carry all our sorrows.

In this “son of man,” we glimpse the wisdom of our God, who chooses frail vessels for eternal purposes—and who, when the fullness of time had come, became one Himself.

“Son of Man” represents grace beyond measure since the God calling a mortal man by that title would Himself take it for Himself, taking our nature and our place—that we might share in His glory forever.

Two Goats, One Savior

Sometimes, we read in the Old Testament about events, people, and things, wondering its significance. But, if we keep reading, we will often see why they are there. Brent discusses one of those today.

Brent Pollard

An intriguing aspect of the Day of Atonement—frequently neglected—is the significance of the scapegoat. In Leviticus 16.10, the English Standard Version designates the scapegoat as Azazel. In contemporary discourse, scapegoat refers to an individual unjustly laden with blame during strife or turmoil. Remarkably, that concept traces back to the holy observance established by the Lord for the Day of Atonement.

We often focus on the goat whose blood the priest sprinkles on the mercy seat (Leviticus 16.15). And rightly so—this initial offering represented reconciliation, a blessing we yearn for profoundly. A definition of atonement is “making amends by offering something of equal value for a wrong done.” To put it succinctly, because the result of wrongdoing is death (Romans 6.23), the goat’s demise satisfied God’s just wrath.

However, the second goat—the one designated for removal—holds an equally important significance. Once offering the initial goat, the High Priest placed his hands upon the head of the scapegoat, proclaiming the people’s transgressions before releasing it into the wilderness (Leviticus 16.21–22). I have a deep appreciation for the way the NASB1995 translates verse 22:

“The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a solitary land; and he shall release the goat in the wilderness.”

This vivid image reminds me of Psalm 103:12, “As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.” While this imagery may not resonate with flat-earthers, round-earthers understand that traveling east or west never ends—you never “arrive.” Similarly, the scapegoat symbolically carried the people’s sins to a distant place where they could never return.

The significance for Christians is deeply impactful. The Lord Jesus, the Lamb of God, offered His blood, establishing a lasting atonement for our transgressions (1 John 2.2; see Hebrews 9.12; 10.10). Yet He also embodied the scapegoat—removing our sins (see 1 John 3.5). Both were essential for our purpose. For reconciliation, death was necessary; therefore, Jesus took on the role of our Paschal Lamb. However, reconciliation with the Divine necessitated the removal of sin—and it is in this context, the symbolism of the scapegoat fulfills its purpose.

Ultimately, the scapegoat is extremely important to believers. It reminds us that Jesus paid the price for our sins and took them away altogether. Jesus bridges the gap between us and God by dying and absolving our sins. He is both the slain Lamb and the scapegoat who carried our sins away. Through this dual work, we experience forgiveness, freedom, and reconciliation—a gift we should never take for granted.