The king stood outside beneath the stars, just as he had always done in his father’s fields while surrounded by sheep, wondering at the marvel of his own existence. In the still darkness under the ancient lights, his thoughts often turned from matters of state to what men had pondered for eons—man’s place in the universe. David was a warrior, a prophet, and a king of his tiny nation, surrounded by powerful enemies. His God needed to be very majestic, indeed. While many Israelites continued to bow the knee to the Canaanite gods, David wrote a worship song that asks a simple question, “What is man?” His profound answer to his own question refutes all the pagan cosmologies.

When we sit in the dark surrounded by starry glory hinting at an immense universe, we are given an opportunity to feel two sensations. On the one hand, the stars seem majestic and coldly distant, utterly dependable in their motions—yet terribly indifferent to us. On the other hand, they seem perfect, mysterious—even, perhaps, in total control of everything beneath them. Looking up at them, realizing what weak little creatures we are, we may feel subject to their power. Many cultures, in fact, have pictured the random scattering of points across the sky as a screen where they projected all their wishes and dreams. By imposing their imaginations on the silent stars, men have created a great revolving cinema of gods and heroes with elaborate mythologies. Even today, our star maps continue to display projections of human worship, both ancient and modern. Man has always tried to set his glories in the heavens.

David, however, saw glory above him and thought first not of man but of his Creator, whose glory is above even the stars, ruling all. David asked Him directly, “What is man that you are mindful of him?” Indeed, given the vastness of the universe, what is puny man that the Creator should care for him? From a natural perspective the cosmos seems to put man in his rightful place—somewhere near the bottom of the great “chain of being”. In fact, pagans have always known that the numerous pagan gods, whatever their rank, have better things to occupy their energies than man. Uniquely, however, the Hebrew Scriptures contradict the pagan chain of being and its polytheism by declaring that man’s significance is a gift from his Creator. David states in verse 5:

“Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. You have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet…”

 

The Promises of Eden

Psalm 8 refers us to man’s origin in the Garden of Eden where God showed extraordinary attention to Adam and Eve. The first man and woman had been created perfect, made in God’s image, when He declared all of creation to be “very good” (Gen. 1:31). Not only were the first humans perfect, but they were appointed under God’s authority to subdue the earth and fill it. In fact, their creation was cause for universal celebration and joy as the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy (Job 38:7). When God crowned man with glory and honor and gave him dominion, there were great expectations for all of humankind. To uniquely resemble God, to visit personally with Him, and to be given dominion over creation—these are honors we cannot fully comprehend.

What qualified Adam for his crown?

There was little about Adam to amaze us, for he was not a superhero with great powers, nor does Scripture specify what powers Adam had to enable him to exercise control over his vast dominion. Although he was perfect, Adam had to rule over animals that were faster and stronger than he. In fact, aside from naming the beasts, there is little evidence of Adam’s actually putting creation under his subjection, although God’s decree that man should multiply and fill the earth (Gen. 1:28; 9:1) did keep the wild beasts from overrunning the land (Deut. 7:22).

Adam was “of the earth” and made from dirt—a humble origin of which Scripture reminds us frequently. As an earth-bound organism, he was physically united to the elements of our planet. Yet he was more than dust—but he was not a living being until God personally breathed life into him (Gen. 2:7). Adam’s life derived from God alone, not from any natural property of the dust or from his physical body.1 In fact, God’s imparting the breath of life was more than His giving divine CPR to kick start a biological machine called Adam. Animals, for example, all breathe the same air we do and share much of our DNA, yet it was only into Adam that God personally breathed spiritual life, making man in His own image. God made man and woman in His own image with a unique origin and a unique spiritual nature. Because He is spirit, God imparted His spiritual life to them so they could personally know Him and worship Him in Spirit (Jn. 4:24).

To humble us, David tells us that man was made lower than the more powerful spiritual beings in the spiritual realm. Compared to mighty angels, Adam was earthbound, weak, and vulnerable. Considering Adam’s limitations, we might be tempted to ask God, “How did Adam deserve that crown? Why not an archangel?”

Yet for reasons we will see later, God created a universe that could only fulfill His purposes through subjugation by man. In the beginning He placed Adam and Eve—perfect living souls— in a garden, but outside Eden, creation evidently had a certain wildness that God wanted man to subdue (Gen. 1:28). That subjection never took place. We wonder sometimes how creation might have been transformed by an unfallen Adam, but Scripture does not tell us what might have been. Instead, it tells us what man will finally be. Significantly, Scripture does not point us back to the original perfections of Eden in order to foreshadow the future. Instead, the Bible directs our attention away from Eden toward another world under a very different administration.

