Let us consider that it is far better to suffer than to be disgraced; that it is better to strive against evil than to succumb to it effetely; that loyalty and unity of heart are virtues for which no transient prosperity could make up to us if haply they were lost; that when the soul of a people moves as it does, thank God today with one strong impulse toward that which is just and right, that our soul is growing every hour to true nobility and to the worthiness of its mission.

The following excerpts were selected from a sermon preached by Morgan Dix just a few days after the beginning of the Civil War in April 1861. Considering the turmoil presently found in our stormy social and political climate, both here and abroad, it seems fitting that these words might likewise find some resonance in our day. — Editor.
The Way of God in the Storm
“The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet,” saith the prophet (Nahum 1:3). And the way of the Lord, whether it be in the whirlwind or in the summer’s breeze, in the storm or in the fair weather, is a way of justice, of mercy, and of truth. If a storm arises and blows, be it lighter or heavier, we need not fear if we know that the way of the Lord is there. Even in the whirlwind and in the storm “let the people praise Thee, O God, yea, let all the people praise Thee” (Psalm 67:5).
Storms are not the worst and greatest evils. Ask the sailor which he will choose, a mere storm or the dead calm of windless waters; and do not doubt his reply. Ask the wretched inhabitant of some pestilential climate, on which the stillness of the curse lies heavy day after day, what he would give for a storm from the cool, healthy north to blow upon the fever swamps and drive the destroyer from before it.
Yes, brethren, the words of the prophet are true, and the way of the Lord is in the storm. The storm is His minister of mercy and benefit, though in a rough, fierce way of its own. The storm does us good service in keeping the equilibrium among the elements, and it ministers beneficial discipline in its time — just as God appoints. This is the mission of the stormy wind and tempest in the firmament above: angry of face, but full of benefit and good; stern and sharp, but profitable also.
And that which is true in the firmament is just as true beneath it. Here, upon the way of this life, rises storm after storm. Here, also, the winds blow and beat upon the earthly house of this tabernacle. Here are blast and tempest along the way of each man, and of each community, and of all the nations upon earth. But the way of God is in them here below as well as up there over our heads.
Here, likewise, the clouds of strife and struggle are the “dust of His feet.” Here, also, have storm and tempest found their needful place and their healthful mission. It is so with them all. All are but God’s means of castigation which we need, and of advancement of which we have when we have been deemed worthy. This is true of the storms of life, whether they eddy in a narrow radius around one man, or around each one of us in his turn; or whether they gather into notable volume around some whole community; or whether, lastly, they expand to the compass of the round cyclone, and getting leverage below, through the strong arms of the earthquake, where it might shake the mighty nation and the ancient and honorable people to its center.
Finding the Virtue in the Storm
It is not the part of men to fly from the storm every time it falls upon them, but to look it full in the face; to search amid its folds and its rising fury for the mysterious way of the Lord which is surely therein. And, by doing so, to draw from it the virtue and the strength which are lodged there; thus rising, with added security from the temporary shock, to be taught by the event and gain a reverence and fear of the Lord.
Brethren, there is a deep and divine philosophy, crystallized into visible shape in nature, illustrated in all the inner history of man, and assented to by the convictions of the heart wherever that heart beats. It is a teaching, one and the same for every place, every age and every time. This philosophy runs thus: that all things are purified by trial. “Every one,” saith our Lord, “shall be salted with fire, and every sacrifice shall be salted with salt” (Mark 9:49, KJV).
The whirlwind and the storm must come; and men must meet them. There is no exemption from this law; and the philosophy of which we speak is probably the simplest and the most universal that ever was taught. Advancement and honor come by the pathway of trial.
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The prophecy of Daniel’s Seventy Sevens—possibly the most difficult in the entire prophetic canon—is a case study in the indispensability of the NCH. Without it, the vision is a maze; a labyrinth from which there is no escape. With it, the way into the open field of truth becomes clear at last.

