Second Sunday Of Advent
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VII, Cycle C
Object:
Theme For The Day
We don't need a little Christmas, one that's diminished by secularism.
Old Testament Lesson
Malachi 3:1-4
The Refiner's Fire
The prophet speaks of the Lord's having sent a "messenger to prepare the way," just before the Lord will "suddenly come to his temple" (v. 1). "But who can endure the day of his coming" -- which will undoubtedly be perilous? (v. 2). The Lord will be "like a refiner's fire and fullers' soap." God's coming will be an ordeal both fiery and caustic (fullers' soap is a lye-based preparation that is used to whiten raw, linen cloth). The Lord will purify the people, as a smelting furnace purifies gold and silver. The ultimate product of this fiery refining process will be an offering "pleasing to the Lord" (v. 4).
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 1:3-11
A Good Work Brought To Completion
It has been observed that the Philippian church was very likely Paul's favorite. In this opening to his letter, he speaks warmly of his friends in Philippi, whom he misses very much and holds in high regard. God "who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ" (v. 6). Paul expresses his wish "that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness ..." (vv. 9b-10). Paul expresses his affection while communicating his certainty that the end is near and that the Philippians will persevere through the trials that are to come.
The Gospel
Luke 3:1-6
John The Baptist Prepares The Way
In a stirring opening, Luke mentions first the emperor and then all the leading secular and religious officials having responsibility over Judea. By mentioning the politicians, he provides a precise historical benchmark. This sets the stage for his terse, understated description of an event that dwarfs the proclamations of all the world's rulers in importance: "the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" (vv. 1-2). John proclaims "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins" (v. 3b), which Luke grounds in the prophecy of Isaiah 40:3-5. He misquotes Isaiah slightly, speaking of "a voice crying in the wilderness" -- when in fact the voice in Isaiah is not speaking from the wilderness, but rather about it. (Isaiah is proclaiming that a great processional highway must be built through the wilderness, to prepare the way of the Lord.) Luke's unique spin on the Isaiah prophecy conveniently fits the situation of John the Baptist, since John is in fact preaching in the wilderness.
Preaching Possibilities
Somewhere between Housewares and Sporting Goods, we may hear it. It may enter our consciousness as we're flipping through the compact discs over in Electronics. Or, we may find ourselves unconsciously humming the tune, as we're puzzling over whether Large or Extra-Large will fit that out-of-town relative we haven't seen in some time....
"For we need a little Christmas, right this very minute ..." (Words by Jerry Herman, from Mame).
There's nothing wrong with needing a little Christmas. It's what so many are searching for, on their expeditions through the wilds of the shopping mall. Armed with checklists and coupons, supplied with sensible shoes and plenteous plastic charge cards, these latter-day explorers are vigilant, and wise in the ways of merchandising.
They're looking for the perfect gift: an expression of love (or, at the very least, high personal regard). It's a wonderful, caring thing to do, Christmas shopping. And it's fun, most of the time. That is, until we encounter one too many surly clerks ... or discover that the perfect sweater we've chosen is excluded from the sale prices ... or realize, to our dismay, that this shopping trip has gone on too long, and we're footsore, and hungry, and weary.
Then, we may well find ourselves humming, "Yes, I need a little Christmas, right this very minute ... we need a little Christmas now!"
So, where are we going to find that "little Christmas"? Over where the kids are lining up to see Santa Claus? Or in the golden panoply of lights that hang from the neighbors' gutters? Maybe we'll find it in the annual labor of picking out a tree: wandering from tree lot to tree lot, until we happen upon that perfectly symmetrical evergreen -- well, maybe not so perfect, but we're tired of the quest, and this one will do -- and tying it on the roof of the car and driving home, for all the world to see that here's a person who keeps Christmas, and maybe we ought to get our Christmas tree, too.
All of us need a little Christmas from time to time -- or think we do. Yet as wonderful and as warm and as beneficent as Christmas is, it's not really what we need.
