A Sheep Meanders Through Malachi 3:6-12

September 8, 2026 / taethne / Leave a comment

An Invitation To Come Back

My good friends,

As we sit with our morning cocoa (or coffee or tea) and enjoy the new day our Lord has given us, we come to this passage in Malachi where God gives His people an invitation to return to Him. Grab your copy of His Holy Scripture and read Malachi 3:6-12 with an open heart.

Have you ever caught yourself wondering if God has somehow grown distant, or if the old promises still hold when life feels lean and faith feels thin? That’s the atmosphere hanging over the little community of returned exiles when Malachi speaks these words. The temple is standing again, the sacrifices are happening (sort of), but the glory they hoped for after Babylon hasn’t arrived. Crops are disappointing. Hearts are tired. And God, through His prophet, starts this section with one of the most anchoring sentences in the whole Old Testament.

“I the Lord do not change. So you, the descendants of Jacob, are not destroyed.” (Malachi 3:6)

That’s not a throwaway line. It’s the foundation. Israel’s history is a long, sad pattern of turning away—from the wilderness generation onward. By every measure they deserved to be finished. Yet they still exist. Why? Because Yahweh is not like us. He doesn’t grow weary of His covenant, change His mind about His people, or walk away when they disappoint Him. His character is the same yesterday, today, and forever. That unchanging faithfulness is the only reason they (and we) are still here.

Then comes the invitation that always follows God’s self-revelation: “Return to me, and I will return to you.” The people answer the way we often do when conviction lands: “How are we to return?” It sounds almost innocent, but it reveals a heart that has grown so used to drifting it no longer notices the distance.

God gets painfully specific. “Will a mere mortal rob God? Yet you rob me… in tithes and offerings.” The tithe wasn’t a church fundraiser; it was the concrete way Israel acknowledged that the land, the harvest, and life itself belonged to the Lord. A tenth of the produce went into the temple storehouse so the Levites could eat, the poor could be cared for, and worship could continue. Withholding it wasn’t just stinginess. It was treating God like a landlord they could stiff. The result, according to the covenant they had agreed to, was curse: pests, failed harvests, a land that no longer felt like home.

Then God does something almost startling. He invites them to test Him. “Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse… Test me in this… and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.”

He even promises to restrain the devourer, so the vines won’t drop their fruit early. The nations will look at them and say, “That is a delightful land.” This is one of the rare places Scripture actually encourages us to put God to the test—not in unbelief or presumption, but in obedient trust. “You take the first step of faithfulness with what I’ve already given you, and watch what I do.”

From a Christian vantage point, a few things come into clearer focus. First, the God who spoke these words is the same God we meet in Jesus. He still does not change. The reason we are not consumed is not our performance but His covenant loyalty, now sealed in the blood of His Son. Second, the call to “return” is still the first move. Repentance is not a one-time event; it is the ongoing posture of people who keep noticing how easily our hearts wander.

Third, the principle of honoring God with our resources remains, even if the exact mechanism of the Mosaic tithe does not bind us the same way. Under the new covenant we are not given a rigid percentage; we are given a far more searching invitation: give freely, cheerfully, proportionally, and sacrificially because we have first received everything in Christ (2 Corinthians 8–9). The “storehouse” today is the gathered people of God—the local church and the wider work of the gospel—so that there may be “food” for ministry, for the poor, and for the advance of the good news. When we treat our money, time, and gifts as if they are finally ours, we are still, in a real sense, robbing God of the honor that belongs to Him.

And the promise? It is not a blank check for personal wealth. The Old Testament blessings were tied to the land covenant. In Christ the floodgates have already opened in a deeper way: every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places (Ephesians 1:3), the supply of our needs according to His riches (Philippians 4:19), and the quiet joy of watching God use what we release for His glory. Sometimes that includes material provision. Always it includes more of Himself.

The unchanging God is still inviting His people to come back—not first with a bigger check, but with an open hand and a trusting heart. He is not after our money. He is after us. And when we return, He delights to show that He is still the God who opens the heavens.

