He Who Is To Come

There’s something about the refrain in “He Who Is To Come” that always catches my breath — that mixture of urgency and quiet confidence, of longing and surety. The song presses us into the story of God’s triumph over darkness and into the patient hope that God’s future is already breaking into our present. When the band sings “There is a day coming / When the old will pass away / Every wrong will be made right,” I hear the Bible answering back: Revelation 21:4 — “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore.” The song isn’t wishful thinking; it’s rooted in Scripture’s promise that God will make all things new.

The lyrics call Jesus “the one who conquered death and grave,” and that pulls me right into 1 Corinthians 15:54–57 where Paul writes about death being swallowed up in victory: “Death is swallowed up in victory... Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The victory Jesus wins is not theoretical. It’s the real undoing of death’s finality — which is why the song is bold to say “No more pain and no more sorrow.” That is hope anchored in a historical act: Jesus’ death and resurrection.

When the song names Jesus as “He who was / He who is / He who is to come,” it echoes Revelation 1:4–8 and 1:8 in particular: “I am the Alpha and the Omega... who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” That title reassures us of God’s constancy. Hebrews 13:8 deepens this: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” This is not a God who drifts with the tide; this is the God who holds history in his hands, who has acted decisively in Christ and will complete that work.

The chorus, with its images of “Christ the Son of man / Riding on the clouds / With a crown upon His head / Every eye will see Him / With the nail scars in His hands,” draws on the prophetic and apocalyptic language of Scripture. Matthew 24:30 and Daniel 7:13 envision the Son of Man coming on the clouds with authority. Revelation 19 pictures the triumphant King of kings coming in glory. At the same time, the repeated image of the nail scars is tender and precise: John 20:27 records Jesus showing Thomas the wounds and inviting him to touch them — scars that are evidence of suffering and also of resurrection. The scars are not shameful; they are the marks of redemption. They tell us that the crowned King is the same One who suffered for us. Revelation 5:12–13 and 1 Peter 2:24 together say that the Lamb who was slain is worthy and that his suffering heals and reconciles.

The song’s confidence — “This hope for tomorrow / Is our hope for today” — raises a theological heartbeat: the “already and not yet.” We live now in the light of what has been won (Christ’s resurrection, reconciliation with God) and in expectation of what will be fully realized (the renewal of all things). Paul frames it beautifully in Romans 8:18–25 and 1 Corinthians 15:20–28: creation groans, and we groan with it, but this groaning is undergirded by the certain arrival of the redemption of our bodies and the restoration of creation. That’s why the lyrics can claim both the tension (“All this tension growing stronger”) and the assurance (“My future has an anchor / My eyes are on the Savior”) — Hebrews 6:19 even calls hope “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

The repeated cry “Hallelujah” and the final refrain “Come, Lord Jesus come” are themselves deeply biblical. Revelation 19:1–4 erupts in praise as God’s righteous judgment and salvation are revealed. The closing plea, “Come, Lord Jesus,” is lifted straight from Revelation 22:20, where believers long for the consummation of God’s reign: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” Worship and longing, praise and petition, are not separate tracks but the same movement of faith: we celebrate what Christ has already done and we ask for its completion.

So how do these connections shape us practically? First, they reorient our way of seeing suffering. Knowing that the crowned King bears nail scars reframes pain: it’s not proof of God’s absence but a place where God has already entered human suffering. That invites us to bring our wounds to him and to see our suffering through the lens of his solidarity and eventual restoration. Second, the certainty of Christ’s return fuels both endurance and mission. If the story has been written and the ending secured (Revelation 21–22), then our present actions — acts of compassion, justice, mercy, proclamation — are not futile. They are signs of the kingdom taking shape even now. Third, the tension between “He is” and “He is to come” keeps us humble. We live in hope, not escapism; we work and we wait, pray and we praise.

There’s also an invitation here to personal worship shaped by eschatological hope. Singing “Every eye will see Him” is not just about spectacle; it’s about accountability and grace — every posture will finally be met by the nail-scarred Savior who is both judge and friend. The knowledge that Jesus will make wrongs right should stir us to live differently today: to forgive, to work for justice, to love more boldly, because the King we await values mercy and truth.

Let me leave you with a question to sit with — not for a minute, but for the rhythm of your week: if the crowned, nail-scarred Savior is both already reigning and imminently coming back, how does that shape the small choices you make today — the words you speak, the priorities you keep, the people you serve? Where might you need to let the sure hope of Christ’s return change the way you live now?