All of us probably know that the Christmas holiday season is the time of year when the greatest number of suicides take place. It's a season when many feel depressed. These evenings meant to be filled with "candles in the window, carols at the spinet" are precisely the time when those who have lost loved ones may feel their loss most intensely, and may privately fear that they're losing their grip.
No, a "little Christmas" is not what we need. What we truly need -- and what the world truly needs -- is the great Christmas, the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ into the world. It is his coming that is foretold by John the Baptist in the wilderness.
"In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness."
It's no accident that Luke begins his story of Jesus' ministry with this catalogue of the high and mighty of his day. Tiberius was stepson to the great Caesar Augustus. He had been the compromise candidate for emperor, after there turned out to be no biological heir and after all the palace intrigues turned sour. He was neither well loved nor well respected.
Pilate clawed his way up the steep ladder of Roman middle-management to his position as procurator of Judea. He would rise no higher. From the moment Pilate began his rule, he displayed a remarkable gift for antagonizing his Jewish subjects. He was both despised and feared.
Herod was an unbalanced and dangerous personality, designated "King of the Jews" by the Roman authorities. Although he himself was a Jew, Herod spent as much money building pagan temples as he did maintaining the temple in Jerusalem. He spent little time in the capital, preferring the warm sun and gentle breezes of his seaside retreat in Galilee. Anyone he suspected of disloyalty -- and there were many -- he had murdered.
Less is known of the personal qualities of Herod's brother Philip and of Lysanias -- the other two rulers Luke mentions. Suffice it to say that Herod's is not the only crowned head in that region. Luke also drops the names of Annas and Caiaphas, the priestly leaders of the temple hierarchy -- demonstrating, perhaps, by their inclusion in this list, that these men are more political than religious at the core.
Yet, when the Word of God comes, it comes not to Tiberius, nor to Pilate, nor to Herod. It comes not to the priestly leaders of the temple, Caiaphas and Annas, either. The Word of the Lord comes to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.
The Word comes to John, a nobody. He is son of Zechariah, a local priest -- that's all. The Word of God comes to John in the wilderness -- not in city or town, not in marble palace or distinguished academy, but in the open country. The Word of God passes clean over every eminent personage of the day, and rests instead upon the broad shoulders of this wild man, he of the fiery eyes and the gravelly voice and the unkempt hair.
Throughout the history of Israel, it is from out of the wilderness that true prophets come. The wilderness is not so much a barren desert, as a wild place. It's a country where you have to be clever and resourceful -- and also a little lucky -- to survive. It's a place where you're cast, day after day, upon your own devices. If you make it, you emerge calloused, sinewy, and strong. John's message is simple: "Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Live as the Lord would have you live. Be generous, honest, cause offense to no one."
If John had stopped there, he would have sounded like any other great prophet. But there is more John has to say -- much more: "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire."
There's nothing in this speech of John's that sounds like "a little Christmas," is there? No, what John's proclaiming is the great Christmas: the coming of God's Son, Jesus Christ, into the world.
Prayer For The Day
Lord, we pray that these remaining days of Advent may bring us bright bursts of happiness. May we truly enjoy the candles and the carols and the Christmas trees. May it be so that we enjoy even the shopping and the cooking and the last-minute errands. Yet, when everything is said and done, grant also that we may hear, as on the banks of the Jordan, the voice of John the Baptist, announcing that "the Lord is nigh." Then, may we find our way not to the mall, but to the manger. In the name of Jesus the Christ Child. Amen.
To Illustrate
There's a difference between happiness and joy at Christmas (and indeed, at any other time of year). Happiness we can very often achieve, by dint of our own effort (though happiness is also notoriously elusive, likely to slip away at precisely that moment when we think we've got it caged up). Joy, at Christmas, is different. Joy steals up, unexpectedly and unbidden. It thrills and surprises. It transports the lucky recipient, for a few giddy moments, into a place of indescribable beauty -- and it leaves the recipient not hungering for more, but rather satisfied and grateful.
