King and Priest
Zechariah 6
This past Monday is known as “Black Monday” in the NFL, since it’s the first Monday after the regular season
has ended. For many teams, their season is over; they didn’t do well enough to make the playoffs, so they’re
done until next year. This also means that because of that failure, many coaches and general managers get fired.
Teams tend to oscillate between the two main kinds of coaches: the players’ coach and the disciplinarian. The
disciplinarian is the no-nonsense, drill-sergeant kind of coach. His way is the highway; if you’re five minutes
early to a meeting, then you’re late; the buck stops with him, period. The players’ coach is precisely the
opposite: he’s a man of the people, laid back, buddies with the players, not easily rattled or angered about
things. When a team fires one kind of coach, they usually hire the other kind.
I’ll admit that the NFL is not the first place to come to mind when you’re looking for philosophical or
theological profundity, but this disciplinarian-players’ coach spectrum reflects a reality that lies at the heart of
humanity—whether you’re a football fan or not. We all have two deep-seated needs, ones that lie at the
foundation of who we are and the way God made us: we need to be ruled, and we need to be loved. We need a
King, and we need a Priest.
For the repatriated exiles in Jerusalem, they knew what it was to have a king but wish for another. There were
some men, even some of Zechariah’s contemporaries, who had lived under three empires: Judah, Babylon
(Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar), and Persia (Cyrus, Darius the Great). Jehoiachin and the final kings of Judah
were despicable men; Nebuchadnezzar and the Babylonians were ruthless pagans, and even though Darius was
benevolent, he was still not an heir of David ruling over God’s people in power and righteousness. The Persian
benevolence could end at any time.
The people had come out of the worst suffering in the history of a nation of suffering. They longed for a king to
make things right, and they longed to be loved, unworthy as they were. They felt the weight of the
consequences of their sin more than any other generation in Israel’s history, perhaps. They were, quite literally,
rebuilding from the rubble and ruin of what their sin had wrought. As we have seen throughout these first
chapters of Zechariah, their doubts and fears were built around their two needs: did the King of Heaven still
reign, and did their Covenant Lord—their Kinsman-Redeeming Husband, to use His own imagery—still love
them?
Zechariah 6 begins with the last of the night visions he saw in February 519 BC. The chapter ends with an
unusual coronation ceremony. As strange as this chapter is (and it’s certainly difficult), the truth of it transcends
the centuries and gives us the greatest hope: it gives us the gospel. Zechariah 6 shows us the King we need, the
Priest we need, and the Royal Priest we have—Jesus.
We Need a King
Zechariah sees two bronze mountains, and four chariots coming out from between them. The chariots are led by
red, black, white, and dappled horses.
In the ancient world, chariots did provide transportation for royalty in procession, but their primary function
was less presidential limousine and more M1 tank. “With the capability of moving swiftly and allowing a soldier to
shoot arrows or throw a javelin, chariots gave an army a significant strategic advantage in battle as well as imposing
considerable psychological intimidation” (Bryan Gregory, Longing for God in an Age of Discouragement, 113).
Not only are the chariots imposing, but the horses themselves are terrifying and intimidating; Zechariah notes
that all the chariots’ horse-teams are “strong.” Emphasis upon emphasis is placed upon the dominance of
Yahweh’s army. This is “shock and awe” at its best: nothing can stand against Yahweh when He wields His
strength.
In the first vision, the angelic cavalry is a reconnaissance unit; here in the final vision, the chariots are heavenly
tank battalions moving out in formation from the presence of Yahweh Himself.
The two bronze mountains from which the chariots emerge are reminiscent of the two bronze pillars of the
temple. Solomon had the two pillars built, and he named them Boaz (“in Him is strength”) and Jakin (“He
establishes”). “The pillars of bronze were an image of the Lord’s stable strength, which emanated from His throne in the
temple” (Gregory, 114). Even mountains are said to be the dwelling of God and like God Himself:
The LORD is my rock…my God, my mountain where I seek refuge… (Psalm 18:2 HCSB).
Let them bring me to Your holy mountain, to Your dwelling place (Psalm 43:3 HCSB).
His foundation is on the holy mountains (Psalm 87:1 HCSB).
The mountains are symbolic of the throne of God, the seat of His authority and rule. To enter or go out from His
presence in the temple, you would pass beneath the bronze pillars.
“Thus, the theological significance of the Lord’s chariots emerging from between the bronze mountains
expresses the absolute sovereignty God holds over his entire creation” (George Klein, Zechariah (NAC), 185).
The King of Heaven’s rule transcends Nebuchadnezzar, Darius, and every emperor before or after; and He has
never waxed or waned. Psalm 93 relishes this very truth:
Yahweh reigns! He is robed in majesty;
Yahweh is robed, enveloped in strength.
