Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 5: More Exemplary Pagans

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time | Part 3: Exemplary Pagans | Part 4: A Psalm 

Act II of this morality play, as we’ve noted, follows the same structure as Act I. It begins with God’s command to Jonah to go to Nineveh and prophesy (Jon 3.1-2). In chapter 1 the command was the same, but it was accompanied by a reason: Nineveh’s wickedness. The explanation obviously isn’t necessary the second time. 

This second time, in stark contrast, Jonah obeys immediately. No doubt his experience of disobedience has motivated him to behave himself. So off he goes to Nineveh (Jon 3.3). 

There’s considerable discussion about the statement that “Nineveh was an exceeding great city of three days’ journey.” That sounds at first as though it took three days to get there; but following the Fertile Crescent, which was the only way anyone could survive the trip, Nineveh was over 500 miles from the nearest part of Israel, a distance well over “three days’ journey.” Some scholars think the city was so large that it would take someone three days to travel through it, preaching along the way (cf. Jon 3.4). Others have held that it would take three days to travel its circumference. I’m inclined to agree with a recent theory that on official visits to highly important cities, diplomats would spend three days there:

“On the first day a state visitor (ambassador, visiting royalty, etc.) would arrive, get settled, locate the appropriate government officials and present credentials to them. On the second day the visitor would be received by the official(s) in charge and the desired business would be conducted. On the third day an official send-off would be provided, with any responses to the government of the visiting state handed over to the emissaries at that time” (New Bible Commentary). 

Thus it’s a measure not of distance, but of geopolitical significance. 

Makes sense, but I note that Jonah didn’t follow that procedure. 

At any rate, it’s safe to say that nobody’s really sure at this point what the phrase means. 

When Jonah arrives, he gets right to work, going directly downtown, so to speak, and delivering his exceedingly brief message: 

Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown (Jon 3.4). 

And once again, the pagans respond better than the prophet does. They repent and believe (Jon 3.5). I note that those two actions are the very definition of conversion. The author seems to say that this repentance was universal in the city. Even the king repented (Jon 3.6) and proclaimed citywide repentance (Jon 3.7-8). 

And he gives his reason: perhaps this foreign god will show them mercy (Jon 3.9). 

I suppose we could question whether everyone was completely sincere; when an ancient Near Eastern potentate issues a proclamation, it’s wise to do whatever he says if you value your life. But God does respond favorably to this remarkable mass repentance (Jon 3.10); apparently it was good enough for him. Centuries later, Jesus would use their repentance as an example of what God wanted from his own chosen people (Mt 12.38-41). 

Now, that raises a question. God didn’t say his threat was conditional, did he? Jonah, the prophet, had simply promised judgment. Did God break his threatening promise? 

There are hints even in the prophecy that it might not be literally fulfilled—that God was offering them a chance at deliverance. First, he sent a prophet. Second, he gave them forty days to think about it. Both of those facts imply that mercy was available. And apparently the Ninevites didn’t need the whole forty days to make up their minds. 

Why did they respond so quickly and decisively? 

Assyrian inscriptions indicate that the Assyrians viewed certain omens as calling for fasting: invasion, eclipse, famine, and flood. One commentator notes, 

“Before Jonah arrived at this seemingly impregnable fortress-city, two plagues had erupted there (in 765 and 759 B.C.) and a total eclipse of the sun occurred on June 15, 763. These … may help explain why the Ninevites responded so readily to Jonah’s message, around 759” (Bible Knowledge Commentary). 

So did God change his mind (Jon 3.10)? I’ve written on that here before. 

This account makes it clear that God responds with mercy to people who genuinely seek it. We know that judgment did indeed come to a later generation of Ninevites, but to those who pled, God was kind. 

That’s part of what we’ll learn here in this series about how to think about our enemies. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 4: A Psalm

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time | Part 3: Exemplary Pagans 

The disobedient prophet now finds himself dramatically rescued from drowning, but still in a difficult state: he’s in the belly of a great fish. He responds by praying, but not in the usual sense; he doesn’t ask God for anything, even though his circumstances are unpleasant. Instead he offers thanks to God for delivering him. We’re tempted to think that this means he has repented of his resistance to God’s will; but as we’ll soon discover, he has not. He’s apparently just relieved—very greatly relieved—that he’s not drowning anymore—as, I suppose, any of us would be. 