***
The playwright, Moss Hart, in his autobiography, describes an experience he had of finding the true meaning of Christmas. It was early in the twentieth century, when he was ten years old, and his family was living in New York City.
The Harts were not a wealthy family, and because of their poverty, young Moss was surprised one night when his father said, "Let's go downtown." The two of them, father and son, set out on a walk "down to 149th Street," a part of town where push carts full of toys were lined up for Christmas shoppers.
Moss knew his father was going to buy him a Christmas present, but he also knew his dad had very little money (years later, he figured he might have had all of 75 cents in his pocket). As they walked by those carts, heaped high with the most wonderful and expensive items, Moss saw all kinds of toys he wanted. But each time, his father would ask the price, and after some whispering between him and the pushcart vendor, they'd move quietly on to the next cart. All the while, his father would be fingering the coins in his pocket.
So it went, from one cart to the next. Nothing the young lad wanted could be purchased for the few coins his father had. Here's how Moss Hart describes his feelings, years later:
As I looked up at him I saw a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes that brought me closer to him than I had ever been in my life. I wanted to throw my arms around him and say, "It doesn't matter ... I understand ... this is better than a chemistry set or a printing press ... I love you!" But instead we stood shivering beside each other for a moment -- then turned away from the last two pushcarts and started silently back home. I don't know why the words remained choked up within me. I didn't even take his hand on the way home, nor did he take mine. We were not on that basis. Nor did I ever tell him how close I felt that night -- that for a little while the concrete wall between father and son had crumbled away and I knew that we were two lonely people struggling to reach each other.
-- Moss Hart, Act One (Random House Publishers, 2002)
***
Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a portion of thyself.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
***
Bible scholar and preacher, Eugene Peterson, tells of a time when he found joy (or rather, when joy found him). It was when he witnessed the birth of his granddaughter. It was the first time he had ever been permitted into a delivery room, something that had not been permitted when his own children were born:
I have climbed mountain peaks that gave me views of glaciated mountains in wave after wave of ranges, but none of those breathtaking vistas was comparable to seeing that baby enter the world; I have heard the most delicate and exquisite birdsong and some of the best musicians in the world, but no sounds rivaled the cry of that baby.
I was a latecomer to this experience that is common to most fathers today and common to the human race as a whole. Does anyone ever get used to this? I was captured by the wonder of life, the miracle of life, the mystery of life, the glory of life.
The day after the birth I was in the grocery store getting some vegetables and grains for the family. There were several mothers shopping up and down the aisles with young children in tow -- many of them were snarling and snapping at the over-lively, curiosity-filled, energy-splattering kids. I wanted to grab the mothers, embrace them, "Do you realize what you have done? You have given birth to a child, a child -- this miracle, this wonder, this glory? You're a Madonna! Why aren't you in awe and on your knees with the magi, with the shepherds?" Luckily I restrained myself; "Madonna" probably would not have had the same meaning for them as it had for me.
-- Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology (Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2005)
***
Today's Old Testament Lesson from the prophet Malachi speaks an eschatological message that finds itself at odds with "a little Christmas": "But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire and like fullers' soap ..." (Malachi 3:1).
A "refiner's fire" -- a blast furnace, in other words, hot enough to melt silver down into its molten form, so all impurities will be burned away and the silversmith can form it into something elegant and useful. "Fullers' soap" -- few people today know what that is, because it's passed out of our daily lives, but in fact it's something every housewife of an earlier era would have been familiar with. Its active ingredient is lye -- that harsh household chemical, reserved for the toughest of cleaning tasks. A "fuller" was someone who took raw, linen cloth and immersed it in a solution of lye soap and water. Then the fuller would scrub the yellowish, homespun cloth until it became gleaming white. Just as blacksmiths were known by the callouses on their hands from wielding the hammer, fullers were known by their hands' red and peeling skin, from handling these caustic chemicals.