Personal Reflection Questions:

Where in your life right now do you most need the reminder that “I the Lord do not change”? How does that truth steady you?
If God were to ask you the same question He asked Israel—“How are you robbing Me?”—what might come to mind besides money (time, attention, first love, honesty)?
What would it look like for you to “test” God in the area of generosity this month—not as a formula for getting more, but as an act of returning to Him with what is already His?

A Sheep Meanders Through Malachi 2:1-9

August 28, 2026 / taethne / Leave a comment

When the Messenger Forgets the Message

Hello my dear friends,

Grab a cup of coffee or tea and settle in with me for a few minutes. I want us to sit with a passage that is both severe and strangely kind. It is the kind of word that finds us when we have grown a little casual with holy things—when our words about God have become easier than our walk with God. Here is the text:

“And now, O priests, this commandment is for you. If you will not listen, if you will not take it to heart to give honor to my name, says the LORD of hosts, then I will send the curse upon you and I will curse your blessings. Indeed, I have already cursed them, because you do not lay it to heart. Behold, I will rebuke your offspring, and spread dung on your faces, the dung of your offerings, and you shall be taken away with it. So shall you know that I have sent this command to you, that my covenant with Levi may stand, says the LORD of hosts.“My covenant with him was one of life and peace, and I gave them to him. It was a covenant of fear, and he feared me. He stood in awe of my name. True instruction was in his mouth, and no wrong was found on his lips. He walked with me in peace and uprightness, and he turned many from iniquity. For the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and people should seek instruction from his mouth, for he is the messenger of the LORD of hosts. But you have turned aside from the way. You have caused many to stumble by your instruction. You have corrupted the covenant of Levi, says the LORD of hosts, and so I make you despised and abased before all the people, inasmuch as you do not keep my ways but show partiality in your instruction.” —Malachi 2:1–9

Can you hear the ache behind the warning? The Lord of hosts is not looking for a new program. He is looking for a heart that still trembles at His name.

This word is spoken first to the priests. They were the ones who stood closest to the altar and closest to the people. Their lips were meant to guard knowledge. Ordinary men and women were supposed to come to them and hear the law of the Lord without spin, without favoritism, without the quiet shrug that says, “It doesn’t really matter.” Instead, they had turned aside. They still wore the garments. They still spoke the words. But the instruction that came out of their mouths made people stumble. They showed partiality. The rich, the convenient, the comfortable version of the law was easier to preach than the whole truth. And God says the result is already visible: their blessings have begun to sour. What should have been life-giving has become thin.

The image that follows is almost too much. The dung of the sacrificed animals—the unclean remainder that was meant to be carried outside the camp—would be smeared on their faces, and they would be hauled away with it. It is a picture of public shame. The very offerings they treated as cheap would mark them as unclean. God is not being crude for the sake of shock. He is showing them that when worship becomes a performance, the performer is eventually exposed by the thing he handled carelessly.

And then, right in the middle of the rebuke, the Lord pauses and remembers. “My covenant with him was one of life and peace.” He takes them back to Levi—to the early, bright picture of a priest who feared the Lord, stood in awe of His name, spoke what was true, walked with God in peace and uprightness, and actually turned people away from sin. That is what a messenger looks like. Not a celebrity. Not a technician of religion. A person whose mouth and life agree, because he has first stood in awe.

Friend, this lands closer than we sometimes admit. In Christ we have been made a royal priesthood. Every believer carries some measure of this calling. Parents teach. Friends counsel. Small-group leaders open the Word. Pastors and teachers stand in a stricter place still. James reminds us that those who teach will be judged with greater strictness. The question is not whether we have a platform. The question is whether we take it to heart to honor His name.

We know the temptation. We can keep the doors open and the language holy while our hearts grow tired. We can soften a hard text because we do not want to lose someone. We can show partiality—favoring the version of truth that keeps the peace in the room rather than the version that keeps peace with God. We can speak of grace as if it were permission to be careless. And slowly, without meaning to, we cause others to stumble.

But look at the purpose clause tucked inside the warning: “that my covenant with Levi may stand.” God is not eager to discard His servants. He is jealous to preserve the covenant. The severity is a kind of mercy. He would rather confront us than let us keep blessing people with words He has already begun to curse.