This prayer of thanksgiving is actually a psalm. One commentator notes, “Thanksgiving psalms have usually five elements: (i) an introductory statement of appreciation for rescue; (ii) a description of the misery rescued from; (iii) a description of the appeal for rescue; (iv) an indication of the rescue itself; and (v) a testimonial or vow to continue to show gratitude via future worship. The psalm of Jonah includes all five elements, in the order listed above” (New Bible Commentary). 

Naturally, there are sceptical scholars who question whether anyone could compose such a literary work under Jonah’s circumstances, and then remember it later to write it down. I readily confess that I couldn’t do it, but then, I’m not a prophet working under divine inspiration—and neither, I observe, are the sceptics. 

We have what we have, and we have no sufficient reason to reject it as spurious. So let’s allow the psalm to reveal its standard form. 

Statement of appreciation 

Jonah 2.2 is a declaration of his rescue and a strong implication of his gratitude (“He answered me … You heard my voice”). He emphasizes this by saying the same thing twice in slightly different words—what scholars call “synonymous parallelism.” He described his state as being rescued “from the depth of Sheol,” or the place of the dead. Interestingly, it was a common belief in those days that the journey to Sheol took the soul three days and three nights. The last verse of chapter 1 reports that that was how long Jonah spent in the fish’s stomach—an experience, then, of death itself. 

Misery Rescued From 

Jonah turns to describing the condition he was in before his rescue (Jon 2.3-6). 

Note that he says that God, not the sailors,  “cast [him] into the deep.” He recognizes the sailors as simply the agents of divine providence. 

“The deep” or “the roots of the mountains” may not mean literally the very bottom of the Mediterranean; its average depth is nearly a mile, and of course no one could hold his breath for the time needed to reach that depth. Hyperbole is one of many figures of speech commonly used in poetry. But he was in way over his head—literally—and he had no hope of survival apart from God’s intervention. 

Appeal for Rescue 

His appeal covers just one verse, Jonah 2.7. 

Jonah the rebellious prophet did what anybody of any spiritual state would do facing death: he prayed. And God heard him, and he suddenly found himself no longer drowning. How long it took him to figure out where he was we can’t know. He knew the place smelled bad, but he also knew he could breathe. To a drowning man, that is literally the only thing he wants. 

Rescue 

He describes the rescue itself in the last line, or stich, of verse 6 and in verse 8. God has “brought up [his] life from the pit.” Verse 8 describes those who “forsake their faithfulness,” reminding us that God and his people are in a relationship that expects commitment. By describing others this way, Jonah implies that God, unlike them, has been faithful to the relationship that they share. This is that great Hebrew word hesed, steadfast loving loyalty to a committed relationship. 

Gratitude 

Jonah expresses his gratitude and, like the sailors before him, promises to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving to his rescuer (Jon 2.9). 

Deliverance 

As many have noted, the fish was more obedient than the prophet (Jon 2.10). 

Chapter 3 will surprise us again. This psalm sounds as though Jonah is fully repentant. But he’s not. He’s happy for the deliverance, of course, but his heart still resists the call and will of God. 

More to come. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 3: Exemplary Pagans 

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time 

Though the book of Jonah is unusual among the Prophets, as we’ve noted, it does begin in the usual way, with a call from God to a prophet to deliver a message. God calls Jonah to deliver a message of judgment to Nineveh for its great wickedness. 

So far, so good. 

But verse 3 slaps us in the face with surprise. Jonah not only refuses the call (can prophets even do that?!), but he boards a ship bound for Tarshish, all the way at the other end of Mediterranean Sea, about as far as anyone of that day could get from Israel—or Nineveh. Does he think he can distance himself from God? 

And why does he run in the first place? We know that Assyria, of which Nineveh was the capital, was the imperial power of the day, and that it was unspeakably cruel as well. Assyrian soldiers would pile the heads of their conquered enemies in a pyramid at the front gate of the conquered city; they would cover the city walls with the skins of their victims; they would torture men, women, and children in ways that I choose not to specify. (This is a family-friendly blog, after all.) Further, both Hosea and Amos, who prophesied at roughly the same time as Jonah, warned that Israel would one day go into captivity in Assyria. All Jews, including Jonah, hated the Assyrians. Why would he hesitate to deliver a message of judgment? 

