Can I Trust God? - Malachi Overview

Call to Worship

Psalm 107:1–3 ESV

1 Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! 2 Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble 3 and gathered in from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south.

Prayer of Adoration

Lord God Almighty, You are the Maker of heaven and earth, the God who speaks and does not lie, who promises and fulfills, who judges with righteousness and loves with everlasting faithfulness. You are from everlasting to everlasting—unchanging in Your character, unfailing in Your covenant, and unrivaled in Your glory. No darkness can overshadow Your light, no power can frustrate Your purposes, and no sin can exhaust the riches of Your mercy.

We adore You—not for what You do for us alone, but because You are God: sovereign, eternal, good, and glorious. Our hearts rest secure in Your unchanging name. To You be honor, praise, and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

Pastoral Prayer

Sermon

Scripture Reading

Malachi 3:1–5 ESV

1 “Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me. And the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; and the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight, behold, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. 2 But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap. 3 He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, and they will bring offerings in righteousness to the Lord. 4 Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old and as in former years. 5 “Then I will draw near to you for judgment. I will be a swift witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired worker in his wages, the widow and the fatherless, against those who thrust aside the sojourner, and do not fear me, says the Lord of hosts.

Intro

Let me start with a quick minor retraction from last week. I got my timeline mixed up a little bit. Zechariah actually prophesied to the first batch of exiles returning from Babylon and he was doing this before Ezra and Nehemiah came with the second wave of returning exiles.

So I pray that you won’t let that misstep cloud your trust of me.

Because trust is one of the most fragile currencies in the human experience. We enter the world knowing nothing and trusting everything—crying for food because we assume someone will come. But it doesn’t take long for life to pry that trust out of our hands. A friend, family member, or spouse who betrays us deeply. A leader who abuses their authority. A parent who promises over and over and never delivers.

Most of us didn’t wake up one day and decide we were going to be cynical—we were trained by our disappointments to stop trusting.

And once distrust takes root, it refuses to stay where it belongs. Someone hurts us, and suddenly everyone looks suspicious.

We can’t do anything about it; one failure is enough evidence for a lifetime sentence.

So we start treating worthy people like guilty ones.

It’s not just the people who broke faith that we stop trusting—we become unable to trust anybody.

Our hearts become like a bank vault: fortified, locked, and empty.

That’s where we find the people in Malachi’s day.

They’re not bowing to idols or shaking their fists at the heavens. They’re doing something far more dangerous—they’re worshiping God with their mouths while withholding their hearts.

They’ve rebuilt their homes, their economy, even the temple—but not their devotion.

They give God the leftovers of their time, their animals, their marriages, their money, and then have the audacity to ask, “What’s the problem? Isn’t God lucky we’re still here?”

They’ve stopped trusting in the promises and instruction of God, but instead of turning in complete rebellion against God, they expect God to be impressed with their spiritual participation trophies.

Malachi’s audience isn’t exactly hostile; they’re complacent.

They yawn their way through worship.

They treat God like a cosmic landlord—paying Him the minimal rent and demanding premium perks out of Him.

And when God doesn’t deliver comfort on their terms, they assume the fault lies with Him, not them.

Does that Sound familiar?

Religious complacency has a way of baptizing our excuses.

We say we trust God—right up until trusting Him costs us something.

We claim He is worth everything—until He asks for anything from us.

We sing about His greatness—while living like our own comfort is the highest good.

And when God doesn’t shower us with the prosperity we think obedience deserves, we quietly accuse Him of failing us.

Malachi exposes this spiritual rot with six divine indictments.

Each one opens like a courtroom drama. God makes a statement; and then His people interrupt, challenge, dispute, and defend themselves with a shocking arrogance:

“How have You loved us?” “How have we despised Your name?” “How have we wearied You?” “How have we robbed You?” “How have we spoken against You?”

Not once do they fall to their knees in repentance.

Not once do they say, “Yes, Lord.”

They argue with Him, they question Him, and in doing so they show just how little they actually trust Him.

And here’s the haunting thing: God lets them.

Why would he do that?

Well, for one reason, a faith that can’t be questioned isn’t actually faith—it’s only an assumption.

The Advent season actually invites us to examine our faith. It is a time of waiting.