And here the gospel shines through the old text. We have a better Priest than Levi. Jesus is the Messenger of the Lord of hosts who never turned aside from the way. True instruction was always in His mouth. No wrong was found on His lips. He walked with the Father in perfect peace and uprightness. He did not cause anyone to stumble by watering down the truth; He spoke it and then bore the curse that our partiality and our weariness deserved. The refuse of our failed offerings was, in a sense, laid on Him. He was taken outside the camp so that we could be brought near.

Because of Him, the covenant stands. Because of Him, failed messengers can become messengers again—not by polishing their performance, but by taking His honor to heart once more. The fear that Levi knew is not terror. It is the glad awe of people who have been loved at cost.So we come back, not as professionals trying to get the tone right, but as fellow sheep who still need the Shepherd’s voice. We ask Him to put truth back on our lips and integrity back in our walk. We ask Him to make us the kind of people others can safely seek when they need to hear from the Lord.

I’m grateful we could sit with these words together. May the Father who asked for honor meet you with the mercy already purchased at the cross, and may your heart grow glad again to speak and to live what costs something—because He first gave everything.

Your fellow sheep.

Personal Reflection Questions

Where in your life—home, church, work, or quiet conversations—has God given you even a small measure of the priestly calling to speak His truth? How carefully are you guarding that trust right now?
Is there a place where you have grown weary of “taking it to heart,” where honoring His name has started to feel like extra work rather than worship? What would it look like to bring that weariness to Him instead of hiding it behind religious language?
Have you noticed any “partiality” in the way you handle Scripture—softening a word for some people, staying silent for others, or preferring the comfortable half of the truth? What would faithful, humble instruction look like in that same setting?
How does seeing Jesus as the true Messenger and perfect Priest change the way you receive this warning? Does it leave you condemned, or does it leave you newly free to repent and begin again?

A Sheep Meanders Through Malachi 1:10-14

August 27, 2026 / taethne / Leave a comment

A Duty or A Gift?

Hello my dear friends,

Grab a cup of coffee or tea and settle in with me for a few minutes. I want to sit with a passage that is both tender and piercing. It is the kind of word that finds us when we have grown a little tired of the holy things.Here is the text:

“Oh that there were one among you who would shut the doors, that you might not kindle fire on my altar in vain! I have no pleasure in you, says the Lord of hosts, and I will not accept an offering from your hand. For from the rising of the sun to its setting my name will be great among the nations, and in every place incense will be offered to my name, and a pure offering. For my name will be great among the nations, says the Lord of hosts. But you profane it when you say that the Lord’s table is polluted, and its fruit, that is, its food may be despised. But you say, ‘What a weariness this is,’ and you snort at it, says the Lord of hosts. You bring what has been taken by violence or is lame or sick, and this you bring as your offering! Shall I accept that from your hand? says the Lord. Cursed be the cheat who has a male in his flock, and vows it, and yet sacrifices to the Lord what is blemished. For I am a great King, says the Lord of hosts, and my name will be feared among the nations.” —Malachi 1:10–14

Can you hear the ache in God’s voice? He is not shouting. He is weary of being treated as an afterthought by the very people who know His name best.

The priests were still showing up. The fires were still lit. The doors of the temple were still open. From the street it looked like worship was happening. But God says He would rather someone lock the doors and let the fire go out than keep watching this empty performance. I have no pleasure in you. Those are hard words. They are also honest ones.

The people had begun to treat the Lord’s table as something ordinary, even a little dirty. They sniffed at the whole thing. What a weariness this is. You can almost see the shrug. Then they brought what cost them almost nothing—the injured animal, the sick one, the one they would never have offered a human official. Some even made a vow. They promised God a healthy male from the flock. When the day came, they quietly swapped it for a blemished one and hoped no one would notice. God calls that person a cheat.

And then, right in the middle of the rebuke, the horizon opens.

From the rising of the sun to its setting my name will be great among the nations… in every place incense will be offered to my name, and a pure offering.

God is not dependent on half-hearted priests. His name will be honored. A pure offering will be made. We who live on this side of the cross know what that offering is. Jesus is the unblemished Lamb we could never bring. He offered Himself once, completely, gladly. Because of Him, worship is no longer confined to one altar in one city. In every place people now lift prayers like incense and offer their lives as living sacrifices. The ruins of our cheap worship do not have the last word.