Well, we’re going to find out later, but until then we’ll have to be patient. 

Remember my earlier assertion that this book is not about Jonah, but about God? We see that demonstrated clearly in the rest of this first chapter, where the actor in chief is God himself. 

First God sends a great storm (Jonah 1.4)—literally, he “flung a powerful wind.” The sailors, likely Phoenicians, call out to their gods for help (Jonah 1.5); they do seem genuinely religious, not something we would expect of sailors—but then this is an unusual storm. 

Sidebar: I’ll note in passing that this account parallels in many ways the story of Jesus calming the Sea of Galilee. I’m not sure why, but it’s interesting to think about. 

Then they cast lots to see who’s to blame for the storm. The Mosaic Law condemns the use of various devices of divination, but these pagans do what comes naturally. And what do you know: here the lots are reliable. So here’s a second thing that God “throws” into the account. 

The lot identifies Jonah. By interviewing him, they learn where he’s from and can thereby identify, in their minds, which god is angry (Jonah 1.9). They ask the prophet how they can best appease his god (Jonah 1.11), and he tells them (Jonah 1.12). 

Initially they don’t want to throw him overboard; they try to row to shore. But since their efforts are to no avail (Jonah 1.13), and since Jonah has already told them what to do, they throw him overboard (Jonah 1.15)—they too do some throwing—but not before asking Jonah’s God to forgive them (Jonah 1.14). And they demonstrate reverent respect for the God of Israel (Jonah 1.16). 

How much better were the pagans than the prophet? Though he had nearly cost them their lives, they treated him with kindness and grace. And how was Jonah treating his enemies? Even worse than it initially seems; as I’ve noted, the full explanation will come later. 

There’s a third thing that the Lord sends. He sends a great fish (Jonah 1.17), who swallows the drowning prophet, thereby protecting him from the raging sea. 

Now, this is a mixed bag. He’s no longer drowning—he can still breathe—but what he’s breathing is pretty unpleasant; we’ve all learned what stomach contents smell like when they show up uninvited. 

This first of the two narratives in the book will end, as I’ve noted, with a conversation with God. We’ll look at that next time. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time 

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Part 1: Introduction 

We all think we know the story of Jonah and the whale.

Well, clearly, we don’t.

It wasn’t called a whale, but a “great fish.” Now, the word fish can refer to anything that looks like what we think of as a fish, so I suppose the creature could have been a whale. Back then, biological taxonomy wasn’t what it is today.

But the book of Jonah is not about the fish. It really isn’t even about Jonah; Jonah is the foil for God, who is the real protagonist.

In the first verse we learn that Jonah is a son of Amittai. That’s also noted in 2 Kings 14.25, where we also learn that he was from Gath Hepher, a village in Galilee, just 3 miles northeast of Nazareth. So he was from the Northern Kingdom of Israel. The Kings passage also places him in the reign of Jeroboam II. Scholars note that Assyria and its capital Nineveh were weak around that time, a fact that might explain the Ninevite king’s apparent humility and call for repentance.

Before we get to the theology, we ought to ask a basic question: Is the story true?

There are elements of the story that, though not technically miraculous, are remarkable evidences of providence—most especially the fish, of course, and the rapidly living and dying vine. Sceptics would reject anything smacking of the miraculous. But scholars have noted that this story doesn’t have the typical characteristics of allegory, or parable, or fable. There’s no known fictional form into which the story robustly fits.

If there is a God, and if he acts, then there is no reason to reject the story as fictional. And since the 2 Kings passage is historical narrative, not historical fiction, a reader would have to reject more than just the fish to call the whole account unhistorical.

Of course Jesus referred to Jonah (Mt 12.39-41). Now there is such a thing as literary allusion, and if I refer to Ebenezer Scrooge as a stingy old miser, that doesn’t mean I think he actually existed. But Jesus referred to Jonah as a prophet, not merely a fictional character, and he cited the conversion of Nineveh as an example for Israel—a fact that would make little sense if the Ninevites’ repentance never happened. Further, in the same discourse Jesus cited the Queen of Sheba (Mt 12.42), whom the Scripture presents as clearly a historical figure.

