Firm Foundations: Chapter 2, Who is Jesus?

Firm Foundations- Chapter 2, Who is JesusA Kingdom Far Far AWay, Inc,

0:00

The Long-Awaited Messiah

Lesson Introduction

Before He ever walked the roads of Galilee, Jesus was walking through prophecy. This chapter will take you deep into forgotten shadows and burning visions where the Messiah’s outline begins to emerge—hidden in plain sight long before Bethlehem.

We’ll begin at the dawn of history, where a single verse in Eden shakes the future of all creation. Then we’ll enter royal courts, where promises of a coming King echo across generations. We’ll see a Servant who suffers not for His own crimes, but ours. We’ll meet a divine Companion who walks in fire, and a heavenly figure who rises to rule with unmatched glory. And just when all seems silent, we’ll hear the question that ripples through history—"Are You the One?"—and watch as Jesus answers not with argument, but with power.

Expect to be surprised. These aren’t detached prophecies—they are pulses of the same heartbeat. Each one invites you to look again, to read slower, and to ask deeper questions. If you’ve ever felt like the Old Testament was a different book altogether, prepare to see a new thread tie it all together.

This is no dry doctrine. Each prophecy holds a heartbeat. Each promise tells a secret. From Genesis to the prophets, from kings to visions, the long-awaited Messiah is not just predicted—He is woven into every page. Now let’s return to the beginning—where everything first went wrong, and hope was first whispered.

The Promise in the Garden

Who is Jesus?—that question has echoed for two millennia. Some call Him a kind teacher. Others point to His miracles and see only a healer. Historians mark His crucifixion as a pivotal moment in world chronology. Believers proclaim His resurrection as the hinge of hope. Yet beneath these familiar snapshots lies a richer portrait many overlook. Scripture paints Jesus not as a late solution but as the story’s hidden theme from the very beginning. Hints of His arrival glimmer in ancient genealogies and prophetic poems long before Bethlehem’s night. A serpent is promised defeat, a servant is sketched in sorrow, and a sovereign figure strides through heavenly clouds. Even a blazing furnace in Babylon becomes a stage for His silhouette. Our course will peel back those layers so you can trace Him in texts you might have skipped or skimmed. By the end, you will read the Gospels as the unveiling of Someone you have already encountered in shadow. For now, let us return to the garden, where the very first whisper of redemption was spoken.

The very first whisper of a coming Savior is found in Eden, at the height of tragedy. When humanity fell, God did not speak doom first to the man or woman, but to the serpent. He declared a conflict: between the offspring of evil and the Seed of the woman—a descendant who would one day crush the serpent’s head, though not without being struck Himself. This is the first messianic promise, often called the Protoevangelium—“the first gospel.” It signals that redemption would come through a human, a child, one wounded but victorious.

This single verse became a seed of hope, carried through generations like a hidden ember glowing in the ashes of exile and despair. Women in Israel wondered if their child might be the one. Genealogies became sacred trails, guarded and cherished, not out of tradition—but prophecy. Through each generation, Satan watched too. If the Deliverer would come through the woman, then every womb became a threat to his dominion. Spiritual warfare spilled into history, shaping empires, inciting tyrants, and orchestrating betrayals. The battlefield was not just earth—it was inheritance, womb, and Word. What followed were not random acts of violence or chaos, but dark spiritual counterattacks against the bloodline. Hidden across the pages of Scripture are moments that appear human on the surface—but beneath, they shimmer with the fingerprints of war. The Devil was trying to outmaneuver prophecy. But every step he took, he only further confirmed it.

And the story is far from over. Those who trace this thread will see the scars of battle in places they never noticed—and a strategy far older than any kingdom of men. War was waged in shadows—temptation, corruption, slaughter of innocents—all attempts to poison the bloodline or extinguish it.

But the promise was not vague—it was embodied. A human deliverer, yes, but one whispered about with divine breath. Every child born into that line reminded both heaven and hell that a reckoning was coming. One would rise, and though He would be struck, He would strike back harder. The serpent would bruise His heel—but the Messiah would crush his head. A future sealed not by fate, but by the unshakable Word of God.