Still, the question remains for us.We do not bring lambs anymore. We bring our mornings, our attention, our money, our promises, our Sunday presence. And sometimes we bring the leftovers. We give God the tired hour, the distracted prayer, the gift that does not pinch. We say we will follow and then we substitute something smaller. We can even start to feel that gathering with God’s people is a weariness.

Friend, He is a great King. He is also a Father who would rather the doors be shut than watch His children go through the motions with cold hearts. The good news is that Jesus has already brought the perfect offering. We do not have to clean ourselves up first. We can come honestly, confess the cheap places, and begin again—not to earn His smile, but because we already have it in Christ.

A few questions to sit with as you finish your coffee:

Where in my life have I begun to treat time with God as a duty rather than a gift?
What would it look like this week to offer Him something that actually costs me—time, attention, generosity, or simple honesty?
If God would rather the doors be shut than have empty worship, what small “door” in my own habits might need to close so that what remains is real?

He is a great King. And He still delights to make His name great through ordinary people who simply bring Him their whole hearts.

Your fellow sheep

A Sheep Meanders Through Malachi 1:6-9

August 26, 2026 / taethne

Where Is the Honor Due Me?

Hello my dear friends,

Grab a cup of coffee or tea and settle in with me for a few minutes. I want us to sit together with a passage that can feel a little sharp at first—but if we listen closely, it sounds less like a scolding and more like a Father’s wounded tenderness. Here is the text:

“A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If then I am a father, where is my honor? And if I am a master, where is my fear? says the LORD of hosts to you, O priests, who despise my name. But you say, ‘How have we despised your name?’ By offering polluted food upon my altar. But you say, ‘How have we polluted you?’ By saying that the LORD’s table may be despised. When you offer blind animals in sacrifice, is that not evil? And when you offer those that are lame or sick, is that not evil? Present that to your governor; will he accept you or show you favor? says the LORD of hosts. And now entreat the favor of God, that he may be gracious to us. With such a gift from your hand, will he show favor to any of you? says the LORD of hosts.”

The temple was standing again. The priests were still wearing the right garments and saying the right words. They still called God Father and Master. And yet the Lord of hosts looks at what they actually place on His table and asks, almost quietly, “Where is my honor?”You can hear the surprise in their reply: “How have we despised your name?” They were not shouting blasphemy. They were simply bringing what cost them least—the blind animal, the lame one, the sick one that no governor would ever accept as a gift. What they would never dare present to an earthly official they assumed the living God would smile over. Little by little the Lord’s table had become, in their hearts, contemptible. Not hated, exactly. Just… not worth the best.

Friend, does that land a little close? Because we still do this, don’t we? We keep the language of sonship and lordship. We still show up. And yet we can slide into offering God the leftover hour, the leftover attention, the leftover honesty, the leftover generosity—the parts of our lives we would never hand to someone whose favor we actually wanted. Weariness does that. So does the quiet suspicion that God will understand, that He is easier to please than the people whose opinions still sting.

The Lord’s question about the governor is almost kind in its sharpness. He is not trying to crush them. He is trying to wake them. If even a human official would refuse such a gift, how can we treat the Holy One as less worthy of honor? Verse 9 then turns the irony all the way around: go ahead, they are told, entreat His favor—but with gifts like these, will He receive you? They wanted grace while withholding honor. They wanted the Father’s face while treating His table as an afterthought.

And here is where the gospel comes near and steadies us. We do not stand before this text empty-handed, hoping to find a better lamb. Jesus is the unblemished Offering. He did not bring the Father a leftover life. He offered Himself wholly—without defect, without calculation, without holding anything back. At the cross the honor due the Father was perfectly given, and the favor we could never earn was freely opened to us. The ruins of our cheap worship do not have the last word. The Son who honored the Father in our place now invites us to the table not as bargainers, but as beloved children.

So the old question still searches us, but it no longer has to terrify us. Where is my honor? is the voice of a Father who has already given His best, now calling us to stop insulting His kindness with what we ourselves would never offer a governor. Honor is not first a feeling. It is the glad, costly decision to bring Him what is first and finest because He has already brought us Himself.