The world is firmly established;
it cannot be shaken.
Your throne has been established
from the beginning;
You are from eternity.
The floods have lifted up, Yahweh,
the floods have lifted up their voice;
the floods lift up their pounding waves.
Greater than the roar of many waters—
the mighty breakers of the sea—
Yahweh on high is majestic.
Yahweh, Your testimonies are completely reliable;
holiness is the beauty of Your house
for all the days to come (HCSB, emphasis added).
Darius isn’t king anymore. Neither are the Caesars. Every President’s term ends. Elizabeth II will no longer be
Queen one day. But there is never a day when the Triune God of Heaven will not be reigning with absolute
power. The floods and many waters of Psalm 93 are images of the nations; however they rage and roar, Yahweh
alone is “greater…Yahweh on high is majestic.”
Deep within us, we feel the need for a King. We recognize that this world is not what it ought to be or could be.
We recognize that we are not what we ought to be or could be. We desperately long for someone to make things
right, to make this world and us what it all ought to be.
But we can’t put our trust in people—others or ourselves. Again, the Psalms offer searching clarity:
Do not trust in nobles, in man, who cannot save. When his breath leaves him, he returns to the ground; on that day his
plans die (Psalm 146:3-4 HCSB, emphasis added).
Whoever takes office on January 20, 2017 cannot save you. Won’t save you. Won’t save anybody.
You can’t save anybody, least of all yourself. You cannot even make yourself king, much less fix something.
Think about it: if I were to walk up and announce loudly that I am now King and you owe me taxes, the
responses would include laughter, drawn weapons, and everything in between. I can declare and decree
all day long, but I can’t make myself king. Even if I could make myself king, I wouldn’t know how to
make everything right, and I still wouldn’t necessarily have the power to do so if I did. What’s worse, I
can’t keep myself king; on the day that I die, my plans die with me.
There couldn’t be a starker contrast between us and the real King. Look at verse 7: the chariot battalions are
eager to carry out the will of their Sovereign, yet they don’t move an inch until He gives the word. It’s the same
simplicity of might that we see in creation: He speaks, and it is so.
We also have to notice where these heavenly chariots are sent: north and south. Assyria and Babylon were east
of Israel, but the geography of the Holy Land is such that they had to invade from the north. North, then,
became emblematic of invasion. It is in this direction that Yahweh sends two angelic tanks; He is attacking His
people’s attackers. To the south lies Israel’s oldest national foe: Egypt. Egypt was a major producer of the
chariots that other armies used to attack Israel, and they were a perennial thorn in the side, whether they were
major international players or not. The dappled-horse chariot heads south to attack their oldest enemy.
Zechariah’s attention is directed north, where the two chariots went. Yahweh Himself tells Zechariah that His
forces have accomplished their mission, and His Spirit has been “pacified” (other translations may say “My
Spirit is at rest”).
According to Psalm 146, the plans of a man are as fleeting as his breath; King Yahweh, however, rests because
His plans are accomplished. Man cannot finish; Yahweh cannot fail.
We Need a Priestly King
Zechariah 6:9-15 is a hinge in the book between the night visions (1:7-6:8) and the final oracles (7:1-14:21). In
it, Zechariah is given a strange task to complete—one that is an acted-out parable of what God is about to do.
Zechariah is told to meet three men who were returning from Babylon to Jerusalem. These men had an offering
to give to Zechariah, which he was to take to Josiah son of Zephaniah’s house. There, the silver and gold given
in the offering were to be used to make a crown that Zechariah was to put on Joshua the high priest.
In doing so, Zechariah was to proclaim a message—a prophecy about the Branch, God’s promised Messiah.
This Branch who was coming would build the temple, and He would be a glorious King, ruling from His throne.
But, there would also be a priest ruling from that same throne, and there would be no hostility, conflict, or
competition between the king and the priest. Like Joshua, one man would be both king and priest.
This was a startling thing for Zechariah to do and to preach. For centuries, by God’s own law and promises, the
priests and the kings were to come from different tribes of Israel. Priests were from Moses’ and Aaron’s tribe—
Levi—and kings were from David’s line, Judah. For God to promise a combination of the two offices was to
promise that things were going to change drastically when the Branch, the Promised One, came.
And this change would not be a secret: the temple that the Branch would build would involve not just the Jews,
but people from the ends of the earth. People who were “far off,” both geographically and spiritually, would
come for the construction of the Branch’s temple.