This is what Malachi is predicting will happen when the Messiah comes: we will be melted down in the blaze of a silversmith's fire. We will be scrubbed with burning lye until our impurities are dissolved away. It's no wonder he exclaims, "Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?" (It's a far cry from "... the little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay," isn't it?)
We don't need a little Christmas, one that's diminished by secularism.
Old Testament Lesson
Malachi 3:1-4
The Refiner's Fire
The prophet speaks of the Lord's having sent a "messenger to prepare the way," just before the Lord will "suddenly come to his temple" (v. 1). "But who can endure the day of his coming" -- which will undoubtedly be perilous? (v. 2). The Lord will be "like a refiner's fire and fullers' soap." God's coming will be an ordeal both fiery and caustic (fullers' soap is a lye-based preparation that is used to whiten raw, linen cloth). The Lord will purify the people, as a smelting furnace purifies gold and silver. The ultimate product of this fiery refining process will be an offering "pleasing to the Lord" (v. 4).
New Testament Lesson
Philippians 1:3-11
A Good Work Brought To Completion
It has been observed that the Philippian church was very likely Paul's favorite. In this opening to his letter, he speaks warmly of his friends in Philippi, whom he misses very much and holds in high regard. God "who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ" (v. 6). Paul expresses his wish "that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness ..." (vv. 9b-10). Paul expresses his affection while communicating his certainty that the end is near and that the Philippians will persevere through the trials that are to come.
The Gospel
Luke 3:1-6
John The Baptist Prepares The Way
In a stirring opening, Luke mentions first the emperor and then all the leading secular and religious officials having responsibility over Judea. By mentioning the politicians, he provides a precise historical benchmark. This sets the stage for his terse, understated description of an event that dwarfs the proclamations of all the world's rulers in importance: "the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" (vv. 1-2). John proclaims "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins" (v. 3b), which Luke grounds in the prophecy of Isaiah 40:3-5. He misquotes Isaiah slightly, speaking of "a voice crying in the wilderness" -- when in fact the voice in Isaiah is not speaking from the wilderness, but rather about it. (Isaiah is proclaiming that a great processional highway must be built through the wilderness, to prepare the way of the Lord.) Luke's unique spin on the Isaiah prophecy conveniently fits the situation of John the Baptist, since John is in fact preaching in the wilderness.
Preaching Possibilities
Somewhere between Housewares and Sporting Goods, we may hear it. It may enter our consciousness as we're flipping through the compact discs over in Electronics. Or, we may find ourselves unconsciously humming the tune, as we're puzzling over whether Large or Extra-Large will fit that out-of-town relative we haven't seen in some time....
"For we need a little Christmas, right this very minute ..." (Words by Jerry Herman, from Mame).
There's nothing wrong with needing a little Christmas. It's what so many are searching for, on their expeditions through the wilds of the shopping mall. Armed with checklists and coupons, supplied with sensible shoes and plenteous plastic charge cards, these latter-day explorers are vigilant, and wise in the ways of merchandising.
They're looking for the perfect gift: an expression of love (or, at the very least, high personal regard). It's a wonderful, caring thing to do, Christmas shopping. And it's fun, most of the time. That is, until we encounter one too many surly clerks ... or discover that the perfect sweater we've chosen is excluded from the sale prices ... or realize, to our dismay, that this shopping trip has gone on too long, and we're footsore, and hungry, and weary.
Then, we may well find ourselves humming, "Yes, I need a little Christmas, right this very minute ... we need a little Christmas now!"
So, where are we going to find that "little Christmas"? Over where the kids are lining up to see Santa Claus? Or in the golden panoply of lights that hang from the neighbors' gutters? Maybe we'll find it in the annual labor of picking out a tree: wandering from tree lot to tree lot, until we happen upon that perfectly symmetrical evergreen -- well, maybe not so perfect, but we're tired of the quest, and this one will do -- and tying it on the roof of the car and driving home, for all the world to see that here's a person who keeps Christmas, and maybe we ought to get our Christmas tree, too.