Before we celebrate the arrival of the Messiah, God asks us to face an unforgiving question: Do you actually trust Me?

Not as a nice idea that you hope is true. Not in a superstitious “if I just do the right things, then God will be happy with me.”

But do you actually trust God with your worship, your relationships, your justice, your money, your future, and—yes—even the eternal destiny of the people you love.

Because Advent doesn’t begin with shepherds and angels.

It begins with silence, skepticism, and a God who refuses to accept half-hearted religion—and the very first thing He puts on trial is the one thing we assume we already understand well: His love.

Point I: Can I Trust God’s Love? (Malachi 1:1–5)

“‘I have loved you,’ says the LORD.” That’s the first word from God in this book, and notice immediately the tension: God declares His love, and the people respond with a question: “How have you loved us?” (Mal. 1:2).

There is a cynicism in that question. It’s the voice of a people who have grown comfortable with questioning God, who are looking at their present circumstances and asking, Does God really care about us? Has He been faithful?

And here’s the answer: yes, God has loved them. Not in some vague, sentimental way, but in a covenantal, faithful, deliberate way. He reminds them of His choice of Jacob over Esau—not because of anything they had done, but because of His sovereign purposes and His promises. God’s love is neither arbitrary nor sentimental. It is purposeful and faithful.

Now, this is where the heart of the struggle comes in. Malachi’s people—and we, if we are honest—want to see love only as universal blessing. We ask, “God, will everyone be saved?” or “God, what about my loved ones who do not follow You?”

Romans gives us insight here. Immediately after quoting this verse in Malachi 1:2–3 “I have loved Jacob but Esau I have hated,” Paul quotes Exodus 33 “I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion” (Rom. 9:15).

God’s love is a gift; He chooses whom He will redeem, and yet, for all who come to Him in repentance and faith, He is faithful. None who turn to Him in true faith will be turned away (Rom. 11:29). But the very faith to turn to him is a gift that the Holy Spirit must give and He knows the sheep that He has given to his Son as an inheritance. This is the very reason why Jesus says in:

John 10:27–28 ESV

27 My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. 28 I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.

But we need to understand something very clearly:

God’s sovereign love never cancels human responsibility—it makes salvation possible. The fact that God chooses does not mean He excludes any sinner who turns to him in true repentance and faith; it means that anyone who turns to Him does so because He first loved and chose them.

There is no one, ever, who chose God before he chose them.

The Election of God is not a fence keeping people out—it’s the foundation that ensures someone gets in.

And if you’re still struggling with this concept, read Romans 9 slowly this week. Mentally chew on the chapter and wrestle the reality of what it really means for God to be in charge.

The question we all must ultimately answer is, “Will I trust the God who loves perfectly—even when I don’t understand everything He does?”

Not just in the abstract, but in the hard realities of life?

Can we trust that He is

perfectly and completely just,

perfectly and completely merciful,

and perfectly and completely wise

—even when we wrestle with the salvation of those we love?

I want you to pause and consider this personally. What would it sound like if God spoke directly to you right now, reminding you of His love, His choice, His covenant faithfulness?

What questions rise in your heart?

What defenses do you offer?

And more importantly, will you respond with trust or with doubt?

God’s first word in Malachi is not a threat—it is a declaration: “I have loved you.” Not, I once loved you. Not, I might love you again if you improve. But I have loved you—past, present, settled, eternal.

The question is not whether God has loved you. The question is whether you will trust that love when life does not look like you think love should look.

Point II: Can I Trust God with My Worship? (Malachi 1:6–2:9)

Malachi continues his beginning where most of us would rather not spend much real time and energy: our worship. Not our feelings about worship. Not our intentions for worship. The actual substance of it.

“A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If I am a father, where is My honor? If I am a master, where is My fear?” (Mal. 1:6)

God isn’t asking for applause here like some vain human leader; He’s asking a question that exposes Israel’s soul: If you really believe I am who you say I am, why does your worship look like this?

These people were not being charged as idolaters bowing to Baal. They were in church every Sabbath. They had the priesthood, the temple, the sacrifices—all the externals. But they were giving God the worst of their possessions, not the best.

God looked at their offerings and said, in essence:

“You wouldn’t give your father or boss this trash—why are you trying to give it to Me?”

