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Archive for September, 2026

This morning, over coffee, I read Malachi and finished the Old Testament for 2026. There’s something fitting about ending the year’s journey through Israel’s story with this book. It’s the last prophetic word before centuries of silence, and it leaves us leaning forward, waiting for what God will do next.

How I Used to Read Malachi

For most of my life I’ve read Malachi through two lenses.

The first is the tithe. Malachi is blunt: “Will man rob God? Yet you are robbing me” (Malachi 3:8). The people were holding back from God, and He challenges them to bring the full tithe into the storehouse and put Him to the test, to see if He will not open the windows of heaven and pour down a blessing until there is no more need (3:10). Our tendency to shortchange God and His promise to bless faithfulness have always stood out to me.

The second is the ending. Malachi prepares us for John the Baptist, the messenger who would prepare the way (3:1), the Elijah who would come before the great day of the Lord (4:5–6). The Old Testament closes by pointing ahead.

Both of those are true and important. But this time, reading Malachi as a whole, I saw much more in these four short chapters.

A Minor Prophet with a Major Punch

Malachi is classified as a minor prophet, but he delivers a major punch. Point by point, he exposes how hollow religious practice falls short of what God has called His people to.

The book opens with God saying, “I have loved you.” The people answer, “How have you loved us?” (1:2). That pattern repeats throughout the book. God speaks of His love, His calling, how He set them apart and blessed them, and the people push back with questions and excuses. They offer blemished sacrifices. The priests grow careless. They grow weary of worship and even say, “It is vain to serve God” (3:14).

They were doing religion, but they weren’t getting it.

Duty or Relationship?

I think getting it is where we cross from religious duty into relationship with God.

Religious duty is, sadly, the main way people approach God. It’s why the world has so many religions: each is a human attempt to build a road to God. Even people who recognize that there must be an intelligent designer behind creation often set up their own process for acknowledging Him and reaching Him.

But God has already made the way. That’s what Malachi keeps pressing toward. God calls His people to repent and to trust Him with everything. The tithe is part of that trust. Obedience to the law is part of that trust. But the heart of it is a turning of the whole person toward God.

That’s the same message Jesus proclaims when He steps onto the scene: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 4:17). Malachi sets the table, and Jesus picks up the call.

The Book of Remembrance

The part that moved me most today is Malachi 3:16–17. In the middle of a people arguing with God, there is a remnant whose hearts are soft and tender toward Him. They grieve over the evil around them. They talk with one another about the Lord. And God hears.

“Then those who feared the LORD spoke with one another. The LORD paid attention and heard them, and a book of remembrance was written before him of those who feared the LORD and esteemed his name. ‘They shall be mine, says the LORD of hosts, in the day when I make up my treasured possession.'” (Malachi 3:16–17)

Throughout the Old Testament there are long lists of names: priests and Levites serving in the temple, families returning from exile, genealogies that most of us are tempted to skim. It’s remarkable that all those names were recorded. And here Malachi shows us why. God keeps a record. He knows His people.

Let’s drill into that. He knows us intimately. He loves us as individuals, and He relates to us as people He loves. We are His treasured possession.

What an astounding thought. The Creator of the universe, the One who cast the stars into place, who designed the atom and how protons, neutrons, and electrons hold together to form all matter, knows you. Not just humanity in general. You. And He loves you enough that He sent His Son to die for you, and He recorded that saving plan across the pages of Scripture, beginning long before Bethlehem.

I’m blown away by that.

The Sun of Righteousness

Malachi’s last chapter includes one of my favorite promises:

“But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings.” (Malachi 4:2)

The word is sun, S-U-N. But every time I read it, I hear S-O-N. I can’t help it, because that’s who the entire Old Testament has been looking toward. Every sacrifice, every prophet, every promise, every list of names has been leaning forward to Jesus.

Looking Ahead

After Malachi come roughly 400 years without a recorded prophetic word before Jesus arrives. A lot happened in those years, and maybe that’s a conversation for another day. For today, I want to sit with how Malachi closes the Old Testament: summing up Israel’s long story of God’s faithfulness and His people’s struggle, and pointing straight toward God’s great climactic act of sending His Son.

God isn’t looking for hollow religious performance. He’s looking for tender hearts that turn to Him, trust Him, and know they are known.

So here’s my question for you: Are you approaching God out of duty, trying to build your own road to Him, or have you stepped into the relationship He’s already made possible through Jesus?


Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), © 2001 by Crossway. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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This morning my spirit rose as I read of the dedication of the rebuilt wall in Jerusalem (Nehemiah 12). Two great choirs processed around the top of the wall, trumpets sounding, and the joy of Jerusalem was heard far away. I could picture it, because I’ve been in rooms like that: thousands of Jesus followers, hands lifted, faces turned upward, rejoicing in the salvation Jesus bought with His blood.

Then the story turns. Nehemiah goes back to the king in Susa, and when he returns he finds the people have already slid. The Levites haven’t been paid and have left for their fields. The Sabbath is a market day. The people have intermarried with the nations around them. An enemy of God’s people has been given a room inside the temple itself. Nehemiah is furious, and he cleans house. Yet the book ends not with triumph but with a prayer: “Remember me, O my God, for good” (Nehemiah 13:31).