All of us need a little Christmas from time to time -- or think we do. Yet as wonderful and as warm and as beneficent as Christmas is, it's not really what we need.
All of us probably know that the Christmas holiday season is the time of year when the greatest number of suicides take place. It's a season when many feel depressed. These evenings meant to be filled with "candles in the window, carols at the spinet" are precisely the time when those who have lost loved ones may feel their loss most intensely, and may privately fear that they're losing their grip.
No, a "little Christmas" is not what we need. What we truly need -- and what the world truly needs -- is the great Christmas, the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ into the world. It is his coming that is foretold by John the Baptist in the wilderness.
"In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness."
It's no accident that Luke begins his story of Jesus' ministry with this catalogue of the high and mighty of his day. Tiberius was stepson to the great Caesar Augustus. He had been the compromise candidate for emperor, after there turned out to be no biological heir and after all the palace intrigues turned sour. He was neither well loved nor well respected.
Pilate clawed his way up the steep ladder of Roman middle-management to his position as procurator of Judea. He would rise no higher. From the moment Pilate began his rule, he displayed a remarkable gift for antagonizing his Jewish subjects. He was both despised and feared.
Herod was an unbalanced and dangerous personality, designated "King of the Jews" by the Roman authorities. Although he himself was a Jew, Herod spent as much money building pagan temples as he did maintaining the temple in Jerusalem. He spent little time in the capital, preferring the warm sun and gentle breezes of his seaside retreat in Galilee. Anyone he suspected of disloyalty -- and there were many -- he had murdered.
Less is known of the personal qualities of Herod's brother Philip and of Lysanias -- the other two rulers Luke mentions. Suffice it to say that Herod's is not the only crowned head in that region. Luke also drops the names of Annas and Caiaphas, the priestly leaders of the temple hierarchy -- demonstrating, perhaps, by their inclusion in this list, that these men are more political than religious at the core.
Yet, when the Word of God comes, it comes not to Tiberius, nor to Pilate, nor to Herod. It comes not to the priestly leaders of the temple, Caiaphas and Annas, either. The Word of the Lord comes to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.
The Word comes to John, a nobody. He is son of Zechariah, a local priest -- that's all. The Word of God comes to John in the wilderness -- not in city or town, not in marble palace or distinguished academy, but in the open country. The Word of God passes clean over every eminent personage of the day, and rests instead upon the broad shoulders of this wild man, he of the fiery eyes and the gravelly voice and the unkempt hair.
Throughout the history of Israel, it is from out of the wilderness that true prophets come. The wilderness is not so much a barren desert, as a wild place. It's a country where you have to be clever and resourceful -- and also a little lucky -- to survive. It's a place where you're cast, day after day, upon your own devices. If you make it, you emerge calloused, sinewy, and strong. John's message is simple: "Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Live as the Lord would have you live. Be generous, honest, cause offense to no one."
If John had stopped there, he would have sounded like any other great prophet. But there is more John has to say -- much more: "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire."
There's nothing in this speech of John's that sounds like "a little Christmas," is there? No, what John's proclaiming is the great Christmas: the coming of God's Son, Jesus Christ, into the world.
Prayer For The Day
Lord, we pray that these remaining days of Advent may bring us bright bursts of happiness. May we truly enjoy the candles and the carols and the Christmas trees. May it be so that we enjoy even the shopping and the cooking and the last-minute errands. Yet, when everything is said and done, grant also that we may hear, as on the banks of the Jordan, the voice of John the Baptist, announcing that "the Lord is nigh." Then, may we find our way not to the mall, but to the manger. In the name of Jesus the Christ Child. Amen.