Personal Reflection Questions

Where in your ordinary week have you been quietly offering God what you would never present to someone whose approval still matters to you?
When you call Him Father and Lord, what would “honor” actually look like in one small, concrete place—your time, your words, your giving, your attention?
How does remembering that Jesus offered the unblemished life change the way you hear God’s searching question, “Will he show favor to any of you?”
Is there a weariness or cynicism that has made the Lord’s table feel small or optional? What would it look like to bring that weariness to Him instead of hiding behind a lesser gift?
What would it mean this week to treat His presence as worthy of your first and finest, not because you are trying to earn His face, but because His face has already been turned toward you in Christ?

I’m grateful we could sit with these words together. May the Father who asked for honor meet you with the mercy already purchased at the cross, and may your heart grow glad again to bring Him what costs something—because He first gave everything.

Your fellow sheep

From Isaac We Learn …

November 12, 2012 / taethne

Isaac is one of those patriarchs of the Old Testament who is revered, along with Abraham and Jacob, over and over. For many people, the question is, why? Isaac is not recorded as having won any great victories, spiritual or physical. He seems content to lean on the accomplishments of his father. A cursory reading might lead one to believe that his greatest claim to fame is simply becoming the father of Jacob.

Isaac is non-confrontational. He allows others to walk all over him. He is a pretty poor parent (witness the tension and favoritism between Jacob and Esau) and didn’t even pick pick out his own wife. Why is Isaac held in such high esteem? I think the answer comes from the story of Genesis 22, where God tells Abram to sacrifice Isaac. Isaac is close to 9, 10 maybe even 12 years old. Abram is well over a hundred. Isaac is conscious enough to realize there is no lamb for a sacrifice. He is willing to be bound by Abram and laid on the altar. He could have easily outran Abram, probably even been a physical match for him at his advanced age.

As Abram pictures for us God’s love, being willing to sacrifice His Son, Isaac pictures for us Christ, loving his father so much he is willing to lay his life down. As Abram shows us complete obedience to God our Father, so does Isaac – in his complete obedience to his father. We know from Hebrews that Abram believed God could raise Isaac from the dead. No such statement is made about Isaac. Even not knowing if he would come back to life or not, Isaac was still willing to undergo this trial for the sake of his father.

That is the lesson we learn from Isaac. Are we in love with God so much that we are willing to obey Him completely, even at the cost of our life? Jesus was. A good question to ponder as we begin another week of service to our Heavenly Father.

Hymn Devotions Day 29 – Nothing But The Blood

October 29, 2012 / taethne

DAY 29 – NOTHING BUT THE BLOOD

Hebrews 9:22 tells us that without the shedding of blood there is no remission of sin. Other parts of the Bible tell us that only the blood of the perfect Lamb of God, Jesus, suffices to pay sin’s penalty. This song is a tribute to Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross.

Only Jesus can provide forgiveness of sin. Only Jesus can restore our true humanity. Only Jesus can pardon our crimes and atone for our trespasses against God’s laws. Only Jesus can bring healing, peace and comfort.

Our religion is a bloody one. Life is found in the blood and so only a blood sacrifice suffices as payment. Jesus is the only one able to be a perfect sacrifice, as He is the only one to never sin. Let us never be ashamed to sing of His shed blood. Those outside of God’s kingdom may be offended, thinking we are brutal, uncivilized barbarians for focusing on blood, sacrifice, crucifixion and the like. We know why they are important. We know the true history of mankind. We know the story of God’s redemption. We know why it was necessary for Jesus to die in our place.

Let us confidently proclaim our belief, our truth, our Savior. Let us sing out praises to Him who shed His blood on our behalf. Let us glory in our King, who was crucified and who rose again, conquering death. How precious is the blood of Jesus, that purifies me of my sin.

Thank You, Lord, for shedding Your blood for me. There is no other who can save. There is none who compares with You. You paid the price for me. Help me to become worthy of Your sacrifice by making me, molding me, into Your image.

NOTHING BUT THE BLOOD – Robert Lowry

What can wash away my sin?