Note: This essay is a slightly modified excerpt from my book on eschatology, called The High King of Heaven: Discovering the Master Keys to the Great End Time Debate. It is drawn from a chapter dealing with the proper interpretation of Old Testament Kingdom Prophecy (OTKP). There are many such prophecies, and Daniel 9:24-27 is among the most difficult and controversial. As a you will see if you read on (and I hope you will!), I have studied the different views with some care, and settled upon an interpretation that I believe is not only sound, but also inspiring and timely. // In this essay you will run across the acronym NCH, which stands for New Covenant Hermeneutic. The NCH is the method the apostles used to interpret the OT in general, and OT Kingdom prophecy in particular. In order to understand the NCH better, you may want to read this short article first. Also, the acronym DNT stands for Didactic New Testament, and references the distinctively teaching portions of the NT (as opposed, say, to historical narratives in the gospels and the book of Acts, or to the Revelation as a whole). My hope and prayer is that in this essay you will catch a fresh, exhilarating glimpse of the High King of heaven, his awesome plan for the ages, and the glorious inheritance that he has prepared for his beloved Bride.

The year is 539 B.C. Daniel, still in captivity under Darius the Mede, has been reading the prophet Jeremiah (Jeremiah 25:11-12, 29:10). He realizes that the 70 years of Jerusalem’s desolation are nearing an end, but also that many captive Jews remain unbroken and impenitent (9:13). They are not spiritually qualified for the great restoration promised decades earlier.
So Daniel prays (9:3-23). First, he rehearses and confesses the sin of God’s covenant-breaking people (9:3-10). Then he acknowledges God’s justice in sending them into captivity (9:11-15). Finally, he makes his petition. Appealing solely to God’s mercy, grace, and zeal for the honor of his Name, he pleads with the LORD to fulfill his promise given through Jeremiah: to restore his City, his Sanctuary, and his Holy Mountain (9:16-19).
His words are not in vain. Even as he is praying, the angel Gabriel arrives and stands before him, declaring to Daniel that God has indeed heard his prayer and answered it. He (Gabriel) has been sent to give Daniel “insight and understanding” about the coming Restoration (9:20-23). In the four long verses that follow, he does (9:24-27)
Are you familiar with this famous OTKP, often referred to as the prophecy of Daniel’s Seventy Sevens (or Weeks)? If so, you know at least one thing for sure: A whole host of commentators have been seeking insight and understanding ever since! In the paragraphs ahead, we will see why.
The Three Main Views of Daniel 9
Close students of this short but complex OTKP know that interpreters differ widely on the exact meaning of dozens of the details found herein. To give but one illustration, Biederwolf cites at least eleven different opinions as to when, historically, the seventy sevens start.1 This is hardly an auspicious beginning! And yet, when we stand back and look at the history of interpretation surrounding this prophecy, we discover something both interesting and encouraging: In the end, the vast majority of conservative commentators espouse one of three main views. My purpose in this section is briefly to introduce them, and to explain why I believe that the Lord is now putting his finger on the one that is true.
1. The Traditional First Advent View (Tfav)
First, we have what I will call the Traditional First Advent View. It has been around from the beginning, and is still popular today. The basic idea here is that the terminus ad quem—the goal or end point—of the seventy weeks is (primarily) the first advent of Christ.
Regarding the seventy sevens, there are differences of opinion. Some say they are 490 consecutive years, a commitment that forces them to look for a viable historical starting point. Others argue that they are symbolic, a commitment that delivers them from unwelcome computations and manipulations. But all agree that the great burden of the prophecy is to unveil the redemptive instrument—the New Covenant, and the Christ of the New Covenant—by which God will make an end of sins, bring in everlasting righteousness, and so create, once and for all, his eschatological City, Sanctuary, and Mountain (24).
How will God do this? Turning to the text itself, proponents of the TFAV reply: He will send a Messiah: an Anointed One, a holy Priest and Sacrifice, who, by God’s fore-ordination, will be cut off for the sins of his people (25, 26). Because of this, he will be able to make a firm covenant with his people—a New Covenant—, and in so doing will bring the Old Covenant sacrifices and burnt offerings to an end (27).
