The Coming of the Son of Man - a review

Note: since the author is known personally to me and, at least virtually, to readers of the website for which this review is intended, I mainly refer to the author by his first name, rather than the more typical address of surname.

Introductory remarks

WARNING: in absorbing the message of this book you are likely to experience nothing less than a major eschatological paradigm shift.

What emerges within this paradigm shift is a bold, substantial retelling of significant first-century narratives: drawing interpretively upon the visionary imagery of Daniel and the inter-testament writings of the Maccabean revolution; representing Jesus, first of all, as a rugged, urgent Jewish prophet, warning of the destruction about to descend upon Jerusalem, Paul as an apostle prefiguring in his life and ministry the wider suffering of the birth-pains of the messianic community; casting that newly formed Jewish-Gentile community as struggling energetically, both dying and surviving alternately, to emerge from the persecution of Judaisers, the destruction of Jerusalem and, eventually, from the hold of the Satanically-inspired Roman empire, out towards the bright dawn of a new eschatological age, the horizons of which are beckoning them, out towards all nations, a messianic community “blessed… to be a blessing to every family on earth,” in glorious fulfilment of the celebrated Abrahamic covenant!

You may not be convinced that it represents a correct eschatological paradigm - even if you like some of where it seems to lead - but without experiencing the shift itself to some significant degree, this book may well simply make your head spin, particularly, if you come from a background in which the Bible - and the teaching of Jesus and Paul, in particular - are most frequently read and interpreted upon the basis of the Scriptures being primarily a universally applicable, divinely-ordained devotional volume, as compared to viewing them primarily as being a series of ancient historical prophecies and narratives that are intended to lead a chosen community into an all-embracing truth about God's eternal purpose. The author himself is clearly keenly aware of this dichotomy and, whilst pulling us urgently toward the latter, he does affirm his sympathy for the "limbo into which we cannot help falling between the urge to believe and rigorous historical method."

At times, falling into limbo is exactly how absorbing this new paradigm feels and thus, this is not a book for the casual reader, nor for the theologically faint-hearted. Each page and chapter is crammed full of theology and for those unused to being immersed within nuanced theological exchanges, it can be fairly heady stuff. More than once I was ready to give up on both the book and this review, which I’d promised Andrew for the “open-source-theology” website.

Questions raised by the paradigm

The primary question I hoped would be answered in reading this book was, as it were, on the other side of the theology itself: namely, What difference does it make if Andrew’s thesis is right? What difference does it make to the spiritual and cultural “landscape” which the “emerging church” is seeking to comprehend, explore and to engage with? My interest in this exploration has always been regarding how we understand and engage in “emerging mission,” as opposed to, say, discovering a more intellectually satisfying explanation for puzzling eschatological new testament texts. In reality, a larger question emotes from the book: how does this eschatological paradigm shift actually effect how we understand “the faith” itself which has been entrusted to the people of God..

Reading the book

From a literary - as well as a theological - point of view The Coming of the Son of Man was frequently hard going. In particular, extracting elusive central theses and conclusions, for which I was looking, from amongst surrounding digressive and sometimes highly-nuanced theological argument, was challenging, to say the least. At times, it felt as though I had stumbled into a wide-ranging, but incredibly detailed discussion between a group of people who were very familiar with their subject matter. The author’s use of the pronoun “we” to describe working out the thesis strengthens this sense of being invited into a discussion. Nevertheless, for me, it felt like a discussion which was already well under way before I joined the party; originally tempted to feel out of my depth and to look around for a summary of just what it was that various particulars being discussed related to, after all, I eventually began to recognise it was simply the case that a large amount of information was being presented for consideration and consensual conclusions weren’t necessarily expected to form part of the discussion.

An example of this amorphous style of presenting information would be the beginning of chapter six, regarding “The Man of Lawlessness,” where, after nine pages of discursive examination, it becomes clear that no particular historical identity is in view for this “dark personality.” Indeed, the author himself admits, in the midst of discussing possible interpretations of elements of 2 Thessalonians 2, to the temptation to abandon a particular argument “as a hopelessly contorted line of exegesis,” although this admission turns out to be a precursor to a final, eschatological “rabbit-from-the-hat” interpretive flourish, drawing intensively upon the typology of Daniel chapters 11 and 12 to come to a thoughtful and thought provoking conclusion.

