Sermon Notes: Surveying the Text: Malachi
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Joe Harby on
Joe Harby on
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When Christians are discouraged by the corruptions of our time, it is like complaining about a day that is dark gray and drizzly, wet and soggy. It is in fact a day just like that, but it is not a day like that at midnight.
Because Jesus Christ lived, died, rose again, and ascended into heaven, the world and its history have been completely transformed. It was midnight, but the day has dawned. Think about it. Billions of people identify themselves as followers of Jesus Christ. All over the world people take Sunday off because Jesus rose from the dead on this day. And as much as the secularists don’t like it, our whole dating system is divided in two by the man from Nazareth. This is in fact 2014, the year of our Lord. He was the man who split history in two.
But while it is no longer midnight, we are not anywhere close to midday either. What must we do to understand our time?
“For, behold, the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; And all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble: And the day that cometh shall burn them up, saith the Lord of hosts, that it shall leave them neither root nor branch.
But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; And ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall. And ye shall tread down the wicked; For they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I shall do this, saith the Lord of hosts” (Mal 4:1-4).
In the previous chapter, Malachi had compared the Lord’s work to a refiner’s fire. All the dross was consumed. This chapter begins in a similar way. A day is coming that will burn like an oven. The proud and the wicked will be consumed like stubble, and with nothing left for them (v. 1). But for those who looked forward to the Lord’s promised deliverance, the sun of righteousness will rise. A ball of flaming righteousness will come up, and healing will extend all along the horizon (v. 2). Those are the healing wings, stretched out to embrace the world. The response of God’s people will be to gambol out into the meadow like calves just released from the stall (v. 3). Our response is not at all dignified. When this all comes to pass, the wicked will be trampled underfoot (v. 4).
Few metaphors are as fittingly biblical as comparing Christ to the sun. In reading the sun
in this way, we are letting the New Testament instruct us on how to understand the Old Testament. The heavens declare the glory of God, the psalmist tells us (Ps. 19: 1-4), and the chief ornament of those heavens is the sun. This is why God sets up a tabernacle for the sun, and the sun comes out of that tabernacle, out of that tent, like a bridegroom on his wedding day (Ps. 19:4-5). But then, in the 10th chapter of Romans, the apostle Paul takes these words and applies them to preachers of the gospel.
Spurgeon summarizes Paul’s thought this way, “So that what was here spoken of the sun by David, is referred by Paul to the gospel, which is the light streaming from Jesus Christ, ‘the Sun of Righteousness.’”
This is why Paul can refer to Christ as the bridegroom in the fifth chapter of Ephesians, and can also say the sleeper should rise and wake up because Christ will shine upon him. “Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light” (Eph. 5:14). He says this, and just nine verses later he is comparing Christ to the bridegroom.
What do we then learned about Christmas from this great word from Malachi? What is the point?
First, the advent of the Christ means the destruction of the proud. There is heat that burns like an oven, and there is heat that makes calves want to play in the sunshine. When God is praised, whenever God is glorified, the humble hear it and are glad (Ps. 34:1-2). The entire cosmos—in heaven, on earth, and under the earth—has been transformed by the birth of this child, and that is why we have celebrations with tinsel, cocoa that is too hot, stupid and overdone Christmas tree ornaments, and way too much fudge. All of this because this baby was born, and if you don’t rejoice in all these apparently insignificant ways at these apparently insignificant tidings, then something needs to be done to your heart. It looks like a three-quarter inch piece of leftover beef jerky, and this is not consistent with the apostle’s desire that our hearts be enlarged. Pride puffs up, and love builds us up in humility.
Second, the sun is a sun of righteousness. God is holy, righteous, and altogether good. Going back to Psalm 19, the structure of the poem compares the law of God to the sun, and that law is perfect, converting the soul. God’s righteousness is not our enemy. God’s righteousness embodies what we were created to be in the first place. But God’s righteousness is the enemy of all that would corrupt us. His righteousness consumes our dross, and refines our silver. We only take it so badly because we don’t know which is the dross and which is the silver, but it all feels like me.
This relates to the third point, which is that God’s righteousness brings healing in its wings. What God’s righteousness destroys is that which was destroying us. Our unrighteousness is the cancer, and God’s righteousness is the chemo. It isn’t always pleasant, but it is always good.
And it is important here to say a word about our justification—because we are forgiven, because we have been declared righteous, God can work on the sin that we have to deal with in a spirit of no condemnation. Every sin that He mortifies in us is a sin that has already been crucified, two thousand years ago.