And that is not all that he will bring to an end. For another prince will come—the Roman general Titus—to destroy the former city (Herod’s Jerusalem) and the former sanctuary (Herod’s Temple) (26). This is indeed a divine judgment against the Jews, who rejected their Messiah. But it is also a message from God: Christ’s death has rendered the temple (and it sacrifices) abominable in his sight; therefore, he has decreed its perpetual desolation, a desolation that began with Titus’ assault (27).
There is, however, great good news: When the Messiah comes, and when he makes a New Covenant with his own, then a new City and a new Temple will arise: the Church. As the NT teaches, it is in the Church—and all throughout the Era of Gospel Proclamation—that God will accomplish the great eschatological restoration he promised through Jeremiah, and for which the prophet Daniel so fervently prayed (24).
It is noteworthy that by focusing (more or less) exclusively upon the first coming of Christ, the TFAV view leaves room for, but does not require, a future millennial reign of Christ. Thus, both amillennarians and premillennarians can (and do) embrace the TFAV.
With minor differences among them, E. Hengstenberg, E. Pusey, E. J. Young, K. Riddlebarger, M. Kline, and I. Duguid are all modern proponents of the TFAV.
A Critique of the Tfav
Because of the fluidity—indeed, the ambiguity—of the language of this prophecy, the TFAV seems, at first glance, to open it up quite well. However, upon closer inspection, we encounter some serious problems.
If, for example, the great Restoration envisioned in verse 24 is fulfilled under the New Covenant, why should the terminus ad quem of the prophecy be the first advent of Christ, rather than the second, when that restoration will be complete?
What of the sixty-two sevens referenced in verses 25 and 26: Why do the proponents of the TFAV not pause to consider, with some translators, that the sixty-two sevens might actually follow—and be a consequence of—the coming of Messiah the Prince?
Why do they assert that the “he” of verse 27—the one who will confirm a covenant with many—is Christ, when the person most recently spoken of in the preceding verse (26) is the prince (allegedly Titus) who will destroy the city and the sanctuary?
Why, if the “he” of verse 27 is Christ, does the angel again point to his death here (“He will bring an end to sacrifice and offering”), when in verse 26 he has already spoken of the (alleged) destruction of Herod’s city and sanctuary?
Why, if this is Christ, will he establish a covenant with many only for one week, rather than forever (27)?
Why is the prophecy silent as to what occurs in the last half of the seventieth seven, after Christ brings an end to sacrifice and offering (27)?
And why does it conclude with such a great emphasis upon the destruction of the temple? Is this not an odd way of wrapping up a divine revelation meant to unveil the Messianic restoration of all things!2
Perhaps, then, in light of all these questions, there is a more satisfying interpretation than the one offered in the TFAV.
2. The Dispensational Two-Advent View (Dtav)
The second view is the Dispensational Two-Advent View. Unlike the TFAV, it holds that here Daniel refers not only to Christ’s first advent, but also to his second, when he comes again at the end of a seven year season of tribulation for ethnic Israel. This view has little historic precedent, having arisen in mid-19th century England among the Plymouth Brethren. And yet, for reasons discussed earlier, it has become widely popular in evangelical circles. It is the most complex and controversial of the three interpretations. If, however, we confine ourselves to the basics, it is fairly easy to describe and understand. Let us briefly survey it, verse by verse.
Dispensationalists reckon the seventy sevens of verse 24 as seventy weeks of years; as 490 calendar years. They acknowledge that the six blessings here promised to Daniel’s people are achieved by the earthly work of Christ, and that they will reach their full fruition in the New Heavens and the New Earth. Nevertheless, in a major departure from the TFAV, they do not agree that Daniel’s people and city appear here primarily as OT types of the eschatological People and City of God: the Church. Instead, Dispensationalists insist that Gabriel is speaking primarily of spiritual blessings that God will bestow upon ethnic Israel in the Millennium; in the dispensation of the (earthly, Jewish, and Messianic) Kingdom that is (allegedly) the true theme of all OTKP.