Jonah is a unique book among the prophets, in that it contains almost no prophecy. His entire prophetic message consists of a few words in Jonah 3.4; the rest is narrative. Further, most other prophets don’t engage in dialogue with God (Habakkuk being the most notable exception). And Jonah, of all the prophets, is simply a bad guy. He’s a bigot who refuses God’s command and complains when the prophecy is fulfilled.

Maybe there’s hope for some of the rest of us to be prophets.

I’m kidding, of course.

The book is structured* around two times that God called Jonah (Jon 1.2; 3.1-2). He disobeys the first call, but a group of pagans, the sailors, demonstrate more piety than he does. He obeys the second call, but only reluctantly, and again, a group of pagans—this time the Ninevites—demonstrate more piety than he does. In both halves of the book, Jonah ends up in a private conversation with the Almighty, and there we get to the meat of the book: who God is with respect to his enemies—and by implication, who we should be as well.

* I’m indebted to the Holman Concise Bible Commentary for this structural analysis.

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 1: Introduction

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We all have enemies, of one sort or another. A lot of people, particularly Christians, are uncomfortable with that thought: love your neighbor, and love your enemies, and all that. But I’ll observe that the very fact that Jesus tells us to love our enemies assumes, or at least implies, that we have some. And even if you’re one of the few who regularly succeeds at loving your enemies and wishing harm to no one, those enemies are still out there. You may not even consider them enemies and hope and work for peace, but they still consider you an enemy, and that fact is going to affect your relationship. 

People are enemies for lots of reasons. Throughout history countries and ethnicities have positioned themselves as enemies; as the old antiwar song goes, “the French hate the Germans; the Germans hate the Poles; Italians hate Yugoslavs; South Africans hate the Dutch; and I don’t like anybody very much.” These days we hear a lot about political enemies; candidates speak condemningly of their opponents, and the followers of each do the same. Sometimes family members become enemies, often after the death of a parent, when battles begin over what’s left behind. And of course there are religious enemies. Judaism and Christianity have often provoked animosity from nonbelievers, even without our considering the regrettable sinfulness of their adherents. 

All of this, of course, is a consequence of sin, the fallenness of the present world. Of the innumerable attempts by well-meaning persons to bring peace to the world, or to set up a peaceful system within it, all have failed, whether with a bang or a whimper. 

The Scripture speaks of a time of universal peace, and of a Prince of Peace, but he has yet to come. No one is beating his swords into plowshares, despite the statue in front of the United Nations building in New York. 

So what do we do in the meantime? Do we just focus on our friends, and cut out “toxic people” from our daily interactions? Do we present them with indisputable proofs of how wrong they are, and just assume that if they reject our arguments they must be stupid—and thus hate them all the more? 

Do we despair? 

What do we do? 

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I think you can predict what I’m going to say next. 

As the sufficient Word of God, the Scripture speaks to this question, as well as all the others. 

There were times in its history when the nation of Israel, which has always been surrounded by enemies, was in particular peril. Two enemies were particularly strong and thus particularly dangerous. The earlier one was Assyria, which in the 700s BC was the Big Kid on the block. After it, in the 500s, came Babylon, which defeated Assyria and assumed its dominance in the world of its day. As we might expect, both of them were bullies—as countries with strong militaries are often inclined to be. 

During those times Israel had many prophets, sent by God both to warn and to encourage his people. Some of them had their prophecies collected into books of the Bible that bear their names. And three of those speak particularly to Israel, and to us, about how we should think about our enemies. Those three, in chronological order, are Jonah and Nahum, who wrote about Assyria, and Habakkuk, who wrote about Babylon (or as he called it, “Chaldea”). 

Because they were speaking for God and by his Spirit, and because God has preserved their words for us today, we can be confident that what they said can be instructive for us as we face our enemies, large and small, intimidating and not. 

I’d like to spend a few—oh, quite a few—posts meditating on what they said about the subject. 

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On Spiritual Decline, Part 7: The Outcome 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Situation | Part 3: Jacob, not Esau | Part 4: Defective Leadership | Part 5: Defective Populace | Part 6: The Choice 

In Malachi’s brief prophecy God has stated his case against Judah for its arrogant inattention to his will and words. He has presented them with a stark choice: you can return to me, or you can continue further down the path you’re on. Now, in this closing chapter, he lays out the consequences of that choice. 

