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. 

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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. 

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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. 

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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: 

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

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Part 1: Introduction 

Malachi begins his message to Israel by assuring them that God loves them: 

¹ The burden of the word of the LORD to Israel by Malachi. ² I have loved you, saith the LORD. 

Why does he do that? 

It helps if we understand the historical situation. 

As noted in the previous post, when Judah returned from the Babylonian Exile, two prophets, Haggai and Zechariah, brought messages from God to them. The first message was to rebuild the Temple despite opposition from the local non-Jews. But both prophets included a look into the future, promising that God would bless his people, and that all nations of the earth would bring their treasures to Jerusalem and worship there (Hag 2.7; Zec 14.16-21). 

Now, we know that this promise is long-term—so long-term, in fact, that it still hasn’t happened. Premillennialists (of which I am one) believe that this will happen in the future Millennial Kingdom (Re 20.1-6), when Christ reigns on earth for a thousand years (hence the name). 

But these returnees had no idea that it would be that long. We know that over the next four centuries (what we call the Intertestamental Period) Messianic expectations would be at a fever pitch. Some speculate that the reason Judas betrayed Jesus was that he was not overthrowing the Roman overlords and establishing his kingdom. And after Jesus’ resurrection, even the remaining disciples apparently expected that Now Is The Time for the kingdom to come on earth (Ac 1.6). And even then Jesus said that it was not yet time (Ac 1.7-8). 

Now, from our lofty perch here millennia later, we may be tempted to look down on these misguided folks as overly eager and slow to comprehend. But I suspect that all of us would have had similar expectations at the time. The prophets of the return said that this new Temple would be something really great, specifically because God was going to make Jerusalem a global focus (Hag 2.3-9). I’m not going to criticize the returnees for believing him. 

Well, as we all know, that didn’t happen. That doesn’t mean God was mistaken or was deceiving them; lots of biblical prophecy has very long-term fulfilment. Given their disappointment, what would be a natural response? 

“Welp, I guess it’s not gonna happen.” 

And what’s a predictable next response? Disappointment with God, a decline of spiritual focus, frustration with the way things are currently going. Oh, maybe make your sacrifices, but don’t knock yourself out—don’t sacrifice your best animals—and don’t take it all that seriously. Already tried that, and it didn’t work. 

And that’s exactly what we’ll see Malachi dealing with in his brief prophecy. 

Now, before we get to that, it’s worth thinking for a minute about how they should have responded. 

What do you do when God makes a promise but takes his time fulfilling it? 

A couple of things. 

• First, you remind yourself that God is not a stranger. You know him. You have asked him for things, and he has answered. Even when you have not asked, he has been abundantly gracious to you, giving you everything you really need. Do you trust your friends? Of course. Why? Because they have proved themselves trustworthy. It’s not naive to trust your long-time friends. 

• Second, you look to the Scripture to see further evidence of his trustworthiness. He has made promise after promise that has been fulfilled, from the seed of the woman (Ge 3.15) to the Abrahamic Covenant (Ge 15.1-21) and well beyond. He has predicted scores of things about the first advent of Messiah; why should he be unreliable about the second? 

As we’ve noted, Jesus himself taught just before his Ascension that it was not yet time for the Kingdom. But earlier he had said, “Occupy till I come” (Lk 19.13; cf Lk 19.11-27). 

They should have believed him, and they should have continued to work for the future kingdom. 

As should we. 

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Every generation has believed that the future was in peril. “Kids these days …” has been a constant cry. 

I don’t buy that, for a couple of reasons: 

• The lesson of history: the kids are scary because they’re kids. But they don’t stay kids; they grow up, and they deal with the world that, for better or worse, was handed to them. Thus has it always been. I’ve been working with “the next generation” my whole adult life, and while there is always a spectrum of talent, wisdom, and morality, there is always a high end of that spectrum, and they’re all right. 

• The lesson of theology: God is working his plan throughout the passage of time, and he will bring it to a successful conclusion. He is great, and he is good. 

So on the big picture, I’m at peace and wildly optimistic. 

But along the way, there’s brokenness. Times are tough—cyclically—and we are called to steward the times in which we live, to address the problems we face, and to leave the world a better place than when we found it. 

Some of my Christian fellow travelers might take issue with that. The Bible does speak of a time, at the end of time, when things pretty much fall apart, apocalyptically (literally). They would say the world is fated to decline generally rather than to improve. But I think it’s clear from history—both biblical and extrabiblical—that things get better, and then they get worse, and then they get better again, and on it goes. I believe it will all fall apart in the end, but in the meantime, I think it’s foolish to assume decline as a general characteristic. 

With all that duly noted, I think we can agree that times are tough for a lot of people today. There’s an almost palpable sense of frustration in the current world. I sense it more deeply in my own country, due, I suppose, to the political polarization and the resultant chaos in our public spaces. No, that’s not unprecedented, but it does exist currently, and I would suggest that Christians have a duty to contribute, as best we can, to ameliorating its worst effects. 

I wonder whether we as the Church are in a position to do that. 

There’s been significant failure among Christian leaders in recent days—again, not unprecedented—and I would suggest that that’s a symptom of weakness in the broader church. Are the believers sitting in the pews generally being prepared to live out their faith, to proclaim it, to answer objections to it, to improve the conditions in which they live through spiritual power? 

Or is the church largely feckless because it is largely powerless? 

I wonder. 

There have been other such times in the history of God’s people—times that come with irritating regularity. Pick a biblical book—Genesis, Numbers, Judges, Kings, pretty much any of them—and you find God’s people cycling through malaise and revival, ad nauseum. 

There’s a part of biblical history—just a thin slice of it—that I think can serve as instructive for us. This period doesn’t get mentioned in Sunday School, I suppose because it doesn’t feature any significant names. It occurs after the return from Babylon. Several biblical books—Ezra, Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah—discuss the mechanics of the return itself and the rebuilding of the Temple; but what then? 

There’s just one prophet who addresses Israel as it settles into life after the Exile, in what we call The Persian Period. He calls Israel to account for its sin, and he prescribes a solution. 

But apparently nobody listens, and God goes silent for 400 years. 

What if they had listened? 

What if we were to listen today? 

The prophet is called “My Messenger” (“Malachi,” in Hebrew). Is that his name, or a title? 

Nobody knows. 

He may be just an unnamed preacher speaking for God as He goes out the back door for a few centuries. 

Perhaps we should give him some attention. 

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