Lame animals. Blind sacrifices. They brought their leftovers and disguised it as devotion.

And here’s the ugly truth: their problem wasn’t theological—it was practical. They believed in God’s existence. They just didn’t believe He was worth their best. The priests’ apathy infected the people, and the people’s cynicism infected the worship. Everyone figured God should be happy they showed up at all.

Malachi exposes the question beneath their behavior:

“Can God really be trusted with the cost of obedience?” Because worship always costs something—time, comfort, reputation, resources. And the Israelites didn’t think the payout was worth the price anymore.

Does this sound familiar?

We are masters of respectable disobedience:

We sing loudly but serve rarely.

We give occasionally but never sacrificially.

We want God to answer prayers we haven’t bothered to pray.

We want His presence without His priorities.

We don’t so much reject God; as we just downgrade Him.

And then we wonder why our faith feels thin.

The Israelites thought God should be pleased they were worshiping at all, even if their sacrifices were blemished and their hearts half-asleep. Their problem wasn’t that they abandoned worship—it’s that they neutered it. They turned it into a formality, a box to check, a ritual without reverence. And before we tut-tut ancient Israel, we’d better admit: this is not merely their sin; this is ours.

So much of the modern church has traded depths and riches of God for cotton candy—thin theology, childish sermons, and worship that’s more about feelings than reverence.

When theology disappears, Christian seriousness disappears with it,

and what remains is a church that may look busy but has no weight, no wonder, and no spine.

That is Malachi in contemporary clothing.

We live in an age where sincerity is mistaken for sacrifice,

where enthusiasm is confused with obedience,

where worship is judged by how it makes me feel rather than whether it rightly honors Him.

And then we have the audacity to wonder why our kids don’t worship our God anymore.

We blame the culture without ever turning the examination back onto our own shallow understanding and worship of God. (which leads to us teaching our kids about a god who is ultimately as weak and shallow and unworthy of our worship as the god we’ve created for ourselves)

We’ve domesticated the Lion of Judah into a spiritual housecat and then wonder why worship no longer feels weighty and vital.

But Malachi won’t let us do that.

He reminds us that casual worship is not harmless—it is unbelief dressed up in a choir robe.

When God becomes small, worship becomes optional.

And when worship becomes optional, trust evaporates.

This is why God presses Israel so hard on worship: because worship is the first and clearest battleground of trust.

The question is not whether we sing; it's whether our singing means anything.

Not whether we give; but whether our giving costs anything.

Not whether we attend church; but whether the God we meet there is worthy of our best.

God cares how we worship because worship reveals what we trust. The question is not, “Did you show up?” but “What did you bring—and what does it say about your heart?”

God’s indictment of Israel is blistering, but there is still a tenderness beneath it:

He rebukes because He's worthy. He confronts because He wants better for His people. He disciplines the priests not to crush them but to reclaim them.

Trust turns worship from a duty into a declaration. When you give your first and best—not the crumbs of your calendar or paycheck—you’re preaching that the God you worship is no afterthought. He is the greatest treasure. He is trustworthy.”

This is why Malachi hits worship before marriage, money, and the future. If God doesn’t have your honor in the sanctuary, He won’t have your obedience anywhere else.

What does your worship say about your view of God?

Friends, God isn’t asking for your perfection—He’s demanding priority over everything in your life. God is worthy of your trust and your worship.

Point III: Can I Trust God with My Family and Relationships? (Malachi 2:10–16)

If worship shows whether we trust God with our devotion, relationships reveal whether we trust Him with our hearts. God now walks into the home—where covenant faithfulness is either proved or betrayed:

“Have we not all one Father? Has not one God created us? Why then are we faithless to one another?” (Mal. 2:10)

Israel hasn’t abandoned the temple; they’ve abandoned the household. They’re maintaining religious appearances while letting their marriages rot. God calls it covenant treason.

Does God care what happens in my home? How I treat the people in my life?

Malachi’s answer is flat and unavoidable: Yes.

Your relationships, especially with your spouse and children, aren’t private—they’re covenantal. They are sacred arenas where God expects His character to be seen.

Covenant Infidelity Is More Than Adultery

So often we think unfaithfulness means physically, sexually being unfaithful, but God says it starts with posture of your heart. You can violate the marriage covenant without ever leaving the house. Infidelity isn’t just physical—it’s theological.