He begins with those who choose not to return to him. There is a day of accounting and judgment coming. He uses the image of fire, the burning of an oven (Mal 4.1), in which the wicked will be burned up. He cites a metaphor quite familiar to ancient Israel and to us. When developers clear a wooded lot, they cut down the trees, leaving behind the stumps and roots, as well as the stubble generated by the work of clearing. And then they pile all the unusable stuff up and burn it. It’s all reduced to ash. 

The fire image is used often elsewhere in Scripture. Jesus compares unbelievers to vines that don’t produce fruit; he says they’ll be gathered and burned (Jn 15.1-6). In his Kingdom Parables, he describes angels gathering unbelievers (“tares”) at the end of the world and burning them (Mt 13.30, 40-42). But elsewhere he adds an important note: these metaphors do not mean that the wicked cease to exist; “the fire is not quenched” (Mk 9.48). Images of God cannot cease to exist; the fire is eternal. 

But there is a different fire, also an eternal one, that awaits those who choose to follow God. It is the sun, brightening the sky, bringing life to earth. Here Malachi calls it “the Sun of righteousness” (Mal 4.2), the perfect, brilliant light of righteousness that God bestows freely on those who believe (1Jn 1.9). In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus speaks of his followers being “the light of the world” (Mt 5.14), a candle not to be hidden (Mt 5.15). Paul uses similar language (Php 2.15). This is fire that brings life, not death. 

Malachi describes this “Sun of righteousness” as having “healing in its wings” (Mal 4.2). This was a common image in biblical times; what we would call the “rays” of the sun, they would call its “wings” (cf Ps 139.9). Those who rise and go outside early enough can feel the healing warmth of the sun as it rises in the east and warms the air around them. 

That’s what righteousness does. 

We should spread that around. 

In that day, the power of those who attack and abuse God’s people will be destroyed, and there will be victory (Mal 4.3). 

So what does Judah do in the meantime? 

First, they “remember the law of Moses” (Mal 4.4), which is simply to say that they obey God. He has addressed the specifics earlier in the prophecy. That’s their part in all this; and it’s our part too, even though we are not bound by the law of Moses, but by the law of love (Ga 3-4). 

What’s God’s part? 

He will send Elijah. 

Jesus will later make it clear that the preaching ministry of John the Baptist is the “coming of Elijah” that God has promised through Malachi (Mt 17.12). John, of course, was a forerunner, who pointed to the ministry of Jesus, “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (Jn 1.29). 

God’s part is to bring salvation to all who will believe. 

These two figures—Moses and Elijah—represent the entire Old Testament, the Law and the Prophets. In four centuries they will stand on a mountain in Israel (Mt 17.1-8) and demonstrate submission to the Lamb, who is all, and in all (Co 3.11). 

With these final words, Judah waits—as it turns out, through four centuries of silence. And similarly, we wait for “the restitution of all things” (Ac 3.21) at the revelation of the Lamb. Even through an age of decline. 

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On Spiritual Decline, Part 6: The Choice

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Situation | Part 3: Jacob, not Esau | Part 4: Defective Leadership | Part 5: Defective Populace   

As God approaches the end of his message through Malachi—his last words to his people Israel before going silent for 400 years—he presents them with the big choice: will they serve God, or will they resent him? 

He begins by laying out Judah’s current attitude, which is resentful (Mal 3.13-15). “Your words,” he says, “have been stout [KJV; arrogant, NASB NIV; hard, ESV] against me” (Mal 3.13). The Hebrew word here is the one used of Pharaoh when he hardened his heart against God and brought down the plagues upon his country. To put it in today’s vernacular, they’ve gone toe to toe with God, defying him to his face. 

Astonishingly, they respond with gaslighting: “How have we spoken against you?” (Mal 3.13 ESV). 

And God, patiently, answers their insincere question. They have said by their actions, “It’s futile [NIV] to serve God. We gain nothing by obeying him” (Mal 3.14). Commentator Gordon Hugenberger (in the New Bible Commentary) observes wryly, “After the list of sins exposed already by Malachi, one may wonder to what requirements they could be referring.” It doesn’t appear that they have tried obeying God long enough to support their conclusion. 