In Genesis 3, we see Adam and Eve listening to the serpent who claimed that, by doubting and disobeying God, they would become like gods, knowing good from evil (Gen. 3:5). In other words, in exchange for disobedience, the serpent offered “self-improvement”, tempting them with illegitimate access to secret knowledge by which they could rise above their God-given natures2 to find greater powers. Suddenly God’s provision for them of ruling the earth and knowing Him personally was eclipsed by the promise of being “like gods”, and they listened to the serpent. They broke their fellowship with God that day and fell to their spiritual deaths.

When God visited Adam and Eve that evening, He brought both swift judgment and distant hope. The first curses fell on the serpent who was now debased below other beasts, to crawl like a worm in the dirt (Gen. 3:14-14). From other Scriptures, we also know that God was applying the curses to the malevolent spirit who spoke through the serpent. Satan was now the most debased of all God’s creatures, and this reality would be demonstrated until all his plans and efforts are finally defeated.3 He would be loathed and dreaded by men, even among his slaves. Though he would bite the heel of the woman’s Offspring, his head would finally be crushed. In contrast, Eve’s children could place their hopes in her seed to conquer the serpent and restore all things.

When God said that the ground was cursed for man’s sake, He meant that the earth was cursed with “futility” so that death would follow man and defeat all his works (Rom. 8:21). Today we witness everywhere the evidence of man’s lost dominion over nature. We are still prey to disasters, diseases, and wars, and especially we are subject to our own fallen natures. The innocent and the guilty suffer alike, and even though we improve our technologies, we often use them to magnify our capacity for evil. This fact is demonstrated in Michael Crichton’s science fiction book Jurassic Park.4 In it he imagines a wild animal park populated with cloned dinosaurs that turn out to be violent and uncontrollable; they remind us that, in spite of our increased knowledge, nature is never our servant.

 

Not to Angels

“For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking” (Heb. 2:5).

Angels were given authority by God to administer certain affairs of earth. For example, angels guarded the entrance to Eden after the fall (Gen. 2:24), delivered the law at Sinai (Heb. 2:2), continue to rule over earthly kingdoms (Dan. 4:13, 10:13), and are given power over nature (Rev. 16:4). There are evil angels who rule the nations, as we see in Daniel 10, and these “princes” oppose the work of God’s angels (Dan. 10:20). Michael the archangel, one of the chief princes, is the defender of Israel (vs. 21). Moreover, Paul tells us that we wrestle against principalities and powers, against spiritual wickedness in high places (Eph. 6:12). These powers are usurpers of man’s rightful dominion, and they must be cast out by the rightful king. In the time of Christ, Jewish culture carried strong beliefs in angelic hierarchies, both good and evil.5 If their religious system had been delivered by God through powerful angels, how could Christians claim a greater authority for their gospel?

In the New Testament, the end of angelic domination is proclaimed.

“For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking” (Heb. 2:5).

The new cosmic order has already been firmly established for men, by the man from Nazareth. This was a shocking message, an unbelievable report to the Jews. Why should they listen to this message from a lowly peasant who was obviously lower than an angel? The answer shatters the Jewish paradigm and reveals God’s provision: this humble Man who first delivered the great news is greatly superior to angels. The world to come will not be under the power of angels, and this Man has no place in their hierarchy. Hebrews 2 makes the message of Psalm 8 shine even brighter. We hear the question again, “What is man, that you are mindful of him?” We now have a better answer.

 

The Qualities of Majesty

When man was given dominion and crowned with glory, his real domain included all things (Heb. 2:8). Obviously, we do not see all things under man’s dominion. Where can we see evidence of all things becoming subjected to man? The prophet Isaiah warned us that the real answer would disappoint us:

“For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him” (Is. 53:2).

Isaiah 53’s little shoot, growing out of the old stump of Jesse’s royal family (see Is. 11:1), is God’s answer. “No!” we cry; “we want real dominion; is this unattractive shoot the best God can provide to restore authority to humanity? Unbelievable!”