It’s any refusal to display God’s steadfast love.

A husband who crushes his wife’s spirit is unfaithful.

A wife who manipulates her husband is unfaithful.

Parents who do not raise their children up in godliness, teaching them the ways and wonders of the Lord are unfaithful.

Neglect, contempt, sarcasm, harshness—these are all covenant violations.

You can break your marriage without breaking it legally. God isn’t impressed by your lack of divorce papers.

He is expecting a covenant love that reflects His own.

Don’t you see that this is why Christians are called God’s children? Why they are called the bride of Christ? Because God cares about the relationships of the family, especially the families of those who call themselves Christians! How we treat one another tells our spouses and children how God will treat them.

Is it any wonder why so many of our kids view God as uncaring? Distant? Annoyed? Harsh? Ready to snap?

Where would they have possibly gotten that idea?

Marriage Has a Mission

Malachi 2:15 tells us “And what was the one God seeking? Godly offspring.”

Marriage isn’t a romantic partnership with Christian seasoning—it’s a theological factory designed to produce worshipers. Homes are supposed to be greenhouses of faith, not hotels with a Bible verse in the lobby.

God expects his followers to have households that preach truth, relationships that adorn the gospel, and covenant love that makes children say, “If God is anything like my parents, I want Him.”

So hear this plainly:

If your marriage does not help your spouse love God more, it is failing.

If your home entertains children but does not disciple them, it is faithless.

If your relationships prioritize your convenience over the covenant you made, you are living as though God is optional.

Some marriages are alive on paper but dead in practice—two people who share a mortgage but not a mission to produce godly offspring. That’s not marriage. That’s rebellion dressed in respectability.

God’s Call

“Well then I guess there’s no hope for me and my family” you might be saying,

But, friend, Malachi doesn’t leave us condemned.

Every rebuke from God is an invitation to God. The God who exposes covenant decay is the God who restores covenant breakers.

He is not calling you to pretend—He’s calling you to repent. He doesn’t want perfection but surrender.

Trusting God with your relationships means saying:

“My home is Yours. My marriage is Yours. My relationships are Yours. They exist to reflect Your covenant love, not my preferences.”

Until God rules the home, worship in the sanctuary will always ring hollow.

Point IV: Can I Trust God’s Justice? (Malachi 2:17-3:5; 4:1–3)

The fourth indictment God brings is in Mal 2:17. Before God answers Israel’s complaint, He exposes it. They’re not confused about justice—they’re accusing God of injustice.

Malachi 2:17 ESV

17 You have wearied the Lord with your words. But you say, “How have we wearied him?” By saying, “Everyone who does evil is good in the sight of the Lord, and he delights in them.” Or by asking, “Where is the God of justice?”

They look at the wicked winning and the righteous limping and conclude: God doesn’t care. God won’t act. God must not be just.

God’s response is chilling:

“I will send my messenger… then the Lord you seek will suddenly come to his temple.” (Mal. 3:1)

In other words: You want justice? Buckle up.

God is not late—He is deliberate. His judgment is not missing—it is loading. And here is the punchline no one expects:

Everyone applauds justice until God starts with them. Because in the immediately following verse God says:

“Who can endure the day of his coming?… He is like a refiner’s fire.” (3:2)

Israel wanted God to scorch the nations. God says He will start with His own people.

Judgment begins at the pulpit, not the pagan temple.

Justice is not a gavel so much as it’s a furnace that burns hypocrisy, melts pretense, and leaves no neutral spectators.

Malachi then opens the future:

Malachi 4:1–2 ESV

1 “For behold, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble. The day that is coming shall set them ablaze, says the Lord of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch. 2 But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall.

Same fire. Different outcome. For the proud—it destroys. For the faithful—it heals.

God’s justice is not indiscriminate rage—it’s holy precision.

This is where it hits us:

we ache for God to act. We see evil prosper, prayers go unanswered, wounds remain unhealed, and we mutter the same tired line:

“Where is the God of justice?”

Malachi replies:

He’s coming. Slow does not mean weak. Silence does not mean absent. Patience does not mean permissive.

God delays not because sin is trivial but because mercy is real.