The subject matter of verse 25 is the (events of the) first 69 weeks. These total 483 calendar years. According to (most) dispensationalists, they began in 445 B.C., when king Artaxerxes issued a decree authorizing the restoration of Jerusalem, which was indeed rebuilt in stressful times under the leadership of Nehemiah (Nehemiah 2:1f). They ended either at the birth of Messiah the Prince or at his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Notably, dispensationalists cannot quite make this scheme chronologically viable, and so resort to massaging the numbers involved. Some suggest that Artaxerxes actually issued his decree in 455 BC, while others say that here the Spirit reckons a year as 360 days.3
Along with the proponents of the TFAV, dispensationalists hold that verse 26 speaks of: 1) the rejection and death of Christ, who thereby “has nothing” of his royal prerogatives; 2) the coming of the Roman “prince” Titus; and, 3) the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD by Titus’ legions.
However, upon reaching verse 27, dispensationalists diverge sharply from their traditional brethren. Here, they say, the Spirit suddenly lifts us up and carries us ahead to certain dramatic events that must befall ethnic Israel at the close of the present evil age. Obviously, this raises an important question: What in the world happens during the intervening years?
With scant help from the text itself, dispensationalists respond by asserting that throughout this time God is pursuing a different plan for a different people. The plan is the “mystery” of the Dispensation (or Era) of the Church. The people is the Church itself, the Bride of Christ. According to dispensationalists, the OT prophets—including Daniel—did not foresee or speak of either, since their sole concern was to encourage the OT saints with promises of Christ’s millennial Kingdom.
Moreover, they did not foresee still another mystery, one that will bring the Church Era to a close: the Rapture. At the Rapture, God will send the glorified Christ secretly to lift his Bride into the skies above the earth and then carry her to heaven, where she will be safe and secure from the vicissitudes of the seven terrible years now to begin: The Tribulation (Matthew 24:6, 15; 1 Thessalonians 4, 4:13ff; Revelation 7:14).
In sum, dispensationalists hold that God has placed a great “parenthesis”—a huge temporal gulf, now some two millennia long—between the end of verse 26 and the beginning of verse 27. Again, they call this gulf the mystery of the Church Era. When it began, God’s prophetic time clock—his stated plans for ethnic Israel—stopped (26). But as soon the Rapture occurs, it will start to tick again (27)!
What will the seventieth week—the Tribulation era—look like? In reply, dispensationalists take us to verse 27. The “he” with which it begins is not, they say, the prince of verse 26 (i.e., Titus). No, it is the “little horn” of Daniel 7, the Antichrist. This wicked Roman prince will enter into a seven-year covenant with “many” Jews, presumably guaranteeing them certain political and religious prerogatives. However, mid-way into the final week, he will break the covenant by suppressing Jewish ritual worship, “desolating” the (restored) temple with his abominable idolatries, and launching a fierce persecution against Israel. In other words, for three and a half years Israel (along with the persecuting world, as well) will endure what dispensationalists call “the Great Tribulation.” However, Christ himself—at his visible coming again in power and glory—will bring all hostilities to an end. When he appears, he will pour out complete destruction upon the Antichrist (and his followers), after which he will introduce the manifold blessings of the thousand-year Messianic reign upon the earth (v. 24).4
Daniel 9: The Rock of Dispensationalism
Before commenting further, I want very much to emphasize that this text—or rather their interpretation of it—is foundational to the entire dispensational system; that it grounds the dispensational picture of all Salvation History. We can best understand why by considering once again some of the key propositions it involves, propositions that at any number of points put dispensationalism and orthodox Protestantism in opposite corners of the theological ring.
