Try presenting that to your governor; will he be pleased with you or show you favor? says
Malachi is prophesying to an apathetic people. A century after the Temple has been completed, the people have stopped tithing, and are not worshipping as they should, and the priests are causing people trouble by the priests’ instruction. The people are also making imperfect animal sacrifices.
As a culture that does not offer animals to demonstrate our dedication and sacrifice, the notion of imperfect or blemished animals is foreign, to say the least. But God suggests that the people take their blemished and imperfect animal sacrifices to the governor, and rhetorically asks will those sacrifices be pleasing. This I understand.
In a very worldly sense, we do this all the time. We weigh the likely outcome, and offer a sacrifice appropriate for that outcome. For example, it’s amazing what kinds of expired, nasty food is donated to food banks. It’s hardly a sacrifice, when the offering to the food bank is what you wouldn’t feed your own family; it’s more like a great way to clean out the pantry. If the king, bishop or governor were to come over for dinner, would that be what they were offered? Of course not. We’d make up a fine meal, with the freshest ingredients. We’d make an offering based on the perceived value of the recipient.
The same goes with clothing donations. I understand that Africa is drowning in our crappy donations. One headline reads, Why Africa is Drowning in our Clothing Waste. These are clothes we would no longer dress our kids in so we donate them. To be clear, I understand there is great need. I am just not sure they need our junky food or clothing.
Finally, the same is true with our money and time. We offer our time and money to all sorts of things before we determine what we have left over for God’s work.
In the case of Malachi’s prophecy, God was saying that the people would not offer the blemished animal to a governor, why would they offer it to God? If our offerings match the perceived value of the recipient or reward we receive in its offering, why would hungry or impoverished neighbors get less than we’d offer a governor? More importantly, why would God get less?
This morning, I’m thinking about how my choices about my time and treasure reflect my implicit and invisible values about the beneficiaries of those choices. My neighbors are no less worthy than my family. Strangers are no less worthy than the president. God is no less worthy than anyone.
Though I scattered them among the nations, yet in far countries they shall remember me, and they shall rear their children and return.
This section of Zechariah is full of more doom and gloom, breaking covenants, and protecting God’s chosen. God will scatter the people, but even then, the people will remember God. There’s something oddly touching about this. In Zechariah’s prophecy, God scatters the people. But even scattered, God provides the faith and connection for the people that they remember God. This reminds me of the parent who sends their child to their bedroom, but yet loves the child enough to come running if something is amiss. God scatters the people, or God permits captors, or God allows false prophets to lead people astray. But God still loves the people, and gives the people faith and a memory of God. I’m still not entirely comfortable with a God who smites and breaks covenants, but I have a slightly warmer thought about a God who punishes as a loving parent does.
The accompanying reflection today is from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together, a classic book about Christian community. He wrote that Christ came with the express purpose of bringing peace to God’s enemies. True, Christ had disciples, but in the end they all abandoned him, and he died amongst criminals and the jeering crowds. He writes, “So Christians belong not in the seclusion of a cloistered life, but in the midst of enemies. There they find their mission, their work.” God’s people must live in the midst of enemies, but it’s there they can be the seeds of God’s kingdom, he writes.
Later this week, I’ll meet with the Bishop of the Diocese of Pittsburgh to explore my next ministry call. I live right across the street from a beautiful old church to which I could be assigned. Unfortunately, it’s a community that feels like it’s on hospice, both by their actions and the situation in which they find themselves. During the steel mill heyday, it was an affluent church, probably comprised of those benefiting from the mill, rather than those being exploited by the mill. It’s a building that probably seats 300, and now, there’s a regular group of about 6 that gather. This, by itself wouldn’t be as telling as the attitude of the 6, who lock the doors when service begins, and don’t want to use any form of signage or media to let people know of their ministry. Having said that, they do incredible ministry in the community.
The community has changed around them, and they haven’t.
They are absolutely like a flock that’s been scattered. This is a fantastic mission field. And I’m unsure of their interest or ability to do the hard work to be God’s people in this tired, worn down, and sooty town. I’ve been thinking about this place as I prepare for the meeting with the Bishop. This morning’s readings give me pause, and cause me to think about this place in a new light. Regardless of where I’m assigned, I live in this community and will minister in this community, and that is exciting.