This dwarfed, dry young plant poking through the dust, however, is God’s promised Branch. He is not strong or beautiful as we expect Him to be (53:1, 2). In fact, because Jesse’s Branch doesn’t appear strong or kingly, most people turn away from Him, disappointed. Nevertheless, the Servant of Isaiah 53, lowly and weak, demoted beneath the angels, is the One who wins the crown of dominion over all creation. All the honor and dignity that is ascribed to man at his creation is found in the humble Servant, and nowhere else.

“But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone” (Heb. 2:8-9).

While His inheritance is superior to anything ever given to angels (Heb. 1), His life on earth seems to be a terrible contradiction to His identity. Nevertheless, Hebrews declares that His rejection and crucifixion are the reason for His inheritance: Jesus was crowned with glory “because of the suffering of death” (Heb. 2:9). Moreover, He is crowned because, by God’s grace towards us, Jesus took our death. His Father exalted Him because He humbled Himself by taking the form of a servant and was obedient to the point of death (Phil. 2:8-10).

This apparent paradox begs the question: “But why should God pay so much attention to man that He would suffer for him?” If we ever battle with skeptical thoughts about the brutal aspects of the gospel, this passage indeed requires a closer look:

“For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering” (Heb. 2:10).

How was it “fitting” or appropriate for the Creator of the cosmos to arrange such extreme suffering for His Son? For God to cause suffering does not seem, on the surface, consistent with His character. Wouldn’t it be logical for God to save man by removing suffering, not by using it for His purposes?

The answers to these questions is in the passage. Since all things were created by God and for His glory (Rom. 11:36; Col. 1:15), making Jesus suffer for us showed His grace. In other words, there was nothing ever inflicted on any person that God did not take upon Himself in the person Jesus. Therefore, it was completely consonant with God’s character of justice and mercy to bruise His Son, fully intending that He should suffer:

“Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him; he has put him to grief…” (Is. 53:10).

Long before anyone suffered, the crushing of the Servant was in His foreknowledge and plan from all time (Acts 2:23). Jesus was the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world (Rev. 13:8), perfectly in keeping with His perfect salvation.

From these and many other texts, we see that becoming a man and sacrificing Himself for His fallen brothers and sisters was, and always will be, Jesus’ eternal identity.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever” (Heb. 13:8).

Because He made the universe for Himself, He designed every last subatomic particle of it with His tasting death for us in mind. Nothing was left to chance, for the cross and the resurrection were “in the blueprints.”

The Lord Jesus was fitted to be our complete Savior; He was “made perfect through sufferings” all through His life on earth. Importantly, He did not suffer because He was morally deficient; rather, His suffering as a sinless man thoroughly fitted Him for His role as our Savior and High Priest. Isaiah tells us (53:4) that the Servant has “borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” This statement, however, is saying far more than, “He was sympathetic to our suffering.”

What Isaiah is telling us is that Jesus, our compassionate Messiah, takes on fully the darkest parts of our lives. He did not hold back on the cross, and He will not avoid our deepest griefs now. There is much more to these words in verse 4 than the English translation conveys. The Hebrew word for “griefs” is choli, which means affliction, disease, griefs, illnesses.6 The Scripture does not separate illnesses of the body from those of the soul but connects them together as part of the same affliction. We could read the passage this way, “Surely he has borne our afflictions and illnesses, our griefs and sorrows.” In the New Testament gospels, Jesus lives this reality thoroughly:

“That evening they brought to him many who were oppressed by demons, and he cast out the spirits with a word and healed all who were sick. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: “He took our illnesses and bore our diseases” (Mt. 8:16-17).

We know that Jesus healed the afflicted and raised the dead, fulfilling the words of Isaiah. If we dig deeper, however, there is something profoundly intimate in His bearing our afflictions. There is a moving story in Mark where we catch a glimpse into the heart of the Son of God:

“And they brought to him a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. And taking him aside from the crowd privately, he put his fingers into his ears, and after spitting touched his tongue. And looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, ‘Ephphatha,’ that is, ‘Be opened.’ And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly” (Mk. 7:32-25).

Why does Mark add the little detail that Jesus sighed while looking up to heaven? Healing this man was not difficult for Him, and He was certainly willing to do so. Here is something profound that we are allowed to see in Jesus’ healing this suffering man—something we really need to see. Because Jesus is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world, the One who has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows, He healed that man by bearing his entire affliction, his physical and mental pain, and all his guilt. Jesus felt all his anguish and carried its awful weight in His own soul.

