Takoma Park Baptist Church, Washington, DC January 3, 1988
Prominent in Greek mythology there is the story of Sisyphus. Sisyphus, you may remember, was the poor lost soul who had been condemned to spend eternity heaving and shoving a huge rock up to the top of a hill, only to have it roll all the way down to the bottom, at which point he was expected to start pushing again. Throughout eternity, poor muscle-bound Sisyphus was to get that boulder to the top of the hill and feel the rush of excitement: the job is almost done, it's almost finished and then suddenly, whoosh, all the way back down and tote that barge, lift that bail. Over and over and over again.
I suspect that many of us feel about that way about the start of a new year. Never mind the stuff about resolutions and turning over new leaves; we already know it's going to be another same old kind of year, don't we? Never mind singing brave hymns about ringing out the old, ringing in the new, ring in the peace that is to be; you and I have been around the block a few times, and we've figured it out, haven't we? We've figured out that nothing really changes and nothing ever really gets better, and that whatever we had to do last year, we'll have to do again. Isn't that right? Isn't that where most of us are?
Got the taxes paid last year, but guess what? The government wants them again this year. Why those grinches even timed their mailings to arrive the day after Christmas. Paid the rent, paid the mortgage payments faithfully all through 1987, and wouldn't you know it, Saturday's mails brought a new payment coupon book. Looks like the coming year will just be an instant replay of ‘87. Sisyphus we understand. What a weariness!
Got the house cleaned up for Christmas, at the eleventh hour, just before guests and family arrived, the last speck of dust was whisked away and the last pile of clutter was hidden in some out-of the way spot. Where, now maybe it will stay that way. But here we are, a few days after Christmas, and the house looks like the staging zone for the landing on Normandy beach. Scraps of wrapping paper that escaped our attention; gifts we haven't figured out what to do with. Do I really have to take this pink and purple plaid raincoat back to Aunt Edna or can't I just let the dog use it as a blanket? You know what I'm talking about. Houses just do not stay clean. Sisyphus, we understand. What a weariness!
And besides all that, here we are in church again. Sunday again. We have consulted the calendar, and guess what, in 1988 there will be a Sunday every seven days, without fail. 52 times we will be expected to be right here, doing our thing, without fail. 52 Sundays to get past, and no one knows better than the preacher that something has to be produced every seven days, rain or shine, winter or summer, feeling good or feeling bad. Just phone the church and ask for Rev. Sisyphus; he’ll be right with you. Is it fair to say that for some of us, even this, even worship, brings the response, “What a weariness!”
When I was a seminary student I served frequently as a substitute organist in various churches around Louisville. There was one Episcopal church to which I went frequently, and the organ was located behind a carved wooden screen, so that the congregation could barely see me, but because I was right next to the screen's back side I had a very good close-up view of everything that went on at the altar and in the pulpit. My most vivid memory of that view is of the pastor, the rector, going through the liturgy, reading over there at the lectern, receiving the offering out there at the chancel steps, preaching over here at the pulpit, and then turning around, with his back to the congregation, to kneel at the altar steps. And as he would sink to his knees, getting ready to lead the morning prayers, only the Lord and I knew that he would roll his eyes up toward the ceiling, put on a very weary face, and then let his lips splutter –pppppppp -- as if to say, "What a weariness!" Even worship, you see, what a weariness!
The prophet Malachi, more than 2400 years ago, saw that religion gets wearisome. When things get routine and repetitive, they get wearisome. When priests and pastors burn out, there is no longer any energy for leading in worship. When God's people lose track of what they are going, as Malachi puts it so graphically, they sniff at the Lord and they say, "What a weariness this is!" One translation has it, “You turn up your nose at me and say, 'How tired we are of all this,’”
But what makes Malachi so interesting, what makes the prophecy of Malachi so powerful, is that Malachi does not let us get away with thinking that worship is boring just because it is a routine. That's too easy. That's too facile an explanation. Things don't get boring just because we've done them before. Eating a steak isn't boring, even though I have been able to afford them two or three times in the past ten years. Kissing my wife is never boring, even though that does happen on a more or less regular basis. No, Malachi won't let us just shrug our shoulders and say, well, worship is a wearisome business because we've done it so much.