So what am I saying? Don’t bother with the book unless you are an academic or professional theologian? On the contrary, I think this book may turn out to be a highly important contribution to the “emerging conversation,” even if, in the final analysis, it may well be vital for those with a genuine call to theology to do the work of properly understanding and interpreting each and all of the nuances and details of Andrew’s theses (work which, in an ‘emerging church’ setting, may well be done through the virtual bet hamidrash [1] environs of websites such as www.opensourcetheology.net).

I think this will be necessary, firstly, in order for those with the theological motivation, skills and insights to appropriately test the authenticity, theological viability and intellectual integrity of these theses and, then, in order for the same to offer wise and gentle guidance to the many others, who will inevitably remain less than familiar with the unusual terrain - less skilled in traversing the tangled maze - which is ‘new testament eschatology’ - a terrain the mapping of which - a maze the route out of which - will change considerably if the message of this book is properly taken on board.

Meanwhile, I’ve begun by relating my own anecdotal experience of the text because it may encourage some readers, who may not otherwise do so, to persevere with it and, in particular, to realistically consider the worth of the outlook towards which it ushers us. Moreover, I would also add: as the paradigm shift I referred to above begins to formulate within the reader’s mind - as both the weight of Andrew’s thesis grows in force and as its formidable dimensions take shape - and as the reader becomes comfortable with the reality that the question, “Where does all this leave us, as believers today?” isn’t an immediate part of the package - then reading the book does become easier and, if you’re like me, a degree of intrigue takes over, drawing you further and further in, towards more detailed insights which had earlier seemed practically impenetrable.

Having completed the book, I would be strongly tempted to suggest readers begin with Chapter Ten, the first part of which would function very well as an introduction to the rest of the book, indeed, as a motivating vision drawing the reader through to the challenging, detailed arguments that lie ahead. Therein, a clearly elucidated thesis comes fully into the light and with it a refreshing vision of what lies ahead in it’s wake - if you’ll forgive my subverting the metaphor. If the book is ever republished, I’d petition the author to consider placing his intelligent, sparkling and invigorating précis [2] at both the beginning, as well as at the conclusion of the book; quite simply, it makes sense of the involved theological struggles so necessary to the remainder of the book.

Well, enough pre-ambling (did someone say “enough rambling”?) Here, in broad brush strokes, are some of the primary emerging theses towards which the message of The Coming of the Son of Man points us.

Main theses

A. The parousia

The principal texts from which Andrew draws initially are Daniel 7-12, Matthew 24 and its parallel passages in Mark 13 and Luke 21. The interplay of these texts is discussed in depth in chapter three, where the author endeavours to set forth the argument that the “coming” of the Son of Man, refers not to the end-of-the-world return of Jesus Christ [3] but to his coming toward the throne of the Eternal One, the Ancient of Days, to receive power and authority from him. An event which, while played out in a heavenly setting within that motif, has a corresponding earthly unfolding: the destruction of Jerusalem and the Judaic Temple system and its concomitant replacement by the messianic community, the body of the messiah, as the earthly seat or representation of God’s authority.

As I understood him, this conjunction of events is what Andrew refers to when he speaks of the parousia and upon this very particular understanding hinges a great deal of the weight of the paradigm shift which the author invites us to envisage throughout the new testament, as he goes on from Jesus prophetic teaching, to survey Paul’s eschatology and, finally, decisive elements of John’s apocalyptic vision, within the message of ‘Revelation.’

B. The contextual premise of new testament eschatology

The context of new testament eschatology is, or was, overwhelmingly the crisis of Israel: the crisis brought on by the appearance of their Messiah, firstly as a prophet of Israel, bringing an eschatological warning of impending destruction (a familiar theme of Jewish prophets), and then, as developed by the messianic community which grew around him, post-resurrection, as the Eternal King of the Jews and the celebrated Lord of Creation, with a corresponding call to absolute allegiance towards him, rather than to former symbols of faith, such as torah and the Temple system - elements now effectively incorporated within him - or towards the Roman Emperor, who dominated the world of their day.

