Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

Richard Davenport November 13, 2022 - Proper 28 Malachi 4:1-6 As a history buff, I'll occasionally watch the documentaries and such of past wars and see the old war footage they have. WWII, Korea, and Vietnam in particular. You see the images and videos of life out on the frontlines. Sometimes you see a few soldiers laughing about something, sharing a meal together, or walking in formation to someplace or other. More often in these documentaries you see the devastation. You see the B-17s of WWII dropping endless lines of bombs. You see napalm and the effects it has on the land and the people. You see the aftermath as the images ask you to ponder their significance. The images are important for all of us who haven't been there and seen them. War may be necessary, but it never something done lightly. The stories told by those who have seen the ruined cities, the ruined lives firsthand, whether that's the soldiers themselves, the journalists, the doctors and nurses at the field hospitals, or the victims who survive, they all remind us of the cost of war. They serve as a warning, to make sure the war is truly worth that cost, both to our enemies and to ourselves. It's no surprise at all those individuals have nightmares about what they've seen. It's also no surprise when those people start talking about what led to those situations and who now work to help prevent them from happening again. Their experiences, their firsthand accounts are there for the military and for the rest of us to not let the same atrocities continue. When those atrocities occur again, as they inevitably do, those men and women are the first to shake their heads and wonder why anyone would put themselves right back in the same situation, knowing exactly what will happen when they do. They know the hurt, the pain, the terror, the grief. They know because they've been there, right in the thick of it. The Old Testament reading from Malachi today echoes some of the same kind of imagery. People blasted down like stubble in a field, everything ablaze with nothing left standing. Certainly nothing any sane person would want to be caught up in. If you see this kind of thing coming, you get out. Just like folks in a warzone, if you see the bombers on the horizon heading your way, time to leave, time to find shelter. Time to find safety from the destruction that's coming. The prophet Malachi comes at the end of the Old Testament canon. We know next to nothing about him other than that he's a prophet whose name means, "My Messenger," an appropriate name for a prophet. Based on the content of his message, it's believed he's writing after the Israelites have come back from exile in Babylon and have set about rebuilding Jerusalem, though the exact date of his writing is impossible to determine. Put into the context of the Israelites returning from exile, the message he brings is a powerful one. "We've seen what happens when the bombs fall. We know what happens to people who are caught out in that. Don't risk it! Don't go out there and just think you'll be fine. You won't. If you're out there when the time comes, it'll be too late. There won't be anything left." It seems obvious enough. I mean, they saw it happen. They knew exactly what to expect. God had warned them over and over again that it was coming, sounding the air raid sirens, but so many didn't listen. So many thought they were perfectly safe, that even if something terrible was coming, it wouldn't hit them. The warnings were ignored and the devastation came. Now the warnings come again. It happened once. You saw it yourself. You saw how many were lost. Don't make that mistake. It's not worth the cost. If you're someone who has seen this happen, then you have to wonder why anyone would risk being in the line of fire. What could possibly make that worth it? The thrill of the danger maybe, or just the simple belief that even if the danger is coming, you've got things figured out. You'll be safe in spite of whatever the threat may be. You're confident you'll be fine. It doesn't make a lot of sense that any would think this way. After all, the risks would seem to completely outweigh any possible benefits. If you're standing right in the path of the firestorm and you somehow survive, what does that get you? Some validation that you could do it, that you weren't fazed by the danger and so the consequences don't matter. Some people get excited about the prospect of proving themselves right, of showing the world they didn't need your warnings, didn't need you. Who thinks like this? Who would do something so irrational? Well, basically everyone. How many children get their hands burned after specifically being told not to touch the hot stove? As an adult, a parent, you can give yourself an aneurysm trying to figure out why kids do this kind of thing. There's no payout here. There's no benefit. The absolute best thing that can happen is nothing at all, you somehow avoided the danger this time. Every other scenario is bad. Scalded, burned, ruined food, hospital visits, the list goes on. Yet, we all do it. We all forge ahead despite the warnings, despite