The Coronation No Empire Could Match

On June 2, 1953, over twenty million people across Britain huddled around small television sets to watch something most had never seen — a coronation. Elizabeth II, just twenty-seven years old, walked the long aisle of Westminster Abbey draped in crimson and gold. The Archbishop of Canterbury placed St. Edward's Crown on her head while trumpets sounded and the congregation thundered, "God save the Queen!" It was, by every account, a spectacle of breathtaking majesty.

Yet Elizabeth's reign, for all its grandeur, was bounded. Bounded by parliament, by constitutional law, by the slow erosion of empire. The territories she inherited shrank decade by decade. Her authority, however ceremonial, had limits no crown could overcome.

Daniel saw a throne room that dwarfs Westminster Abbey the way an ocean dwarfs a teacup. The Ancient of Days took His seat — His garment white as snow, His throne ablaze with flame, ten thousand times ten thousand standing before Him. And then, approaching on the clouds, One like a Son of Man received a dominion that would never shrink, never be voted away, never pass to a successor. Every nation, every language, every people — His.

The crowns of this world tarnish. The empires of this world crumble. But the kingdom Daniel glimpsed that night belongs to a Sovereign whose reign has no sunset, no constitutional limit, no end. Every knee that has ever bent before an earthly throne will one day bend before His.