Last, you shall “go forth.” Righteous that rises in the sky is not debilitating. The night is over, and as the psalmist says, joy comes in the morning (Ps. 30:5). The meaning of Christmas dawn is the meaning of every dawn. Christ is risen, and He has risen from the dead because once in the dead of night, He became a boy child so that it might be said of Him “that of the increase of His government there will be no end.”
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The word repentance means a “change of mind,” but in the biblical vocabulary this entails much more than mere intellectual assent to a different proposition than was held to before. If sincere, it represents an entire turning, and it includes what we would call the heart.
“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord: And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse” (Mal. 4:5-6).
We know on the authority of the Lord Jesus that this passage is talking about His ministry. We know this because Jesus identified “Elijah the prophet” in this text with the ministry of John the Baptist (Matt. 11:14). Before the great day of the Lord, Elijah will come and in his ministry of repentance (turning the people back to God), he will also have the effect of turning people back to one another—particularly the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to the fathers.
In this chapter of Malachi, the day is coming when the wicked will be consumed like dry grass in an oven (v. 1). But for those who fear God, the Sun of righteousness will arise, and there will be healing in His wings (v. 2). The result will be that the godly will tread down the wicked (v. 3). The godly (members of the new covenant, remember) are charged to remember the law of Moses, given at Horeb for all Israel (v. 4). Elijah is coming before this great day (v. 5), and he will be the basis of reconciliation between fathers and their children, and children and their fathers (v. 6).
In Proverbs 23:26, Solomon pleads with his son. He says, “My son, give me thine heart, and let thine eyes observe my ways.” In our text, the reconciliation is described as a turning of hearts, and here we have the giving of the heart. The parallelism in this proverb shows us that the giving of the heart involves imitation (willingness to observe the father’s ways). Fighting the natural impulse of imitation is what drives estrangement, and surrendering that fight is what constitutes the reconciliation.
When a father asks for this—“give me your heart”—what is he pleading for? He is asking his children to imitate him. This is what children do naturally (Eph. 5:1; cf. 1 Cor. 4:16; 1 Cor. 11:1), unless that natural impulse has been continuously insulted. If a father says, “Give me your heart,” what will he say if the question comes back, “Why?”
There are two kinds of authority that a father may have. He always has at least one of them, simply by virtue of being the father, but he may or may not have the other. Think of it in this way.
There is the authority of having a checkbook and checking account. You own it. Your name is in the upper left hand corner. You are the authorized signatory on the account. You have the full authority to write checks from that account. No one questions it. That is one kind of authority. The second kind of authority is what comes from having a good bit of money in that same account. Applying our illustration, the former authority is simply positional authority. The second kind of authority is what we call a moral authority. The former argues, “I am your father.”The latter simply knows, “I am your father.”
Too many fathers want to be able to write checks simply because they own the checkbook, and not because they have made any deposits in it.
We have already learned that a man’s basic marching orders call him to provide and to protect (Gen. 2:15). Since we are imitating God the Father, we should see that before providing “the bacon,” a man must first provide himself. And because we are living in the kind of world where protection is needed, a man’s first impulse to protect should be informed by the realization that he is the first one his family might need protection from. Eve certainly needed protection from the serpent, but prior to that, she needed protection from her abdicating protector.
Remember that when St. George fails to fight the dragon, in that instance, St. George has become the dragon.
When this work is accomplished, we see that the healing is done on both sides of the divide. Fathers who have been harsh, distant, demanding, or abdicating are given a heart of repentance, and they turn (with that heart of repentance) back to their children. But if the children have been provoked to anger (Eph. 6:4), if the children have been embittered because their father had not been mindful of their frame (Ps. 103:13-14), the Spirit of God moves in them, and they are able to lay that bitterness down. They are able to forgive. If someone has wronged you, being bitter about it is simply saving a souvenir from that special occasion. But if you hated the play, then why would you save the ticket stubs for your scrapbook?
The call to repentance is the entryway into grace. We are called to surrender our pride, and to come into His grace, in which we are invited to stand (Rom. 5:2).
Returning to the point of the text, we assume that the fathers and the children in it are not where they ought to have been. When the healing of God comes, it is healing where there was sickness. There is restoration where there was ruin. There is reconciliation where there was estrangement. This is what the gospel does. This is why Jesus came.
This is why it is no good despairing—it is entirely beside the point to say that it is “too late for you.” If the preacher declares that Jesus came for those who are all messed up, is it a refutation to say that this cannot mean you—because you are all messed up? Jesus came for those who are sick, not for those who are healthy. He came for the sinners, not for the righteous (Mark 2:17). Don’t argue that this can’t mean you, for you are sick and sinful.
We preach a message of reconciliation (2 Cor. 5:18). And if we are reconciled to God (Rom. 5:1), then it follows that other kinds of reconciliation will fall into place (1 John 1:7).