The real question is no longer theoretical:

Can you trust God to do right when the wicked flourish, when the timeline stretches longer than you like, and when justice feels overdue?

Faith doesn’t demand God act now—it rests in the certainty that He will.

Point V: Can I Trust God with My Money? (Malachi 3:6–12)

God’s next indictment goes straight for the nerve center of our discipleship: money. In Malachi, money is not about math—it’s about trust. Israel gladly offered worship with their lips, but their wallets told the real story. God calls it robbery.

“Will man rob God? Yet you are robbing me” (Mal. 3:8).

That’s not hyperbole. It’s theology. When God commands, withholding is not frugality—it’s unbelief.

Malachi 3:10 is not a fundraising gimmick:

“Bring the full tithe… test me… and I will open the windows of heaven.”

This is not prosperity theology; it’s covenant reality. Their failure to give wasn’t an accounting error—it was a declaration that God couldn’t be trusted to provide.

Here’s the deeper issue buried under every reluctant offering:

“If I let go of this, who will take care of me?”

God’s answer hasn’t changed: He will.

Now—let’s be clear. The New Testament does not bind Christians to a tithe. The tithe was tied to Israel’s theocratic economy. But the New Testament raises the bar, not lowers it. The standard for believers is not 10%—it is sacrificial generosity rooted in grace:

“Each one must give… not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver” (2 Cor. 9:7). “Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor” (2 Cor. 8:9).

Giving isn’t about a percentage—it’s about a cross-shaped posture. If your giving never costs you anything, it doesn’t resemble Calvary.

God’s promise in Malachi still stands in principle: those who trust Him with their treasure never lack what He knows they truly need. The blessing isn’t a padded bank account—it’s freedom from the tyranny of fear, the devourer of peace. It’s the quiet, stubborn assurance that God owns tomorrow, so I don’t have to.

So ask yourself:

Do you trust God with eternity but not with your bank card? Do you believe He can raise the dead but not cover the bills? Are you hedging your faith with financial airbags?

God doesn’t demand our money because He needs it. He demands it because our hearts are glued to it. Giving pries our fingers off the illusion of self-sufficiency and anchors us to the only security that’s real.

Malachi’s question lands with force:

Can you afford to keep distrusting God?

A church that embraces sacrificial giving is not rich—it’s untouchable. The world cannot explain a people who loosen their grip on treasure because they already belong to Someone who will never let go of them.

Point VI: Can I Trust God with My Future? (Malachi 3:13–4:6)

Israel is weary. They’ve rebuilt the temple, resumed the sacrifices, and restored the calendar—but their hearts are cynical. They’ve concluded that wicked people prosper while the righteous suffer, and they mutter under their breath in 3:14, “It is vain to serve God” (3:14). That’s not doubt; that’s slander against the character of the Almighty.

God answers with a future—not some vague spiritual uplift, but a cataclysmic day so real it will burn like a furnace.

The people ask the same question every believer asks when obedience feels costly and justice feels delayed:

“Will God actually show up?”

The Lord replies:

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes” (Mal. 4:5).

Before judgment falls, God promises a herald—a forerunner who will summon people to repentance.

And we learn his name 400 years later in the gospel accounts: John the Baptist. The Messiah follows. The covenant is kept. The promises of God do not expire.

For us, this means the future is not chaos and fear. God isn’t winging it. He is winding history like a clock toward the moment when Christ returns, every injustice is avenged, and every sorrow is reversed.

Here’s what that demands of us:

Trust God when His timeline outruns your patience.

Malachi’s audience would wait 400 years in deafening silence. This is the famine Amos warned about: not a famine of bread, but “a famine… of hearing the words of the LORD” (Amos 8:11).

For four centuries, not one prophet. Not one miracle. Just the memory of a word and the ache of anticipation. Yet the silence was not abandonment—it was incubation.

Our anxiety about the future lives in the gap between God’s promise and its fulfillment.

In that gap, we are tempted to interpret delay as disinterest.

Malachi won’t let us. The future belongs to the God who is already there.

The question is not whether God can be trusted with the future.

The question is whether we will trust Him enough to live like the future is already settled.

Malachi closes the Old Testament by leaving us standing on tiptoe, staring toward Bethlehem and beyond—to the second Advent, when Christ returns with fire in His eyes and healing in His wings (4:2). The first coming proves God keeps promises; the second guarantees He will finish them.