It struck me that Ezra and Nehemiah both end this way. Two godly men made bold, faithful attempts to lead the people back to the law, and both saw only partial success. Which is to say, the people could not keep the whole law. And neither can we.

Consider where things stood. The Jews were back in the promised land, but few in number. There was a temple, but when its foundation was laid, the old men who remembered Solomon’s temple wept aloud (Ezra 3:12). It was a shadow of the former glory. And the presence of God, the cloud that filled the first temple so completely the priests couldn’t stand to minister (2 Chronicles 5:14), never came down on this one. Ezekiel had watched the glory depart (Ezekiel 10). Scripture never records it returning to that second temple.

But God had not forgotten His promise. Through the prophet Haggai He had said of this humble house, “The latter glory of this house shall be greater than the former” (Haggai 2:9). And Malachi, prophesying to these same backsliding people, promised that the Lord they sought would suddenly come to His temple (Malachi 3:1). Then heaven went quiet for four centuries.

And one day, a young couple carried their baby into that temple, and old Simeon took Him in his arms and said, “My eyes have seen Your salvation” (Luke 2:30). The glory had returned, not in a cloud, but in flesh. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory” (John 1:14).

That’s why Nehemiah’s story ends unfinished. Walls, reforms, and renewed vows could not fix the human heart. Nehemiah could chase merchants out of the gates, but he could not write the law on anyone’s heart. Only God could do that, and He promised He would (Jeremiah 31:33). The unfinished business of Nehemiah was finished at the cross.

Psalm 126 gives voice to that longing: “When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream… Restore our fortunes, O LORD.” It’s a psalm sung by people who had tasted restoration but were still waiting for more. Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy. The returned exiles sowed in tears. We reap in Christ.

I recognize myself in Nehemiah’s people. I have stood in worship with my heart ablaze and then, a few weeks later, found I had quietly let the Sabbath slip, let other things take the room reserved for God. My reforms don’t hold either. Thank God my hope isn’t in my own wall-building, but in the One who dwells in me by His Spirit and will finish the good work He began (Philippians 1:6).

Where in your life have you been relying on your own reforms and resolutions, when what you really need is the presence of the One who alone can finish the work?

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Areliablefaith Reflection

A few days ago, on a beach in Marina di Ragusa, Sicily, I found myself staring at a McDonald’s. Not because I wanted a hamburger, but because of where it was sitting — right on the water, in about as prime a location as you could ask for, surrounded by genuine, family-run trattorias that had clearly been there for generations. It struck me as strange. How does an American fast-food chain end up on a stretch of coastline like this? And more than that — would it even survive next to businesses built on real family history and craft?

That question sat with me for a couple of days, and it pulled up a memory from a book I read a long time ago: Tom Peters’ In Search of Excellence: Lessons from America’s Best-Run Companies. McDonald’s was one of the companies Peters studied, and one line from it has stuck with me for years. He observed that McDonald’s never set out to make the single best-tasting hamburger in the world. What they pursued instead was consistency — a hamburger that tasted the same whether you bought it in the U.S., in Canada, in Japan, or, apparently, on a beach in Sicily.

Lisa and I ended up going back to that same McDonald’s — not for the burgers, but for a cappuccino and, of all things, a croissant, which is not exactly a McDonald’s staple back home. And as I drank that cappuccino, I realized it tasted exactly like the one I’d had in Michigan a few months earlier, and the one I’d had in South Carolina before that. Different continent, different culture, same cup. That’s not an accident. That’s the entire business model.

It got me thinking about my own walk with God.

God isn’t asking me to be the spiritual equivalent of the “best-tasting hamburger” — spectacular, polished, impressive from day one. What He seems to be after isn’t perfection out of the gate. It’s surrender, and it’s consistency — showing up again and again, letting Him shape the heart a little more each time.

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 1:6

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.” — Philippians 3:12

But here’s where I have to be honest with myself, because I’ve recently caught myself twisting that very idea. I’ve been using YouVersion to read the Bible daily, and somewhere along the way, “consistency” quietly turned into “streak.” I started feeling real stress about keeping a number going, rather than about actually meeting God in the text. The goal was never a badge or a counter. The goal was to see Him in His Word and let it inform my heart. Somewhere along the way, the tracking became the target.

It’s not a new problem. It’s the same thing Jesus called out in Matthew 23 — people who were relentlessly consistent in the letter of practice while neglecting “the weightier matters.” Or Isaiah 29:13 — a people whose lips were near God while their hearts stayed far away. Discipline is not the same thing as devotion. It’s possible to be perfectly consistent and still miss the point entirely.

“These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” — Isaiah 29:13

The consistency worth pursuing isn’t the visible, countable kind — the streak, the box checked, the record kept. It’s the invisible kind: returning to Him, again and again, not because a number depends on it, but because that’s where life actually is.

A Question to Sit With

Where in your walk with God has faithfulness quietly turned into a performance metric — and what would it look like this week to return to the relationship instead of the record?

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