To this day I can’t say Malachi without running out of breath. You see, I’m old enough that when I was young we routinely memorized the books of the Bible. It was just part of Sunday school. I know the same is true for a number of others here today who were born around the time I was or earlier. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth . . . and so on through the thirty-nine books of the Old Testament, picking up steam around Isaiah, Jeremiah, running breakneck toward the end: Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi. Finally. Then take a breath. Early on that’s all I remember about Malachi, that it’s the last book of the Old Testament and that by the time I got there I was out of breath. But I’d like us all to take a deep breath this morning as we use some powerful words from the old prophet to enlighten us along our journey on this second Sunday of Advent.
A little historical background before I dig into the words with you. Malachi’s identity remains unclear. In Hebrew the word literally means “my messenger.” But is the messenger the prophet or someone else? Not sure. But we can date the book to the time of the return from the Babylonian exile in the sixth century before Christ. And the great goal of that time was the rebuilding of the Temple. In 587 BCE the Babylonians had captured Jerusalem and destroyed the Temple. That first Temple had been built about four hundred years earlier by King Solomon and had been the center of Jewish worship and culture all that time. Its destruction was devastating.
After the Temple’s collapse the people lived about seventy years in exile in a foreign land until Cyrus of Persia liberated them from captivity and sent them home again. The top item on their agenda was to rebuild the Temple, though there were many different ideas about how to do it. By that time, through intermarriage with people of other cultures, the Jewish nation was a lot more heterogeneous than it had been in Saul and David and Solomon’s time. The older people had died, and the younger people either couldn’t remember the old Temple or had never seen it. But the Temple did get rebuilt. Reality, however, could never match expectation, and life around the Temple began to be characterized more and more by dispute and corruption. General discontent grew into anger even against God. There was lots of finger pointing at one another and at a God they felt had forgotten or abandoned them.
In the midst of this comes along someone whose writings now bear the name of Malachi. And if there’s one writing technique that characterizes the book of Malachi it’s that it’s full of questions. Such questions as these that the people ask: How has God loved us? Where is the God of justice? And such questions as these that God asks of the people: Why are you faithless to one another, profaning the covenant of your ancestors? Why do you despise my name? Why do you pollute your sacrifices and desecrate your worship? Such questions as the people ask of God and that God asks of the people show clearly that the relationship between human and divine has gone badly wrong.
Rapid-fire questions make the book of Malachi sound like a courtroom contest, except that no one is willing to admit guilt. Come to think of it, however, when do people readily admit guilt in a courtroom? The most common plea to any crime is “not guilty,” even when evidence points almost incontrovertibly to the opposite. No wonder news was made in a San Diego courtroom a few years ago during a trial of two men charged with robbery.
The prosecuting attorney was examining an eye witness to the crime: “Were you at the scene when the robbery took place?” The witness replied, “Yes, I was.” “And did you see the two robbers?” the prosecuting attorney continued. Again, the witness nodded, “Yes.” “Are these two men present in court today?” the attorney then shouted for all to hear. But there was no need for the witness to answer, because the two defendants raised their hands high in the air. You can see why that story made the news.
It’s not like that at all in Malachi, for throughout the book no one admits guilt, though you know that even most of the accusers are themselves guilty as sin. And of sin. For the people – even the priests, the Levites, the descendants of the first priest, Levi – are guilty of separation from God. Everyone has sinned, yet everyone points the finger at someone else. The prophet represents God as being simply weary of it all. God asks somewhat mockingly and rhetorically of the people, “How have we wearied [God]?” You’ve wearied me, says God, by accusing me of rewarding the bad people and cursing the good people. You’ve wearied me by asking for the God of justice to come among you, as if I’ve forgotten you.
And then God launches into God’s promise that begins our text for today: See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. So do we understand now why this text has been selected especially for a Sunday in Advent? This is the time of longing for God to appear among us and make things right. This is the time when God promises that, indeed, God will appear to bring justice.
In the words of Malachi, “The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight – indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts.” And then the question that makes us all sit up and take notice: “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”
Sometimes we get what we ask for. And sometimes when we get what we ask for we don’t know what to do with it. Maybe it’s a bit much for us. Maybe we ask for something we can’t quite handle. If we ask for the God of justice to come and smite the bad guy who is doing us wrong and God has a few things to say to us about our own injustice done to others, we feel ourselves caught up short.
“I want to tell you something,” God says to us. “You can count on my coming to you. And you might even be surprised at how quickly that may happen.” Will we be ready? Will we be left standing when we stand up before the God of justice? That’s the crux of the many Advent questions that surround us in these days as they surrounded the people of Malachi’s time over 2500 years ago. Funny how some matters seem timeless.
Malachi had some good questions for his day. In just fifty-two verses he poses twenty-two of them. And Malachi has some good questions for our day. They all point to the Advent promise that God will come among us, bringing justice and redemption to those who are oppressed. But where do we stand on such matters? How are we set for Advent? Advent questions our worthiness, our readiness, our willingness for Christ’s coming. It’s a time to be on our toes, awake and alert, preparing for the difference God’s presence will mean to our lives.
Are we willing to give up what now separates us from God? In what ways are we oblivious to our own sin while we condemn the sins of others, and what can we do to change our habits and our choices and our prejudices and our style of life that separate us from God? It might hurt a little, you know. But in the end it will be good, for God’s justice is not retributive but restorative. That is, God’s justice is not bent on punishment but extended toward restoration.
God’s justice, says Malachi, is like a refiner’s fire. That is, the refiner’s fire makes the metal malleable so that the impurities might be skimmed off and the surface polished. God’s justice, says Malachi, is like fullers’ soap. Fullers’ soap was known to be used to clean wool of dirt and crud so that it might be softened and woven into cloth. The fire and the soap work to bring out the very best of the substance. The prophetic word of Malachi is that God’s justice-making means that God refines, cleanses, and purifies us individually and collectively. What within and among us needs to be purged by the justice of God so that we might stand “pure and blameless” before the Lord? That is the question of the day this second Sunday of Advent.
In this season we are apt to hear a performance of Händel’s Messiah. I heard one just last night. If you know the oratorio, then the words we have heard from Malachi sounded familiar to you right away this morning, didn’t they? Händel’s work begins with the word comfort. Comfort ye, my people, saith your God. And in the context of that theme of “comfort” – just a few moments later – the bass soloist proclaims: The Lord whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, e’en the messenger of the covenant whom ye delight in, behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts. It’s our Malachi. And then the alto soloist plaintively poses the crucial question that tells us we need to stand up and take notice of ourselves: But who may abide the day of his coming? And who shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner’s fire. And the chorus proclaims with joy and confidence God’s work of redemption: And he shall purify the sons of Levi, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness.
And the prophecy comes true several solos and choruses later: For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
Glory be to the God of Advent who wakes us up and prepares us for the coming of the Savior among us. Let us continue on our way that we may know the way of God in our shared life together and within each and every one of our hearts. Amen.