The woman said to him,
‘I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ).
When he comes, he will tell us all things.’
John 4:25
The overlooked distinction between
Moshiach & Mashiach in Hebrew
from which we translate ‘Messiah’ and ‘Christ’ and this
may help us understand eschatology better
Anointed King,
Saving Redeemer,
and the True Judgment
Mashiach (מָשִׁיחַ) – Hebrew for “Anointed One,” referring to the rightful king from the line of David, chosen by God to rule in justice and peace.
Moshiach (מוֹשִׁיעַ) – Hebrew for “Savior” or “Deliverer,” emphasizing the one who brings redemption, restores truth, and leads people back to God.
The Samaritan woman’s reference to Moshiach in John 4:25 presents a crucial exegetical insight—not only into first-century messianic expectations but also into later theological developments.
The Samaritans, who adhered solely to the Torah and rejected the Davidic dynasty, nevertheless anticipated a prophetic savior figure akin to the Taheb (Restorer). This was Moshiach in the sense of a deliverer, one who would bring divine truth, not a Davidic king.
Remarkably, this expectation bears a striking resemblance to how Islam later conceives of ʿĪsā al-Masīḥ (Jesus the Messiah)—not primarily as a Davidic monarch, but as a truth-bearing prophet who restores corrupted religion and reveals divine guidance.
Yet, both titles obscure the deeper truth upheld within Judaism itself and mentioned in their prayer books: Jesus of Nazareth is Yeshua Sar HaPanim—the Prince of the Presence—not merely a heavenly mediator, but the very radiance of the divine, the manifest Panim El Elyon, the Face of the Most High. In Jewish tradition, the Sar HaPanim dwells in the inner sanctum, bearing the ineffable Name and executing divine judgment.
Jesus does not merely carry this authority—he is this Presence. He does not point to God from a distance; he is God drawing near. Thus, when he identifies himself to the Samaritan woman as Moshiach, he fulfills both Samaritan and deeper Jewish expectations—not in deferral, but in revelation. His kingship is not a future claim but a present unveiling of the Divine enthroned among us. The Sar HaPanim is not a function; it is divinity. And Jesus, in revealing himself, reveals God.
Within Christian theology, the standard paradigm has framed Jesus’ first coming as Messiah ben Yosef, the suffering servant, and his second coming as Messiah ben David, the warrior king. However, this paradigm and successive narrative is under question from such exegesis. Jesus did not defer his Davidic kingship to a future eschatological moment; rather, he already fulfilled it in his first coming riding into Jerusalem. Click 👉 Palm Sunday
His identification as Netzer (Branch) in Matthew 2:23 connects him directly to Isaiah’s messianic prophecies, emphasizing his Davidic legitimacy. The Netzarim movement—his Jewish followers—did not see his Davidic role as something incomplete but rather as fully realized, albeit in a manner that confounded the political expectations of His time.
The expectation of an eschatological Mashiach ben David riding out to execute military judgment and reign from an earthly throne is a tragic distortion—a bloodstained mirror held up to human longing. The nations have drunk too deeply from the chalice of conquest, imagining that the sword of peace must be forged in the fires of war.
But if war were the womb of peace, the world would already be healed. Instead, the earth is soaked in blood not of redemption, but of repetition.
Isaiah 63 speaks of garments stained red—not from the blood of enemies, but from the winepress of divine wrath, which God alone treads. No army rides beside Him. No mortal hand shares His burden. It is not the blood of the nations spilled in battle—it is the blood of pride, of vengeance, of history’s illusions crushed underfoot.
Revelation 19 shows the Rider on the white horse—yes, with a sword—but not one drawn from a scabbard. It is a sword that proceeds from His mouth.
It is Word, not weapon.
Truth, not steel.
His robe is dipped in blood before the battle begins—because He bears the wound, not inflicts it.
The true Son of David does not come to shed the blood of Rome, but to expose the sword already lodged in Israel’s own heart—and ours. The sword divides soul from spirit, judging the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Hebrews 4:12). It is not a geopolitical weapon—it is a covenantal reckoning.
Peace will not come by the sword of men.
It will come by the wound of God. And that wound still speaks. We are his body and this is what Revelation encourages us to be!
If the Mashiach ben David expectation is reduced to a future geopolitical conqueror, then there will always be another enemy, another battle, another justification for violence. Yet, this is precisely what Jesus rejected. His kingdom is not of this world (John 18:36), and his kingship is not one that perpetuates the cycle of conquest but instead subverts it.
Nevertheless, there is a judgment—a true and righteous one. The separation of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31–46) is a real dividing line, not of ethnic or national identity, but of allegiance to divine justice and truth. The war that rages is not one of flesh and blood but of principalities and powers (Ephesians 6:12).
The coming of Messiah as Moshiach is not about annihilation but about the revealing of what already is: that man, in his rebellion, brings destruction upon himself, and that God, in his mercy, offers a way out. We see this already unfolding in history, as the violent machinations of the nations lead to inevitable self-destruction—Gog rising not because God ordains endless war, but because man chooses it.
This is why the Samaritan woman’s recognition of Messiah as Moshiach not Mashiach is so important. She was not looking for a Davidic conqueror but for a savior. Jesus did not dismiss her expectation as wrong; rather, he fulfilled it in a way that also encompassed the Davidic promise. He is both Mashiach, the Anointed King, and Moshiach, the Saving Redeemer. The mistake is in thinking these must be two separate roles or that one is deferred to a later time. His return is not about becoming king, but about bringing to fullness what is already inaugurated.
This is not a passive kingship awaiting validation; it is an active reign, already present, already victorious. The challenge is not in awaiting his Davidic fulfillment, but in recognizing it.
A.B. Simpson, founder of the Christian and Missionary Alliance, articulated a clear distinction in his Fourfold Gospel between Christ as Savior and as Coming King. Yet, this distinction was not meant to sever his redemptive work from his royal office, but to highlight the unfolding nature of his reign. Simpson saw Jesus as the present, personal Savior who delivers us now, and as the Coming King who will return to consummate the kingdom he already inaugurated.
This framework fits within the deeper Jewish reality that Moshiach is both Redeemer and Mashiach as reigning King—not in two different persons or two fundamentally different phases, but as a unified fulfillment. The mistake lies not in distinguishing the roles, but in temporally deferring the kingship as though Jesus were not already enthroned.
Simpson’s vision was never of a Messiah waiting in the wings but of a King already enthroned, whose return will expose what has always been true. Jesus is not coming back to become King—he is returning as the unveiled Sar HaPanim, the radiance of divine presence, the Judge already seated.
His kingship is not postponed; it is resisted. And Simpson, in his deepest eschatological impulse, understood this: the world’s greatest need is not a future conqueror, but the recognition that THE KING ALREADY REIGNS—and is calling his people to bow, now.