the fact that there really is nothing to be gained by it. We forge ahead just to do it, to prove that we knew better that we didn't need the warnings that everyone else needed. We did it and we did it all by ourselves. As adults watching kids do it, all you can do is wonder why. You shake your head in confusion and you try to keep them from making a similar mistake next time. The Israelites, watching the world around them make the same mistakes, even many of their own people. Those who rejected the warnings found themselves in the same boat and perished. Now those who survived the exile have the task of warning the younger generation, as well as continuing to warn the world around them, to not make the same mistake. Don't think you can do it on your own. Don't think you'll just somehow make it through unscathed. But, of course, all of this overlooks one important point. Malachi isn't preaching to the world. He's preaching to Israelites, all of them, even those who returned from exile and had seen for themselves the horrors of what could happen if you were caught out in the open. The people had been expecting everything to change once Jerusalem was rebuilt, as if the province of Judea would suddenly enter a golden age of prosperity once more. When it didn't happen, they started to think maybe God wasn't really around and they started to get lax. They didn't pay much attention to God's commands and ordinances, which were there to keep them safe. They were already neglecting to care for the less fortunate around them. They were neglecting their marriages. They were neglecting the worship of God and the care and operation of his temple. In short, they were already well on their way to doing all of the same sorts of things that got them into trouble in the first place. You'd think they'd know better, but they haven't really learned. I wish we outgrew that tendency to seek out self-destructive risks, but we don't. We never shed that desire to prove we're better, smarter, more capable, to prove we can do it on our own. We find ourselves standing out in the open, bombs falling all around and we come to the mistaken idea that we're safe, but Malachi warns us that the day is coming. The bomb just hasn't come for you yet. We grow lax and self-confident. We trust that we'll be fine when we neglect the suffering of those around us, when we neglect to care for those whom God has specifically put into our lives to care for, when we neglect to listen to him at all. Instead, Malachi directs our attention to something else, the "sun of righteousness," the who John calls in his gospel, "the light that shines in the darkness." Here is the only place of safety, the only place that's protected. Malachi warns that the destruction that comes has been sent by God and will consume the whole world. Anyone who tries to go it alone will be caught up in it and won't survive. They won't even be recognizable when it's all done. Those who rely on themselves are doomed. Those who see their own sin, their own unrighteousness, their own weakness, those who know death is coming for them are called to hide under the righteousness of Christ, to rely on him instead. This is why St. Paul describes us as putting on Christ in our baptism. He is our protector, our savior. Under him and under his righteousness alone we are safe. He continues to call out the warning because our desire to prove ourselves is always there whispering in our ear, but if we open our eyes and see what happens to those who stray out from under his protection, we see the folly of taking that risk. Here, under Christ, forgiveness and grace are always present. Here, where Christ is, there is life. Here, under Christ, the evils of this world can only be temporary. Because, as Malachi reminds us, the day is coming when God sends his judgment down on the evils of this world and they are reduced to nothing. Those who did not heed the warning will be gone, but those who are left will know a joy and peace that they've never had before, the joy of sins not just forgiven, but gone, the joys of life where death is no longer a threat. We pray that God would extend his grace and protection to us through Christ Jesus and that he would call us back when we stray into danger. We pray God extend that protection to us not just in eternity, but also here and now when evil abounds and can strike at any moment. When Luther reads the Lord's Prayer, he sees how much is carried in the words we speak. "But deliver us from evil. What does this mean? We pray in this petition, in summary, that our Father in heaven would rescue us from every evil of body and soul, possessions and reputation, and finally, when our last hour comes, give us a blessed end, and graciously take us from this valley of sorrow to Himself in heaven." We pray because we know we are heard. We know Christ stands there with his arms outstretched to protect those who take shelter there. Here you are safe from God's wrath against sin. Here you are safe from the judgment that comes against a world that cares nothing for God. Here, with Christ standing over you, with his grace and righteousness covering you through your baptism, you are safe.