Part 2 of 2
3) “Messiah” (title withheld) — Daniel 9:26
Immediately after the restorative verse comes the first destructive line:
“after the sixty-two weeks, messiah shall be cut off, but not for himself.” (v.26)
Notice what changes. The word “Prince” is not repeated. Gabriel does not say, “Messiah the Prince shall be cut off.” He says simply, “Messiah.” The identity remains the same person as verse 25, but the
presentation shifts. The prophecy moves from arrival to sacrifice; from royal emphasis to substitutionary death. The crown-language fades, and the cross-language dominates.
This appears intentional. In verse 25, the Messiah is described in His royal role—as the appointed Prince arriving to fulfill God’s plan. In verse 26, He is portrayed not as the enthroned Prince, but as the sacrificial Lamb—cut off for others, not for Himself. The title of rule is withheld as though the prophecy itself is showing what the gospel will later reveal: the Prince lays down His crown to take up the cross.
At the same time, the place-names shift. In verse 25, Gabriel says “Jerusalem.” In verse 26, the city is no longer named; it becomes simply
“the city” and
“the sanctuary.” Proper names and honor-titles withdraw. The tone turns judicial. This mirrors the grief-filled transition we see in the Gospels. Jesus cleanses the Temple and calls it
“My house” (Matthew 21:12–13). Later, after rejection, He says,
“Behold, your house is left to you desolate” (Matthew 23:38). That shift—
my house to
your house—is not semantic. It is judicial. It marks the withdrawal of recognized ownership and presence because of national rejection. Daniel 9:26 carries a similar weight: the vocabulary tightens, the names fade, and the prophecy speaks in the language of consequence
4) “The People of the Prince Who Is to Come” — Daniel 9:26
Now we reach the controversial phrase:
“the people of the prince who is to come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary…” (v.26)
This is the only other place in Daniel 9 where the Hebrew title
nagiyd appears besides verse 25. But now “Messiah” is absent. That combination matters. It signals that this figure is neither the generic “princes” of Daniel’s prayer (v.6, v.8) nor the titled “Messiah the Prince” of verse 25.
He is a distinct
nagiyd—a coming ruler connected to the people who bring destruction. And here is the key nuance: God could have used a common, generic word for ruler here, as Daniel did earlier in his prayer. But He does not. He uses the elevated, purpose-weighted term
nagiyd again—without granting the identifying title “Messiah.”
The effect is deliberate. It marks this “prince” as more than a mere military administrator, yet also exposes him as something other than the true Anointed One. He is presented as a counterfeit-prince — a figure who will rise clothed in sacred authority, imitating the posture of divine leadership while lacking the divine identity that belongs to Christ alone. By assigning him the elevated title
nagiyd without pairing it with “Messiah,” the text subtly signals that this ruler will not merely govern politically, but will assume a role that encroaches upon divine prerogative. He will not deny God outright; he will claim to represent Him. He will not reject sacred authority; he will assert that he embodies it.
In this way, the wording anticipates a ruler who positions himself as the visible head of God’s people on earth — speaking in God’s name, defining doctrine, mediating forgiveness, and exercising authority over conscience as though heaven itself had vested him with Christ’s office. The absence of the title “Messiah” is therefore not accidental. It is protective. God withholds the true Anointed designation while still using the royal term
nagiyd to expose the dangerous resemblance. This prince will present himself as Christ’s earthly stand-in — even as he rises in opposition to the true Prince of princes. The text does not call him Messiah because he is not the Anointed One — but it calls him
nagiyd because he will claim a place that looks strikingly similar.
Historically, many identify this with Titus and the Roman forces who destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple in 70 AD. As a surface-level fulfillment, the fit is strong: Rome is the destroying “people,” and Titus stands as the associated ruler. Daniel does show that God uses foreign powers as instruments of judgment—Nebuchadnezzar, Cyrus, and others—so the idea of Rome serving this role is not foreign to Daniel’s pattern. But the verse is phrased carefully. It does not say the prince destroys the city; it says his people do. The destruction is attributed first to the people, and the prince is described as “to come.” That wording allows the prince to be tied to the Roman world and its legacy without requiring him to be the field commander in the moment of destruction.
It can point to a ruler who emerges from that same people after the devastation—a later authority arising from the aftermath.
This opens the door to a deeper prophetic layer that aligns with Daniel’s visions. Rome’s people destroy the city and the sanctuary, and out of the Roman world—after Jerusalem’s fall and after pagan Rome’s eventual collapse—another power rises. In Daniel’s language elsewhere, this is the trajectory of the little horn: a deceptive, blasphemous force that emerges from the Roman sphere, takes on a religious-political identity, and stands in opposition to the true Prince of princes (Daniel 8:25). In that reading, Daniel’s post-cross arc unfolds in three movements:
Rome’s people destroy the city and the sanctuary (the historical devastation).
The prince who is to come rises later from among them—the little horn emerging from Rome’s legacy.
He rules over that legacy—not mainly by military conquest, but by spiritual authority, claiming Christ’s place while opposing Christ’s truth.
So the language of Daniel 9:25–26 is not incidental. Names and titles appear in restoration; they withdraw in judgment. The Messiah is introduced as Prince; He is cut off as sacrifice. And then another
nagiyd appears—untitled, ambiguous, “to come”—linked to the destroying people and pointing forward to the long arc of counterfeit power Daniel had unveiled in chapters 7 and 8.
In this way, the text itself guides the reader. It does not require us to begin with speculation. It invites us to watch what Heaven emphasizes, what Heaven withholds, and how the prophecy’s own structure distinguishes the Messiah from the prince who follows—so we can identify “the prince who is to come,” and understand just who “his people” are, in both the historical and prophetic layers Daniel is presenting.