There are at least seven of them: 1) God does not have one eschatological blessing for one new people (i.e., eternal life for Jews and Gentiles, members together of the Body of Christ), but two different blessings for two different peoples (earthly blessings for Israel and heavenly blessings for the Church); 2) the people of God spoken of in OTKP are not spiritual Israel (i.e., the Church), but ethnic Israel; 3) the sphere of fulfillment of OTKP is not a two-staged spiritual kingdom introduced by Christ under the New Covenant, but a future millennial kingdom introduced by Christ under the Davidic Covenant; 4) there will not be one, but (at least) two eschatological comings of Christ: the first for his Church (the Rapture), and the second for ethnic Israel (the Parousia); 5) God has been pleased to use a single OT text (Daniel 9:24-27), rather than a multitude of NT texts, to reveal the true structure of Salvation History; 6) God has been pleased to use a single OT text (Daniel 9:24-27), rather than a multitude of NT texts, to give us the key to the Olivet Discourse, the Revelation, and other major NT prophetic passages; and, 7) God’s Church—both Catholic and Protestant—has more or less completely misunderstood this crucial OT passage, and has therefore misunderstood his Plan of Salvation for some 1850 years!
A Critique of the Dtav
Yes, for dispensationalists like C. I. Scofield, J. Walvoord, L. S. Chafer, D. Pentecost, C. Ryrie, J. McArthur, C. Smith, T. Ice, T. LaHaye, and many more, a very great deal rides upon this distinctive interpretation of Daniel 9:24-27. But is it viable? Our previous study of NT eschatology strongly suggests it is not. Moreover, when we closely examine the text itself, we find a good deal to awaken serious doubts about the soundness of the DTAV. Let us pause again to consider some of the major problems involved.
Is it really the case that the seventy weeks are seventy weeks of years? Do not the particular numbers employed at least hint at a symbolic meaning?
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Spurgeon understood that there was no programmatic formula for church revitalization. But like Ezekiel preaching to the dry bones, he believed in the power of the Word of God to raise dead church members to life and to make them into an army for gospel ministry.

When Spurgeon first arrived at the New Park Street Chapel in the winter of 1853, the church was dying. But in the coming years, through the preaching of the Word, God would do a remarkable work. With the thousands being drawn to Spurgeon’s ministry, church membership would grow dramatically, elders would be called, and the church would become an engine for gospel ministry throughout the world. It was this vision of the power of God’s Word to revive dying churches that fueled the Pastors’ College.
From the beginning, Spurgeon’s plan “was not only to train students but to found churches,”[1] and this included both church planting and church revitalization. As demographics in London shifted from the city to the suburbs in the 19th century, urban congregations began dwindling. Young pastors were drawn more to church plants in the suburbs than to historic churches in the city. Spurgeon himself recognized that “the resurrection and salvation of an old church is often a more difficult task than to commence a new one.”[2]
At the same time, Spurgeon encouraged his students not to neglect these dying churches. After all, it is God who resurrects and saves, not the student. The privilege of the church revitalizer is to see God work miraculously through His powerful Word.
To encourage his students in church revitalization, Spurgeon once gave two motivations and three practical admonitions for his students.
Motivation 1: Chances are, things will get better.
When you take a dying church, chances are, your ministry will lead to the improvement of the church’s condition.
Brethren, do not be afraid when you go to a place, and find it in a very bad condition. It is a fine thing for a young man to begin with a real downright bad prospect, for, with the right kind of work, there must come an improvement some time or other. If the chapel is all but empty when you go to it, it cannot well be in a much worse state than that; and the probability is that you will be the means of bringing some into the church, and so making matters better.[3]
Spurgeon was not guaranteeing to his students that their ministries in a dying church would always flourish. It is quite possible that under God’s providence, your role might simply be to help that church close well and steward its resources faithfully in that transition. At the same time, the encouragement is that things cannot get much worse than they already are, and yet chances are that under a faithful ministry, the Lord will use you to make things better. As the church brings in a new pastor, as the people are energized under his ministry, as they begin to pray and invite others, the probability is that the Lord will use you to bring new life to the church.
Motivation 2: Chances are, the congregation will love your ministry.
Rather than taking over a successful church and dealing with constant comparisons with previous pastors, a dying congregation will gratefully love the young pastor who comes and serves them sacrificially. This will be especially true as sinners are brought to faith under your ministry.
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