Malachi has instead a much harsher and much more profound analysis. And Malachi says, if worship is boring and wearisome, then it is because you are only doing it halfway. If worship is wearisome, then it is because you have invested so little in it. And Malachi puts it in very, very strong terms. “You have despised my name … and you say, ‘How have we despised your name?’ By offering polluted food upon my altar. And again you say, ‘How have we polluted it?’ By thinking that the Lord’s table may be despised. When you offer blind animals in sacrifice, is that not evil? And when you offer animals that are lame or sick, is that not evil? Cursed be the cheat who sacrifices to the Lord what is blemished.”
Wow. The prophet indicts halfway religion, you see. He indicts the kind of investment that says, well, anything will do for the Lord. Hey, the Lord is in the hand-to-mouth, poor-me business, and he'll be happy with anything he gets. But Malachi says, if you give God less than the best, no wonder you feel a weariness. If you think you can get away with offering God second-rate offerings, no wonder you get second-rate blessings. And if you have bravely sung “All to Jesus I surrender,” but your performance in witness and in life and at the offering plate and everywhere else says, “The castoffs to Jesus I surrender, the things I didn't want anyway to Jesus I surrender,” then no wonder there is no blessing for you. And if you hear Malachi, then hear him say, you have profaned and despised the Lord's table.
I am convinced that Malachi is telling us that the greatest heresy of contemporary Christians is the halfway heresy. The halfway heresy. We want to get off doing things halfway. We want to get off with less than the best.
When our missions committee was planning toward opening a missionary residence – and I'm reminding you that we have voted in principle to do that as soon as our finances will allow us to look at it seriously – but when our Missions Committee was looking at that, someone said, well, probably we can furnish it with castoff furniture. But someone else responded, and I think wisely, no, if we do that we'll get the stuff that’s so bad not even the Salvation Army or the Good Will folks would look at it. You see, we know that all too often church folks think that if it's for God it can be second rate, third rate, halfway, and that's good enough. But hear Malachi: if you bring blind animals and sick and lame, is not that an evil? Do not despise the Lord's table.
When I began service as your pastor, I told you that I pledged never to come to this place unprepared. I promised you and the Lord that I would always be ready when it came time to preach. Part of that was my fear of being embarrassed. But a good piece of it too was and is my sense that the service of God in worship demands my best, my very best. I confess to you that I have not always been satisfied with my work in this pulpit. It has not always come out as I wanted it to. But at least I know that I have worked at it pretty carefully, and it has never been a wearisome burden. I would fear despising and profaning the Lord’s name and His table.
But I fear there are other ways in which you and I have felt we ·could get by, other ways in which we felt we could indulge in the half-ay heresy, other ways in which we have made blemished sacrifices.
This morning can we examine ourselves? Have we prepared for worship with prayers, full, heartfelt, careful, introspective? Or have we tossed off a perfunctory bit of mumbo-jumbo in the general direction of the Lord, expecting him to honor that?
Have we worked carefully, intentionally, seriously, creatively at the responsibilities God has given us for the direction of His church? Or have we imagined that we were doing God a favor by showing up now and then and letting others carry the load? No wonder it's a wearisome business! And no wonder Malachi would say, but you are despising the Lord's name, you are profaning the Lord's table.
Have we seen our stewardship as a nickel and dime affair and given the Lord the leftovers, if any? I tell you, if you choose to give to the Lord and his church after, after you have paid all your other bills and done what you want to do, then I guarantee you it will be a blind animal and a blemished sacrifice. But if you will give, as Malachi says in another verse, the whole tithe – the whole tithe – and if you will give it first, the best, the topmost, then you will honor his name and he will accept it. I'm about to preach another sermon, but never fear, we'll get to Malachi 3:10 later this month, when you least expect it!
Give of your best. That’s what the prophet is urging us. Give of your best. Else you profane the name of the Lord. Give of the best that you have and you are, else you despise the name of the Lord. Did you dare give your wife or husband on glove? Did you dare give your child a broken-down bicycle? Give on the altar of God that which represents your best efforts – your best money, your best skills, your best prayer, your best preparation, your best witness – or else you will be despising the Lord's table.
For you see, at this table we remember that there was one who was indeed perfect, the lamb unstained, the sacrifice unblemished, without spot or wrinkle or stain, and that He was given for us. At this table we see again God’s own sacrifice complete, for us, for us. How can we despise the Lord’s Table with halfway measures? How can we come to this place of perfection and find it wearisome? How indeed except we give of our best, our best to the Master?