So, can you trust God with your future?

If He keeps a 400-year-old appointment in a manger, you’d better believe He will keep every promise still on the books.

That’s not wishful thinking—it’s Christian hope. History is headed somewhere, and its destination is the throne of Jesus Christ.

Closing: Waiting and Longing for the Messiah (Advent Connection)

Malachi is not a book of random rebukes—it is a courtroom drama. God summons His people, and they cross-examine Him with six indictments:

Can we trust Your love? Does our worship matter? Is covenant fidelity really worth it? Will You bring justice? Do You notice whether we are generous? Can You be trusted with the future?

Each question drips with suspicion: “Prove Yourself, God.”

And God does. He answers every question, but His answers do not reach their full resonance until a cry from the prophet in the wilderness breaks the four centuries of silence:

“Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

In Christ, every accusation collapses.

Do you doubt His love? Look at a manger that led to a cross.

Question whether worship matters? Watch Him cleanse the temple and present Himself as the true and better temple.

Wonder if marriage and covenant faithfulness are optional? Stand at the foot of the Bridegroom who loves His bride to death—and then raises her to life.

Fear that injustice wins? Behold the Judge who was judged in our place and will return to judge the world in righteousness.

Anxious about sacrifice and giving? Christ, though rich, became poor so that by His poverty we might become rich.

Terrified about the future? The resurrection is God’s signed guarantee that the future is not up for grabs.

Malachi leaves us with a people waiting. Advent tells us whom they were waiting for. Christ is the answer to every question Malachi raises, not in theory but in flesh and blood. He is God’s final word, the end of holy silence, the Yes and Amen of every promise.

You do not trust God because you can see the future. You trust God because you can see the cross.

If He kept a 400-year-old promise in Bethlehem, He will not fumble the promises still unfolding.

If He has already sent Elijah’s herald, crushed the serpent’s head, and raised His Son from the grave, what exactly do you imagine He’s unable to handle in your life?

The silence between promise and fulfillment is not neglect, it is where faith is forged, where idols are exposed, and where your longing and waiting is trained to look past your present circumstances and toward the eternal.

So, if you have never surrendered your life to Christ,

the Lamb who takes away sin, the Bridegroom who redeems His bride, today is the day to do so. You are not promised tomorrow and you are not commanded to get yourself right before you come to him, but you are commanded repent and believe His promises and the work he has already accomplished on your behalf.

He does not promise ease, but He does promise Himself and that is so much better than an easy life.

So, as Malachi slams the Old Testament door shut and we step into Advent:

Do not despise the waiting. Do not interpret delay as denial. Do not mistake silence for absence.

Lift your eyes.

The God who answered Malachi’s questions in a manger will answer your questions at the return of the King. Justice will thunder. Covenant will triumph. Worship will be pure. Families will be healed. Death will be undone. The future will be exactly what He said it will be.

So, can you trust Him?

If Christ walked out of a tomb, the only unreasonable response is unbelief.

History is not wandering—it is marching to the end of days. And the God who once came to earth as his own creation is coming again. And on that day, all the sad things will come untrue for those who are found in him.

Let the last instruction of Malachi become the first word of Advent: Prepare your hearts. The Lord is coming.

Confession and Repentance

Gracious God, You are faithful and unchanging, yet we confess we have not honored You as we should. We have offered You our leftovers—half-hearted worship, selective obedience, and divided loyalties. We have broken covenant in our homes: speaking harshly, leading poorly, pursuing comfort instead of holiness, and neglecting the call to raise our families in Your ways.

Forgive us for treating Your glory lightly and Your commands as optional. Cleanse us from our excuses and restore a right fear of Your name. Turn our hearts back to You so our lives, marriages, and worship would reflect Your covenant love.

Thank You that in Christ there is mercy for the faithless and grace for the weary. Renew us by Your Spirit, that we may leave here not merely informed but transformed, living faithfully for Your glory.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Scriptural Assurance

1 John 1:9 ESV

9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

Benediction

May the Lord, who does not change, establish your hearts in reverent fear, refine your lives like silver, and cause the sun of righteousness to rise upon you with healing in His wings, that you may go out rejoicing and living as His treasured possession, until the day He appears in glory. Amen.