When Every Knee Knew to Stand

On the first Monday of October, the marshal of the United States Supreme Court strikes the gavel and calls out, "Oyez, oyez, oyez." Every lawyer, journalist, and spectator rises without hesitation. Nine justices file in wearing black robes, and the room falls into a silence so complete you can hear the scratch of a pen. No one needs to be told twice. The authority in that chamber is self-evident — written into marble walls and two centuries of precedent.

But even the Supreme Court rotates its justices. Opinions get overturned. Precedents shift with the cultural wind. The court's authority, as weighty as it feels, is borrowed and temporary.

Daniel saw a courtroom that makes every earthly tribunal look like a student council meeting. The Ancient of Days took His seat — hair white as wool, throne ablaze with living fire, ten thousand times ten thousand standing before Him. The books were opened. No appeals. No dissenting opinions. And then, approaching on the clouds, One like a Son of Man received dominion that will never be revised, authority that will never rotate to a successor, a kingdom that will never adjourn.

Every courtroom on earth is really just a faint echo of this one. And the verdict the Almighty renders, no higher court can overturn. His kingdom is the only one where the gavel falls once — and holds forever.