Royal Lineage and Eternal Kingship

Over time, the shape of the Messiah sharpened. God made a covenant with David, Israel’s beloved king, promising a throne that would never end. Though David’s descendants faltered, the promise endured. The hope for the Messiah became not just about rescue, but kingship.

This was more than a promise to David—it was a prophecy. Though Solomon built a temple, no earthly king could fulfill the words “forever.” The Messiah would come through David’s line, but His throne would reach beyond Israel, beyond time.

This King would be called God’s Son—not just in title, but in essence. The scope of His reign would be global, eternal, and unshakable.

The child would be born—fragile, crying, wrapped in human skin. But He would also be given—sent from the heart of heaven, a Son older than time. This is no ordinary birth; it is a paradox clothed in prophecy, a whisper of eternity in a mother’s arms.

His names are not ornaments—they are revelations. As "Wonderful Counselor," He carries wisdom not learned, but innate, speaking words that pierce through confusion like light into fog. As "Mighty God," He is the power behind stars and storms, now pulsing through veins and breath. As "Everlasting Father," He holds the tenderness of a parent and the patience of eternity, nurturing souls who forgot how to hope. As "Prince of Peace," He does not merely quiet conflict—He rewrites the heart, stills the storm within, and invites the nations into harmony they never knew.

This was no ordinary king. His throne was not carved from gold, but from promise. His crown would be thorns before glory. And His arrival meant more than restoration—it meant the beginning of an unending peace, one that grows like dawn and reigns like fire, soft and unshakable.

The Messiah would be more than a political deliverer—He would be righteousness itself. His very name would embody salvation.

All these promises converge into a single expectation: a ruler who is not only strong, but sinless; not only sovereign, but holy. The people were waiting for a son of David who would bring deliverance, but Scripture was hinting at something far greater—a Son of God who would embody justice and peace. These royal prophecies were never meant to crown just another man; they were meant to enthrone heaven's own Son in human flesh. In Him, the world would not just find leadership—it would find redemption.

Pause and Reflect

What does it mean for a kingdom to be built on justice, peace, and righteousness? Why must the promised Messiah be both fully human and fully divine?

Workshop

Read the names given in Isaiah 9:6. Choose one and write a one-sentence prayer using that name today.

The Servant Who Suffers

Then, as if the golden thread of hope had to pass through darkness, the story turns. These glimpses of glory—thrones and crowns and everlasting reigns—are pierced by sorrow. Like thunder behind the trumpet, the prophets began to see a Servant shadowed in grief. Not a warrior clothed in might, but a man cloaked in suffering. Not exalted in the eyes of men, but despised and rejected.

Isaiah’s vision is perhaps the clearest of them all. Yet he was not the only one. Long before Isaiah, God began preparing His people to understand salvation through sacrifice. One of the clearest foreshadows is found in the story of the Passover Lamb.

The lamb was to be perfect, spotless, and its blood would mark those spared from judgment. This moment was not just deliverance from Egypt—it was a prophetic picture. Israel was learning that salvation would come through the blood of another. When John the Baptist later sees Jesus, he declares, “Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” The suffering Servant was not only bearing sin—He was fulfilling the pattern of the lamb. In the Passover, death did not touch the homes marked by the lamb’s blood. It wasn’t their strength, their heritage, or their understanding that saved them—it was the blood alone. This marked protection wasn't symbolic; it was literal. Judgment passed over them because the lamb had already died in their place.

This template fits Jesus with divine precision. He, too, was without blemish. He was examined and found faultless. And on the eve of Passover, He was sacrificed—not by coincidence, but by design. His blood, like that of the lamb, is now our covering. Because of it, judgment passes over us. Through Him, deliverance is not just from Egypt, but from death itself.

Isaiah’s words, then, fall into place with greater power. It is not written like a triumph, but like a lament—yet it holds within it the seed of the greatest victory ever foretold.

