confession

The Lord Almighty says to the priests: "A son honors his father, and a servant respects his master. I am your father and master, but where are the honor and respect I deserve? You have despised my name!

"But you ask, 'How have we ever despised your name?'

"You have despised my name by offering defiled sacrifices on my altar.

"Then you ask, 'How have we defiled the sacrifices?'

"You defile them by saying the altar of the Lord deserves no respect. When you give blind animals as sacrifices, isn't that wrong? And isn't it wrong to offer animals that are crippled and diseased? Try giving gifts like that to your governor, and see how pleased he is!" says the Lord Almighty.

"Go ahead, beg God to be merciful to you! But when you bring that kind of offering, why should he show you any favor at all?" asks the Lord Almighty.

"I wish that someone among you would shut the Temple doors so that these worthless sacrifices could not be offered! I am not at all pleased with you," says the Lord Almighty, "and I will not accept your offerings. But my name is honored by people of other nations from morning till night. All around the world they offer sweet incense and pure offerings in honor of my name. For my name is great among the nations," says the Lord Almighty. "But you dishonor my name with your actions. By bringing contemptible food, you are saying it's all right to defile the Lord's table. You say, 'It's too hard to serve the Lord,' and you turn up your noses at his commands," says the Lord Almighty. "Think of it! Animals that are stolen and mutilated, crippled and sick—presented as offerings! Should I accept from you such offerings as these?" asks the Lord. "Cursed is the cheat who promises to give a fine ram from his flock but then sacrifices a defective one to the Lord. For I am a great king," says the Lord Almighty, "and my name is feared among the nations!"

—Malachi 1:6-14

In this conversation from the book of Malachi, God tells his people that they are offering him “unworthy sacrifices.” Rather than picking the best of their flocks, they find their weakest, least desirable lamb and that’s the one they give as a gift to God. After having pledged to give their best.

God gets lip service and leftovers.

I can’t read a passage like this without wondering if God gets much better today. My inclination is to look to the church, but a quiet voice within prompts me to look first at myself. Introspection reveals that, yes, Malachi’s word still stands and I am implicated. I don’t consistently give God my best. Sometimes what he gets from me amounts to little more than promises I don’t deliver on.

What would a life fully devoted look like? What would my life look like if God consistently got the best I have to offer? The best of my time? My effort? My devotion?

It sure seems that this is what he’s asking for. And it’s a fair request—I mean, he made me and he has already given me his best. The only imbalance in asking for my best is that my best doesn’t even come close to matching his best. He has every right to demand all from me.

Yet, my life is an awkward collage: the beauty of devotion mixed with the ugliness of vanity. A single, clear theme doesn’t always permeate the forefront.

God asks for a single, clear theme—an anthem of devotion. Not to the church or to this nation, but to him. A song of deep dedication sung with clear voice. A song that’s always on my lips. A new song.

I can do little more than beg grace for yesterday and I can't give tomorrow anything but a promise, but today I resolve to sing that song. Today I will be a disciple.