What’s especially remarkable about these words is that in the immediately preceding passage (Mal 3.10-12), God has promised abundant, global, and eternal blessings for their simple obedience. This is a lack of faith, probably prompted by sheer laziness. 

And they’re not done. They complain further that the wicked have it better than they do (Mal 3.15; cf 2.17). If the wicked escape judgment, why should we bother? 

That’s the current state of Judah’s culture. 

But there’s another option. God lays it out in the last stanza of chapter 3. 

There are some, apparently a small minority, who fear God. They found each other—birds of a feather always do—and they encouraged one another to swim against the tide. (Sorry about the mixed metaphor.) 

And God, as he always does, notices. And he takes notes (Mal 3.16). 

This isn’t the only place in Scripture where he talks like this. He writes about his people even in their fetal stage (Ps 139.16); he writes the names of his people in a “Book of Life,” to be consulted at the judgment (Da 12.1; Re 20.12, 15). 

Now, God’s omniscient, and he doesn’t need to write things down so he doesn’t forget them. But he describes himself as writing these good things down; he delights in them, and he wants to keep a record. 

And for those written in the book, he describes his feelings toward them. He calls them “jewels,” (Mal 3.17), his personal possession, and even his sons. Peter says something similar in 1P 2.9. 

There’s an old gospel song based on this verse, written by William Cushing (1823-1902). We don’t sing it much anymore; some people may think it’s doctrinally light. But I’d suggest that there’s room for songs in the assembly that just express simple delight in God and in fellowship with him. Even “In the Garden.” (There. I’ve said it.) 

Here at the end of chapter 3 God has laid out the choice in stark terms. We can serve God, or we can deny him. There are two teams (Mal 3.18), and we have to join one of them. 

In the next chapter, and in the next post, we’ll see the eternal outcome of that choice. 

Part 7: The Outcome

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On Spiritual Decline, Part 5: Defective Populace 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Situation | Part 3: Jacob, not Esau | Part 4: Defective Leadership  

Having addressed the leaders of Judah, God, through Malachi, turns to the sins of the people. 

They are extensive. 

Marriage 

He begins with a pathology in their deepest personal relationship, that of marriage. He sees two problems: first, that the Judahites have married foreign wives (Mal 2.10-13), and second, that they have divorced their original wives (Mal 2.14-15). 

God did not completely forbid marriage to Gentiles; Moses married a Midianite (Ex 2.21), and Boaz married a Moabite, Ruth (Ru 4.10). The Law forbade marriage to Canaanites (Dt 7.3) to prevent the worship of false gods, as later happened with Solomon (1K 11.4) and most especially with Ahab (1K 16.31). Here the problem is exactly that: Judah has married the daughter of a foreign god (Mal 2.11). Both Ezra (Ezra 9.2-15) and Nehemiah (Ne 13.23-29) record more details about this problem in this historical period. 

And further, Judah has dealt treacherously with the wife of his youth (Mal 2.14). That is, he has broken his most important promise. We have abundant evidence in our own society of the damage and pain that divorce brings. 

I’ll note that interpreting Malachi 2.15 is very difficult; it’s worth taking the time to consult a few different English versions, and some commentaries if you have access. But the driving point is clear: Judah’s divorce problem is evidence of a serious societal pathology. 

Injustice 

There’s a second problem, one hinted at by the previous one. A society that breaks its promises will want to justify themselves, and they do that by blurring their definitions of right and wrong (Mal 2.17). Further on, Malachi will get more specific: occult practices, adultery, perjury, and abuse of the powerless, including employees, widows, orphans, and foreigners (Mal 3.5). 

God reminds them that a delay in judgment does not signify approval; God is just, and justice will certainly come (Mal 3.2-3). I think this particular threat is a reference to the advents of Christ, who will come first to enable justice, and then later to enforce it. 

God expects better of his people. 

Disrespect 

Third, God turns to Judah’s failure to worship him as they should (Mal 3.6-12). God is in a unique covenant relationship with this people, which in Malachi’s day was a thousand years old. He had rescued them from bondage and given them a land and a promise of a coming king and, through them, blessing to all the world. They had sworn to be faithful to him. 

But they had never been faithful to their promises. And now, their unfaithfulness to their wives, to their most vulnerable citizens, and to their God himself had come to a head. Now they don’t know how to return to him, because they deny that they have wandered (Mal 3.7). 

Their failure to tithe (Mal 3.8-10) is simply the most objective indicator of their faithlessness. 

Astonishingly, God offers them an opportunity to repent and be restored, yet again. God will fill their storehouses with abundant harvests, if they will simply return (Mal 3.10-12). 

As noted earlier, we live in a different time and place. We are not Judah, but God is not speaking only to them (1Co 10.11). 

Should we tithe? That’s an open question for Christians; some say we should, and some say we operate on a higher standard, that of love. But nothing here encourages us to think that our relationship with God should be peripheral in our thinking; we love him, and because we love him, 

  • We love our spouses; 
  • We obey his Word; 
  • We love our neighbors; 
  • We gather with his people; 
  • We spend our money in ways that make a difference. 

Next time: a sea change. 

Part 6: The Choice | Part 7: The Outcome

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On Spiritual Decline, Part 4: Defective Leadership 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Situation | Part 3: Jacob, not Esau 

Malachi’s audience has questioned God’s love for them, and God has demonstrated that their suspicion of him is both unfounded and inobservant; they simply haven’t been paying attention. 

Next God turns the tables on them, demonstrating that it is their love for God, not God’s love for them, that is in question (Mal 1.6-3.15). He begins with the leadership, the priests (Mal 1.6-2.9)—it being often observed that “the fish rots from the head down.”* (Of course, with the end of the monarchy at the Babylonian exile, the priests are the only real leaders Judah has.) 

How are the priests failing in their spiritual leadership? Malachi, quoting God’s words, identifies two problems, which we might call pollution (Mal 1.6-14) and perversion (Mal 2.1-9). I would suggest that these are common failures in leadership, ones that we should watch for in our own spiritual leaders. 

More on that in a moment. 

Pollution 

The priests’ work is polluted because they offer to God less than their best. God specifically names offering blind, lame, and sick animals (Mal 1.8). Apparently they keep for themselves the most valuable animals and fulfill their offering obligations with cast-offs, like what’s on the discounted “ugly table” at your local produce stand. 

The problem here is not that God is harmed or deprived of what he needs, for he doesn’t need anything. The problem is in not merely the action, but the attitude: “You say, ‘The table of the Lord is contemptible’ ” (Mal 1.7). Try offering this stuff to the Persian governor, God says; he certainly won’t accept it (Mal 1.8). 

You priests, he says, are just doing your jobs for the money you can make; your heart’s not in it (Mal 1.10). You see all this ceremony as drudgery (Mal 1.13), something you despise, despite the fact that this work is designed to bring honor to the God of the universe, the infinitely worthy one, far higher than a mere provincial governor (Mal 1.11). 

Perversion 

Here there’s a chapter break, but Malachi continues to address the priests. But now he accuses them of a second offense: perverting, or twisting, the Law (Mal 2.8-9). This is in stark contrast to the earlier priests’ reverent and attentive behavior at the beginning of the priesthood (Mal 2.4-7). The result will be a curse from God upon their work (Mal 2.1-3). 

The curse is expressed in graphic terms. In their daily activity, the priests are butchering animals, a task that involves extracting and disposing of the entrails, which might include a significant quantity of fecal matter. In an outburst of rare intensity, God says that he will take that fecal material and spread it across the priests’ faces as a graphic demonstration of his curse (Mal 2.3). 

There’s a wordplay here: “I will corrupt your seed (Heb zera’) and spread (Heb zerah) dung upon your faces.” Even this little twist adds intensity to the statement as Malachi’s audience heard it. 

This is serious business. 

These days God doesn’t ask us for animal sacrifices, and we don’t have priests offering them; so how might we evaluate the quality of our spiritual leaders? 

First, do they display a carelessness, or a lack of seriousness, about the things of God? Do they handle the Scripture diligently? Are their sermons carefully prepared, or just thrown together? Are they just a string of jokes and perhaps moving stories designed to bring the congregation around to the preacher’s pet ideas? 

Are they just in it for what they can get out of it, whether in money or in influence? Do they seek power in the political sphere? Do they name-drop to makes themselves look important? 

Second, do they twist the Scripture to gain abusive power over those whom they should be serving? That is what the word minister means, after all. 

Enough of that. Let’s not endure it, tolerate it, excuse it. Let’s name it, expose it, end it. 