The Messiah would not win by the sword but by suffering. He would bear guilt not His own. He would be pierced and crushed—and through that crushing, many would be healed.

This theme of a suffering Savior stands at the heart of the Gospel and makes it utterly unique. No other religion offers a God who chooses to enter into pain—not merely as an observer, but as a substitute. In Jesus, we see a Redeemer who absorbs injustice, sorrow, and guilt, offering peace in return. This is not a distant deity calling people to climb higher, but a Servant King who descends to carry them. His suffering was not an accident of history—it was the strategy of heaven. Through wounds, we are made whole. Through rejection, we are accepted. Through His silence, we hear love speak the loudest.

Pause and Reflect

The suffering of the Messiah pulls back the curtain on the heart of God. It reveals a love that does not remain aloof, but descends into agony to reach the broken. In a world where gods are often imagined as untouchable, Jesus stands unique—not because He had power, but because He gave it up. The cross was not just a rescue mission—it was a revelation. It showed us that the God of creation would rather be wounded than lose us. That His justice does not cancel mercy, but fulfills it in Himself. The suffering Messiah shows that God's glory is not only seen in power, but in self-giving love—a love so fierce, it bleeds to restore what was lost.

Why is it important that the Messiah suffers? What does it reveal about the heart of God? Sometimes we think of strength as the absence of pain—but here we see that true strength is the willingness to bear it for another. The Messiah’s suffering tells us that God's response to evil is not distance, but nearness. He enters the grief, carries the shame, and takes on the burden no one else could lift. This is not just about what He did—it's about who He is.

Workshop

Sketch or imagine a symbol for healing. Write the phrase "By His wounds, we are healed" next to it.

The Divine Companion and Eternal Judge

This pattern—glory entwined with grief—continues in the visions of Daniel. When three Hebrew men refused to bow to a foreign idol, they were cast into a furnace. But someone else appeared.

This single sentence, spoken by a pagan king, reveals more than he understood. The phrase “Son of God” was not coined centuries later—it was recognized, if dimly, by one who saw a divine figure with human form walk through fire untouched. This moment does not only reveal a miracle—it pulls back the veil. Before the incarnation, before the cross, before the empty tomb, Jesus was already stepping into history—not in disguise, but in glory. The same one who would stretch out His hands on a cross once stood in flames beside the faithful. The King of Glory was the fourth man in the furnace. And His presence then is His promise now: He does not watch from a distance. He enters the fire.

This Son of Man—Jesus’ favorite title for Himself—is not a lowly phrase of humility, but a thunderous declaration of glory. In Daniel’s vision, He comes not from earth toward God, but with the clouds of heaven, a symbol reserved for the divine. He approaches the Ancient of Days, not as a servant begging for favor, but as one worthy to receive dominion, glory, and a kingdom that will never be destroyed.

This is no ordinary ruler. Nations and peoples from every language serve Him. His reign is not confined by borders or bound by time. It is everlasting—an authority never revoked, never shaken.

Jesus took this title upon His lips more than any other, not only to reveal His humanity, but to echo this exact vision: a divine-human ruler who has suffered, yet reigns. It is glory after grief. Sovereignty after suffering. A crown given not despite the cross, but because of it.

Daniel’s vision becomes a cosmic answer to the humiliation Jesus endured. The mockers placed a crown of thorns on His head—but here, heaven places a crown that will never fade. The title Son of Man isn’t just His humility—it is His vindication.

Pause and Reflect

Which image speaks louder to your heart right now—the God who walks in the fire or the King who reigns on high?

The God who walks in the fire reminds us that we are never alone in trial. He enters the heat with us, not to observe from a distance, but to stand beside us when no one else can. His presence doesn't always remove the pain, but it transforms it—turning fear into faith and isolation into intimacy. The King who reigns on high reveals that the story does not end in suffering. He rules with justice, sees all, and holds the future in His hands. His throne is not distant but accessible, and His reign is not cold but compassionate. In Him, power and tenderness meet. One shows us that God is with us. The other assures us that God is over all. And in Jesus, both are true at once.