The effect of Andrew’s theses is also to insist that, practically, all of the standard evangelical eschatological markers, so beloved of ‘preachers,’ must be reassessed (deconstructed, reconstructed) in the following light: that first and foremost, it is necessary to assume that the messages of the new testament - including texts about the Day of the Lord, the Coming of the Son of Man, the parousia, judgement, etc - were written directly to encourage and to teach the earliest members of the messianic community, the church, who were specifically facing suffering and “great tribulation,” enduring an enemy in both religiously-zealous Judaism and demonically-brutal Rome, which threatened their very existence. Concomitantly, the new testaments messages must be read from the viewpoint of these early believers looking forward to the completion of the eschatological crises set in motion by the Messiah’s advent. Thus, in Andrew’s own words (chapter nine):

“… for the most part, the eschatological narrative is driving towards a goal not at the end of history but at the turning of the ages

C. Remapping traditional symbols of biblical eschatology

Spoken of in isolation, both these primary assertions, regarding the crisis, seem eminently reasonable, but the extent of reconstruction which Andrew introduces as a result of the paradigm shift is likely to surprise most readers and to take some absorbing. (For diehard reformation-theology evangelicals, the spiritual equivalent of a stiff drink possibly needs keeping close at hand…)

For example, the scope of these proposals touches not only upon the biblical understanding of explosive end-time, “Left Behind”-type scenarios, beloved of certain evangelicals and Pentecostals - including elements such as “the parousia,” “the man of lawlessness,” “Mystery Babylon,” “the Seven Seals” etc, which Andrew tackles in chapters six through nine - but also upon the more standard fare of systematic theological divisions such as “heaven,” “hell,” “judgement,” “the wrath of God,” and, indeed, “salvation” itself, all of which Andrew presents as potentially bearing quite different dimensions, when familiar new testament texts are read looking the right way through the eschatological “telescope” of the first-century Jewish writers. Suffice it to say, there is enough discussion, controversy and debate to keep theological pedants busy for years to come.

Here is one particular example, from chapter five, “The Suffering of the Saints,” suggesting just how encompassing Andrew’s theological argument is. He is reviewing and referring specifically to Romans, chapter eight:

“Although the narrative apocalyptic framework is not immediately apparent here, we should resist the temptation to generalise Paul’s argument. He is not looking out across the hazy expanses of the universal human, or even Christian, condition; he is looking down the dark and narrow gully of an impending eschatological crisis.

(Paul) is not writing for those of us who live on the distant plains; he is writing for believers in Rome and in the Roman world who were about to venture nervously into that gully, down the twisting narrow path that leads to life…”

If we recollect that Luther, so I believe, suggested that chapter eight was the summit of the book of Romans and that the book of Romans was the summit of the New Testament, which itself, of course, he considered the summit of the Bible, you begin to realise that Andrew is venturing into areas where even angels might be thought wise to tread fearfully. Yet throughout, he does so with a theological thoroughness and a certain unfettered courage which rubbishes any suggestion that he may be a “fool rushing in” to challenge ‘sacred’ theological dogmas. If such challenge to presumed evangelical orthodoxy is something that you relish being a party to, Andrew provides plenty of support for the ideas which he puts forth. But be warned, if you’re like me, it will often make your head spin, as you find yourself asking the question: if so much of the new testament applies to such a particular context, where does that leave those of us who are endeavouring to follow the Jewish Messiah, two millennia later? These are the kind of questions and arguments intentionally raised within the background by this book. But before considering them further, here are one or two more of the eschatological insights which Andrew’s paradigm posits.

D. The resurrection of the saints

Within the new testament texts, the resurrection concerning the church, is primarily - that is, firstly and principally - to be considered as being with respect to those martyrs who suffered and endured, giving their lives during the crisis period already referred to. This applies, as I understood Andrew’s thesis, to most of the new testament symbols and myths (by which I don’t imply “untrue”, merely the “entire collection of beliefs” surrounding the subject) regarding the resurrection of the elect. Thus, the “first resurrection” applies to the “first-fruits” - first Christ himself and then those who have died in the time of crisis, “suffering for the sake of the kingdom of God - for the sake of the acknowledgement in the heavens, in the earth and under the earth, that it is Christ and not the beast (Rome) who is sovereign over all.” (page 223) Whilst a later resurrection of all the righteous and the unrighteous is not ruled out, it appears only on the farthest horizon of the scope of this book.

The most dramatic, fantastic eschatological texts, such as in the Thessalonian epistles, speaking about the “dead in Christ” rising first, preceding “those who are alive at the coming of the Lord,” rising to “meet him in the air and then be with him forever,” appear to be dealt with metaphorically, in a fairly summarily manner, without apology or a great deal of probing. For me, this was one of the least satisfactory elements of Andrew’s dealing with these texts and certainly worthy of further investigation, given the significance the parousia is given in the schema he is proposing.

Missiological implications

My own background is missiological, rather than theological. In some ways, this was not the most obvious book for me to review. However, it is in the questions and conclusions and pointers, which the book finally arrives at, regarding the way we consider and do church today - our ecclesiology and sense of “ortho-praxy,” as some are coining the phrase - that I, as a missiologist, find something appealing and the reason that I wanted to read and review this book.

Thus, to the finale of The Coming of the Son of Man, chapter ten: “The Church in the Age to Come,” which finally offers some solace to the “where does that leave us / lead us”-type questions, as Andrew sets out some of the boundary markers of the new landscape which he believes the emerging, western church must explore and understand:

“The thesis worked out in this book - if it survives the fire of critical judgement - must have significant implications for the life, work and worship of the church… We will probably need to develop a mode of spiritual life that is much broader in its scope, much more earthy in its orientation, much more imaginative and resourceful in its dealings with the world. We will certainly want to recover a sense of what it means for us to have inherited the promise to Abraham and the calling to be present in the world for the sake of God.

The implications referred to are admittedly not set out in any great depth, but enough clues and markers are suggested to provide the reader - and the forums which will surely accompany this volumes readership - with a clear idea of whether the framework, the thesis, the eschatological matrix, of the book is worth pursuing.

It surely must be right to have courage enough to endeavour to encounter the new testament texts, first and foremost, “as they really were” to the original writers and readers. It will equally surely be some time before the verdict is in on whether Andrew achieves that vaunted goal with his radical reading of the new testament’s eschatological paradigm, but to strive for it certainly seems right. With the scholarship of N.T. Wright et al, with their “conservative” historical scholarship lurking helpfully in the background, with a increasingly obvious crisis of confidence and membership within vast swathes of the western Christian church, the time for such a reconsideration has surely never been more ripe.

In conclusion

Reading and absorbing the message of this book has been a fascinating experience. Andrew undoubtedly - and indomitability, it would seem - takes on a great deal within it and I am certain it posits too much for most readers to digest and analyse on one reading (including myself -I trust reader and he alike will forgive any errors in understanding which I may have introduced). Indeed, at times, certain readings border on being slightly tortuous, such as his attempt to explain the salvation of “all Israel” - perhaps it was simply irresistible to the author’s theological mind, perhaps it is the kind of nuanced detail which can be tackled if and when the broader thesis has been properly absorbed over a period of time.

And there is an interesting thing. The more I read of Andrew’s theses, the more “comfortable” I found myself with them, or at least, with the consistency that they do bring as a matrix for interpreting the eschatology of the new testament texts (assuming you can accept the primary parousia theses, even if only for the purpose of assessing the wider matrix).

Coming from a Pentecostal background, I occasionally found that a little scary: was I being led away from cherished, vital, lively doctrines? [4] And yet, in the landscape that Andrew calls his readers towards, I do find a great deal in common with the missiological worldview into which I was personally long ago acculturated: things such as the idea of the messianic community, the church, grounded in the Abrahamic covenant, being “blessed… to be a blessing to all the nations of the world.”

If the price necessary for a wide audience to be drawn towards this landscape is the kind of new testament eschatology which Andrew posits, then it may be worthwhile. Even if I would question whether it is absolutely necessary in order to arrive at that goal, if shared missiological values are the end product, then the journey that brings us there may be less important. Somehow, though, I do wonder if it can really be that simple.

Final thought

On the note of the missiological journey that beckons us forward, I leave you with a final quote from Andrew himself:

“To many readers it will appear that the argument of this book has removed the incentive for mission. On the contrary, I think it should make us all the more urgently aware of our calling to be a people for God’s purposes in the world.”

If “The Coming of the Son of Man” succeeds in that goal, it will be success indeed.

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Well written, Andrew.

A sub-forum each, for most of the chapters at least, would probably be appropriate, in order that the “fire of critical judgement” about which you proleptically / prophetically speak can begin to be kindled - that the tribulation preceding the potential vindication, the parousia, so to speak, of The Coming of the Son of Man, might begin…!

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[1] Hebrew: “house of study”; implicitly, of ‘torah’.
[2] Up to the part about the salvation of all Israel.
[3] Though this is not definitively ruled out, Andrew's thesis posits that most texts traditionally thought to refer to this event, don’t!
[4] Though whether the traditional doctrine of hell can really be considered as vital and lively is another matter, for another debate.