As long as such behavior is profitable, there are people who will seek to profit from it. But they can’t do that if they can’t get any customers. That’s our responsibility—ours, in the pews. 

In the next post, God turns to the sins of the people. There is plenty there for us to consider soberly. 

* The saying’s origins are lost in the mists of ancient time; some sources say it’s Turkish, others Chinese. Former presidential candidate Michael Dukakis claimed it was Greek. I would observe that it doesn’t seem to be literally true, but it’s sure memorable. 

Part 5: Defective Populace | Part 6: The Choice | Part 7: The Outcome

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On Spiritual Decline, Part 3: Jacob, not Esau 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Situation 

After God declares his love for Judah in the opening verse of this prophecy, the rest of the book flows neatly. First, Judah rejects his assertion of love (chapters 1-3), as evidenced in the sins of the priests (chapters 1-2) and then in the sins of the people (chapters 2-3). And then God demonstrates his love for them despite their rejection (chapter 4). That is, of course, the point of the prophecy, and it’s the primary application for us when we find ourselves in spiritual decline. 

When God asserts his love, he is immediately challenged: “How have you loved us?” (Mal 1.2). Given the long history of God’s relationship with Israel, those words come as a shock. But as we’ve noted, the recent history since the return from Babylon has given Judah what they think is a basis for complaint. And as we’ve noted further, the proper response when you don’t understand what your friend is doing is to start by defaulting to trust. 

They don’t do that. They demand that God defend himself. 

Perhaps surprisingly, he does. 

His defense is simply to call to mind his long relationship with them. He focuses on his ancient choice of Jacob over his older twin brother, Esau. 

It’s often observed that if you had known these two boys, you’d definitely have preferred Esau. He’s an outdoorsman, and good at it. He doesn’t hold a grudge (Ge 33.1-9). He is what we might call a Good Old Boy. Jacob, on the other hand, is a cheat; he’ll lie and steal if it’s to his advantage. 

God has no reason to prefer the scoundrel. But he reveals himself to him as he’s fleeing from the wrath of his cheated brother (Ge 28.10-15), and then again as he’s leaving his father-in-law Laban after a sharp disagreement (Ge 32.24-29), and he makes it clear that his covenant with Abraham, and then with Isaac, is now bestowed on Jacob. 

We learn later that God made this choice before the boys were even born (Ro 9.10-13), and thus not on the basis of anything they had done to deserve (or not deserve) it. 

That’s grace. 

What does it look like when God gives a people what they deserve? The rains don’t come; the crops don’t grow; the buildings fall apart; the wild animals make themselves at home in what had once been a civilization (Mal 1.3-5). 

God sends destruction to Edom, the land of Esau’s descendants. Interestingly, during the Babylonian invasion the Edomites had avoided the kind of devastation that came to Jerusalem and the surrounding territory of Judah. (There were reasons that Nebuchadnezzar was particularly angry at the Jews.) But here God promises that destruction is coming to Edom too. 

Malachi alludes to an earlier prophecy from Jeremiah, given before the exile to Judah: 

I will make Jerusalem heaps, and a den of dragons; And I will make the cities of Judah desolate, without an inhabitant (Jer 9.11). 

But here he applies it to Edom (Mal 1.3). And he keeps that promise:  shortly after this prophecy, Nabatean Arabs invaded and possessed Edom, and the Edomites migrated around the Dead Sea to southern Judah (the Negev), where they were eventually called Idumeans. The Herods were part of this tribe, which was destroyed by Rome during the Jewish Wars of the first century AD. 

The end was not pretty. 

God chose Jacob, and even after the exile Judah was benefiting greatly from that choice and the love that accompanied it. 

A historical footnote: 

7 But Jesus withdrew himself with his disciples to the sea: and a great multitude from Galilee followed him, and from Judaea, 8 And from Jerusalem, and from

—well, lookee here!— 

Idumaea, and from beyond Jordan; and they about Tyre and Sidon, a great multitude, when they had heard what great things he did, came unto him (Mk 3.7-8). 

Descendants of Esau, the rejected one, come to Jesus, and he receives them. 

As he does all who come. 

Part 4: Defective Leadership | Part 5: Defective Populace | Part 6: The Choice | Part 7: The Outcome

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