But how can God change the priesthood like that? What precedent is there for such a radical departure from the
standard policy? Whenever kings tried to be priests before, it was an unmitigated disaster: Saul offered a
sacrifice instead of waiting for Samuel, and he suffered not only defeat but the loss of his sons and his own life.
Uzziah burned incense in the temple instead of yielding to the priests, and he was struck with leprosy for the
rest of his life. How is what Joshua pictures different? What’s the basis for a priestly king?
The basis comes from Genesis 14, where Abraham meets a mysterious man named Melchizedek. After
Abraham defeated the kings who had kidnapped Lot, he was dividing the spoil when the King of (Jeru)Salem
came out to bless him. Melchizedek was the king of the city that would later be known as Jerusalem, and he was
a “priest to God Most High.” He was both a king and a priest at the same time, and God was perfectly okay
with this.
In fact, Melchizedek reappears in Scripture in Psalm 110, which again combines the king and priest into a single
man. God invites David’s Lord to sit at God’s right hand until His enemies are His footstool. His scepter will
extend from Zion, and He will rule the earth in majesty and prosperity. And yet, God swears an oath that
David’s Lord will be a priest forever, in the same way that Melchizedek was. Melchizedek is the model, the
standard, the precedent, for a combined king-priest.
The King that we need must not be a mere man, as we saw from Psalm 146. Mere men are fleeting and held by
death; their plans die when they do. Likewise, the priest we need can’t be a mere man, either, and for the same
reason. We need someone to minister for us forever.
We need a priestly king.
We Have Jesus
We need a king, full of power, with a sword in His fist.
We need a king who is a priest, wielding his power to atone for our sins and forgive us.
We feel the weight of our needs laid heavy on our hearts. But what do we have?
We have the guilt of sin that rears its ugly head time and time again, seemingly invincible against the best
resolutions, plans, programs, and sheer willpower we have.
We have anxiety and stress from a multitude of fronts: family strife, financial worries, children, parents, jobs,
relationships. North and south, the conquerors march and threaten.
We can’t trust ourselves, because we’re not the king. We don’t have the power to make ourselves kings, we
don’t have the power to do anything as kings, and we don’t have the power to keep ourselves kings.
We can’t trust ourselves, because we can’t save ourselves. We can’t save our parents. We can’t save our
children. We can’t conquer sin and take away the gnawing guilt it leaves behind.
The King we have is the Warrior who leads the armies of Heaven, whose weapon is the two-edged Sword that
comes from His mouth. He is the One robed in white, but it’s stained red from the blood of His vanquished
enemies. He’s the One with the Name above all names, the One rightly crowned as KING OF KINGS and
LORD OF LORDS.
The Priest we have is the One who has made a new and living way into the presence of God (Hebrews 10:20),
who gives us full assurance of faith, who sprinkles our hearts clean from evil, condemning consciences, who
washes our bodies with pure water (Hebrews 10:22). He is the One who offered one sacrifice for sins forever
and sat down on the same throne as the King (Hebrews 10:12), having perfected forever those who are being
sanctified (Hebrews 10:14).
We have Jesus.
War rages all around us and in us, leaving us “weak and wounded, sick and sore.”
We are under siege by temptations and sins that seem invincible. We need a Warrior-King to win victory
for us, because we are helpless and stupid.
Jesus sends His chariots out to war, and He gives us rest. The power that raised Him from the dead is at
work in us, and we will be presented before the Father blameless, the pride and joy of our Elder Brother.
Wherever the conquerors rage and threaten, that’s where He sends His chariots.
We have Jesus.
If you’re here and you haven’t been born again, Jesus is still the King. You don’t make Him king any more than
you make yourself king. In your sin, you are an enemy, hostile to the Throne. He sends His tanks out in force,
and if you will not yield yourself to Him, you will face His wrath forever.
But He is a Priest-King. “Jesus, ready, stands to save you: full of pity joined with power; He is able, He is able,
He is willing, doubt no more.” When you bow your heart to Him in surrender to the King, you look up to see a
Priest who has atoned for your sins, forgiving you for every last one of them. He will conquer all your foes in
His power, in His way, in His time. Submit to Him, so that He does not conquer you.
For those of us who have been born again, may we remember that the King has accepted us into His kingdom in
love, and He has not forgotten us. He has paid for our forgiveness with His own blood, and He intercedes for us
as the Great High Priest.
As we take the Lord’s Supper, we are proclaiming our fealty to the King. We are proclaiming that the PriestKing reigns now, and He is coming back to claim the Kingdom for Himself. He is coming back to claim us for
Himself.
Every one who has been born again, who has repented and believed in King Jesus: take, eat and drink of this
Lord’s Supper to celebrate the greatness of our Sovereign and the glory of His salvation.
Christian, rejoice: we have Jesus.