The purity of Jesus’ soul did not make him callous to the sufferings of sinners; rather, it made Him far more sensitive to them. He did not have a deceitful heart, as we have, that avoided the more disturbing realities of evil. He had what Alexander MacLaren called the “identifying power of the unparalleled sympathy of a pure nature.”7

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15).

This is not a text designed to make us feel guilty for yielding to temptations, as some of us learned we must feel. The sympathy of Jesus is not like a Hallmark sympathy card, giving us nice paper sentiments from a distance while we grieve alone. No—His sympathy is ever-present and comes to us with His sovereign power as He carries us with all our burdens. For those who are born of the Spirit, He never leaves or forsakes us at any time (Heb. 13:5). That is who He is.

Even while He was on earth, although Jesus had all power and knew what was about happen in the next few minutes, He was not ashamed to grieve openly. “Jesus wept,” John tells us in John 11:35 as he describes Jesus’ approach to his friend Lazarus’ tomb. The shortest verse in the Bible reveals the completely human Jesus feeling bereavement as well as the weight of the mourning of all the people present, even though in a few minutes He would raise Lazarus from the dead. What might appear as weakness in this Messiah is really the true mark of kingly majesty. All the griefs, all the trials Jesus had to bear were making Him “perfect,” as One fully qualified to be the captain of our salvation (Heb. 2:10).

 

The Glory Above the Heavens

“For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For ‘God has put all things in subjection under his feet’” (1 Cor. 15:25-27).

From the moment we first awaken every morning, we are aware that our world is not in subjection to us. We groan within ourselves; even those of us who have the first fruits of the Spirit are groaning while we wait for glory (Rom. 8:23). We see little evidence of that glorious future here, a place where it hurts to walk by faith. Even though we can’t see much, though, what we can see is enough: we can see Jesus.

As believers in the gospel (1 Cor. 15:3, 4), we know that God raised Jesus from the grave to sit down and rule at the Father’s right hand. We know that in Adam we all died, but in the risen Christ, “we shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22). When we believe in Jesus and are born of the Spirit, we are no longer “in Adam”, but we are “in Christ”, our new representative. Everything He has done belongs to us: His perfect obedience, His dying and rising, His ascension to heaven, His inheritance and dominion of the entire cosmos—just as if we had done all these things ourselves.

What God’s word is trying to tell us is that if we are born from above, we are no longer considered children of Adam. True, our bodies belong to the dust and we remain for now under the physical curses given to Adam and Eve, but our living spirits know Him and are joined to Him.

“The first man Adam became a living being; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit.” (1 Cor. 15:45). “The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven” (vs. 47).

In Christ, our true identity is no longer “from the earth” which is of the dust, but in heaven with Christ. The sad effects of Adam’s rule were ended in Christ, and His reign has already begun. That fact radically changes how we should think of ourselves. Paul told his friends in Corinth,

“…one has died for all, therefore all have died…From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer” (2 Cor. 5:14b-16).

God’s universe was always to be under the dominion of a man, determined by God’s sovereign decree from all eternity. Adam never dominated the universe because he failed to remain humbly submitted to God’s rule. The rulership of the universe was never intended for the mighty and the proud. The dominion of earth is fulfilled by another Man, an obedient Servant, lowly and weak, who was rejected as unfit for any crown. The Servant came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many. He is the Lamb of God, slain from all eternity, for the saving of proud sinners like you and me. He is everything man was ever meant to be. Because of His humility, weakness, and dependency, the Lord Jesus is especially qualified for His crown. Those are the qualities of His divine majesty, so let us worship Him.

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens” (Ps. 8:1). †

 

Endnotes

1. Elicott, Charles, Elicott’s Commentary for English Readers, http://biblehub.com/commentaries/genesis/2-7.htm
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid., http://biblehub.com/commentaries/genesis/3-14.htm
4. Wikipedia, Jurassic Park, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jurassic_Park_(novel)
5. Jewish Encyclopedia, “Angelology”, http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/1521-angelology#4349
6. Strong’s Concordance, “Isaiah 53:4, choli”’”: http://biblehub.com/hebrew/2483.htm
7. Alexander MacLaren, Maclaren’s Expositions, “Isaiah 53:4”, http://biblehub.com/commentaries/isaiah/53-1.htm

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