The Kingdom That Does Not Pass Away

Dear friends in Christ, As we draw near to the end of the liturgical year, the Church places before our eyes the great apocalyptic visions of Daniel and the solemn warnings of Jesus. These texts are not meant to frighten us but to sharpen our spiritual sight. They teach us to read history—not just with newspapers and statistics, but with the eyes of faith. In the first reading, Daniel 7 opens a window into the mystery of human history. The prophet sees the chaotic sea stirred by the four winds, and from the deep arise four strange beasts—powerful, ferocious, unpredictable. They represent kingdoms and empires, the rise and fall of human glory, the drama of politics and power. Daniel was writing under the shadow of the cruel Antiochus Epiphanes, a ruler who treated human beings as pawns and tried to impose uniformity without respect for conscience or dignity. His vision is a sobering judgment on all earthly systems that forget God and wound humanity. Yet Daniel teaches something deeper than political critique: whenever power loses its soul, it becomes beastlike. Whenever human beings allow domination, manipulation, and pride to guide their actions, the image of God in us dims. This is not only a story of nations; it is a mirror for the human heart. The temptation to overpower, to impose, to “win” at any cost, is not found only in palaces—it is found in families, marriages, ministries, workplaces, and even parish life. Every time we insist on our way without listening, every time we use words to crush rather than to heal, we allow the beast within to grow. But Daniel’s vision does not end in darkness. Suddenly the scene shifts. Thrones are set in place. The Ancient of Days takes His seat—pure, radiant, serene—and judgment is rendered. Then comes the great hope of our faith: “One like a Son of Man” appears, humble yet glorified, and to Him is given “dominion, glory, and kingship—an everlasting kingdom that shall not be destroyed.” This is Christ. This is the promise: history will not end with the beasts but with the Son of Man. In the Gospel, Jesus echoes this certainty. “Look at the fig tree,” He says. “When its leaves bud, you know that summer is near.” In other words: yes, times may shake us… but God’s Kingdom is already budding. His word does not pass away. It is the one stable thing in a world of shifting empires, political storms, and personal anxieties. So, what does this mean for us today? It means that the Christian is not shaped by fear, but by fidelity. We are called to live not as beasts of domination but as sons and daughters of the Kingdom—people who choose dialogue over coercion, humility over pride, service over control. Daniel reminds us that every earthly power passes away, but our choices endure. Every act of love, every instance of patience, every moment we refuse to dominate and instead choose to accompany—these are seeds of the Kingdom that lasts. As we approach Advent, the season of longing, let us ask the Lord for the grace to allow His Kingdom to reign first in our hearts. May He purify in us every desire to control, and increase in us every desire to serve.