Workshop

In your journal, write a time when you felt God’s presence during a trial. Then write the words: “He walks with me.”

Light to the Nations

The Messiah would not come for Israel alone. Through the prophet Isaiah, a wider horizon was unveiled—a vision where the Servant’s light would stretch far beyond the borders of one people. His mission was not confined to a single tribe or tongue. He would carry the covenant across coastlands, speak hope into deserts, and gather the distant and forgotten. His glory would rise like the dawn—not just over Zion, but over every nation.

For centuries, many in Israel expected the Messiah to come as a national deliverer—one who would liberate them from foreign powers and restore their kingdom. But Isaiah’s words expanded that hope. God revealed that the mission of the Messiah was far too big to be limited to one nation. He would not just gather the tribes of Jacob—He would reach into every land, open blind eyes, and free those trapped in all kinds of prisons. His salvation would stretch to the ends of the earth.

When Jesus finally stepped into history, John the Baptist—a man who had once declared Him the Lamb of God—sent messengers to ask: “Are You the Coming One, or do we look for another?”

Jesus answers not with titles—but with evidence. Every work He names fulfills a prophecy. Isaiah 35 said the blind would see. Isaiah 61 said the poor would hear good news. He is not just doing miracles—He is fulfilling the script written centuries before.

Every healed limb, every opened eye, every forgiven outcast was an echo of ancient hope. Jesus was not a disruption in Israel’s story. He was its climax—and He was opening the door to all nations.

Pause and Reflect

Jesus fulfilled prophecy not with military conquest or political power, but through compassion—healing the sick, restoring the broken, and lifting the forgotten. In doing so, He redefined what power looks like in the Kingdom of God. True power is not domination, but restoration. It is not loud, but healing. Every miracle was not just kindness—it was a fulfillment of ancient hope, a promise kept through mercy. This reshapes how we understand the authority of Christ and invites us to live in the same spirit—where power is expressed in love, and glory is found in grace.

Workshop

Highlight Matthew 11:5 in your Bible. Let it become a lens to see how Jesus still moves today.

One Story from Beginning to End

The Word had become flesh. The Seed had come to crush the serpent, just as promised in the first breath of hope spoken in Eden. The King had arrived to reign—not just over Israel, but with eternal dominion and divine righteousness. The Servant had entered to suffer, bearing wounds that would bring healing to the world. The Son of Man had descended from the clouds, crowned not by earthly power but by the authority of heaven.

And He would rise again.

These were not disconnected roles or conflicting identities. They were glimpses of one person seen through different lenses—united in Jesus. The Seed, the King, the Servant, the Son—they converge into one story, one face, one Savior.

As you continue through Scripture, remember this: the Bible does not tell a new story when Jesus appears. It tells the same story it always has—one of promise, pursuit, sacrifice, and glory. Every page leads to Him. Every symbol whispers His name. Every longing finds its answer. He is the Messiah long foretold. And He still walks with those who wait.

Pause and Reflect

How do you see Jesus differently now that you’ve traced His shadow through the Old Testament?

Workshop

Write a short prayer of thanks: "Lord, thank You that You were there from the beginning. Help me see You in every page."

 In Chapter 3, we’ll move to the next vital part of the Bible—the covenant, the law, the wilderness journey—and what it means for us today.

Closing Prayer

"Lord God Almighty,

You are holy, and Your ways are perfect.

We thank You for revealing Your Son—

the Seed, the Servant, the King, the Son of Man.

We praise You for a love that entered fire,

a mercy that wore thorns,

and a power that conquered the grave.

Lift the name of Jesus in every heart that reads these words.

May Your truth settle deep and stir alive.

Let the echoes of prophecy awaken awe,

and the face of Christ grow clearer on every page.

Make us ready—not just to know Your story,

but to live it, to carry it, and to treasure it.

In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen"