Malachi 3:1-4
“He’s making a list, he’s checking it twice, he’s gonna find out who’s naughty or nice.” You know, when you think about it, that’s a pretty sinister song. I mean, I don’t want to sound like a Scrooge, but who is this guy? “He sees you when you’re sleeping and he knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake.” That’s just creepy. I don’t know where that thinking comes from, but we do not want it to taint our view of God or our understanding of what Advent is all about. In our opening collect today, we prayed: “Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer.” I do not believe we should interpret this to mean, “You better watch out! If you don’t behave, you’re going to be in serious trouble, because Jesus Christ is coming to town.” To avoid this, we need to do what our collect tells us to do and actually heed the words of the prophets. So look at our reading from Malachi today. The LORD is certainly coming, and he is coming as fire, but not as a destructive wildfire or as the flames of some mythical hell. No, the prophet Malachi says the Holy One is coming as a refiner’s fire. When you refine silver or gold, you melt them down with extreme heat, and then the dross floats to the top. The dross is then removed, thus purifying the metal. The refiner’s fire does not destroy the metal: it makes it stronger and better. In the same way, Malachi says, God will come as fuller’s soap. Fullers use such soap, which is like bleach, not to destroy woolen fabric but to make it brighter and fuller. When God comes among us, the prophet says, we will be purified and made stronger and brighter. God’s coming is good news.
And John the Baptist agrees. He may have a fiery personality, but he does not prophesy damnation and destruction. Quite the opposite: valleys will be filled, mountains will be brought low, crooked ways will be made straight, every obstacle will be removed, and all flesh shall see the salvation of God. Not just “all faithful Jews,” not just “all baptized Christians who go to church,” but all flesh — every human being. God’s coming is good news.
So, then, why all this talk about heeding warnings, repenting, and forsaking our sins? Put simply, the process of purification is a painful one. The more we cooperate with it, the easier it will be. Jesus really does come as a refiner’s fire. He glows white hot with God’s love, and he brings all the dross to the service. We see it throughout the Gospels. He is compassionate and merciful, and in the brilliance of his light we see some people clinging to their money, some trying to dominate or condemn their neighbors, some hating anyone who is different than they are, some arrogantly and wrongly claiming to be super righteous, some desperately fearing the loss of power and prestige. It all reaches its terrible climax on the cross: Jesus loves with the fire of God’s heart — and they kill him. The dross of ignorance and sin which rises to the surface is visible in all its ugliness. And even then Jesus forgives it all. The real grief is the unwillingness of so many people to see and welcome what he is all about. What God is all about.
But there are others who consent to his purifying love. Their impurities surface and they are willing to acknowledge them and let them go: Zacchaeus paying back everyone he has defrauded; Peter accepting forgiveness after his denial; Paul turning from murderous persecutor to devoted apostle. Seeing ourselves as we really are and allowing ourselves to be changed is definitely not easy; Paul in particular knows how costly this purifying process is. He assures the Corinthians that they will all experience salvation, the new and eternal life of the Gospel, but only as through fire (1 Cor. 3:15).
So it takes faith and courage to pray the way we do in Advent: “Come, Lord Jesus. Bring your fire and shine your light!” Speaking just for myself, it’s painful seeing all my unattractive features brought to light by Christ, especially during the course of this pandemic. My personal dross includes a propensity to anger and frustration, a lack of patience, a reluctance to trust, frequent temptation to give into despair, a need to shore up my fragile ego, and all too often the failure to love and show compassion. I can try to flee from such painful self-knowledge and resist God’s efforts to heal me and make me whole — or I can practice letting the Christ light in and letting the dross go. And the same choice lies before each one of you as well.
Fortunately, God really is the way Jesus reveals God to be: unfailingly merciful, infinitely patient. We can resist change and refuse to grow indefinitely, and God will still love us. And God will never give up on us. But when we choose not to heed the prophets and not to practice that change of mind and heart we call “repentance,” then we are the ones who suffer, as does the world around us. The point here isn’t that we do it perfectly, but that we do it at all. Even partially consenting to the transforming work of God in our lives opens the door and gives the Holy Spirit room to work wonders. So if nothing else this Advent season, I would urge us all to examine at least one area of our life which, in the light of Christ, we see is broken or hurting, some part of ourselves where the dross has floated to the top and become all too visible. See it for what it is. And pray out of that place: “Come, Lord Jesus, let your light shine where I most need it. Come, Lord Jesus, pour out your forgiveness and mercy upon me. Come, Lord Jesus, help me to grow and change in ways that will bless me and the world around me. Come, Lord Jesus, let your Spirit abound more and more in my life. I give myself to the purifying power of your love. Come, Lord Jesus, come.” Amen.
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