To Illustrate
There's a difference between happiness and joy at Christmas (and indeed, at any other time of year). Happiness we can very often achieve, by dint of our own effort (though happiness is also notoriously elusive, likely to slip away at precisely that moment when we think we've got it caged up). Joy, at Christmas, is different. Joy steals up, unexpectedly and unbidden. It thrills and surprises. It transports the lucky recipient, for a few giddy moments, into a place of indescribable beauty -- and it leaves the recipient not hungering for more, but rather satisfied and grateful.
***
The playwright, Moss Hart, in his autobiography, describes an experience he had of finding the true meaning of Christmas. It was early in the twentieth century, when he was ten years old, and his family was living in New York City.
The Harts were not a wealthy family, and because of their poverty, young Moss was surprised one night when his father said, "Let's go downtown." The two of them, father and son, set out on a walk "down to 149th Street," a part of town where push carts full of toys were lined up for Christmas shoppers.
Moss knew his father was going to buy him a Christmas present, but he also knew his dad had very little money (years later, he figured he might have had all of 75 cents in his pocket). As they walked by those carts, heaped high with the most wonderful and expensive items, Moss saw all kinds of toys he wanted. But each time, his father would ask the price, and after some whispering between him and the pushcart vendor, they'd move quietly on to the next cart. All the while, his father would be fingering the coins in his pocket.
So it went, from one cart to the next. Nothing the young lad wanted could be purchased for the few coins his father had. Here's how Moss Hart describes his feelings, years later:
As I looked up at him I saw a look of despair and disappointment in his eyes that brought me closer to him than I had ever been in my life. I wanted to throw my arms around him and say, "It doesn't matter ... I understand ... this is better than a chemistry set or a printing press ... I love you!" But instead we stood shivering beside each other for a moment -- then turned away from the last two pushcarts and started silently back home. I don't know why the words remained choked up within me. I didn't even take his hand on the way home, nor did he take mine. We were not on that basis. Nor did I ever tell him how close I felt that night -- that for a little while the concrete wall between father and son had crumbled away and I knew that we were two lonely people struggling to reach each other.
-- Moss Hart, Act One (Random House Publishers, 2002)
***
Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a portion of thyself.
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
***
Bible scholar and preacher, Eugene Peterson, tells of a time when he found joy (or rather, when joy found him). It was when he witnessed the birth of his granddaughter. It was the first time he had ever been permitted into a delivery room, something that had not been permitted when his own children were born:
I have climbed mountain peaks that gave me views of glaciated mountains in wave after wave of ranges, but none of those breathtaking vistas was comparable to seeing that baby enter the world; I have heard the most delicate and exquisite birdsong and some of the best musicians in the world, but no sounds rivaled the cry of that baby.
I was a latecomer to this experience that is common to most fathers today and common to the human race as a whole. Does anyone ever get used to this? I was captured by the wonder of life, the miracle of life, the mystery of life, the glory of life.
The day after the birth I was in the grocery store getting some vegetables and grains for the family. There were several mothers shopping up and down the aisles with young children in tow -- many of them were snarling and snapping at the over-lively, curiosity-filled, energy-splattering kids. I wanted to grab the mothers, embrace them, "Do you realize what you have done? You have given birth to a child, a child -- this miracle, this wonder, this glory? You're a Madonna! Why aren't you in awe and on your knees with the magi, with the shepherds?" Luckily I restrained myself; "Madonna" probably would not have had the same meaning for them as it had for me.
-- Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology (Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2005)
***
Today's Old Testament Lesson from the prophet Malachi speaks an eschatological message that finds itself at odds with "a little Christmas": "But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire and like fullers' soap ..." (Malachi 3:1).
A "refiner's fire" -- a blast furnace, in other words, hot enough to melt silver down into its molten form, so all impurities will be burned away and the silversmith can form it into something elegant and useful. "Fullers' soap" -- few people today know what that is, because it's passed out of our daily lives, but in fact it's something every housewife of an earlier era would have been familiar with. Its active ingredient is lye -- that harsh household chemical, reserved for the toughest of cleaning tasks. A "fuller" was someone who took raw, linen cloth and immersed it in a solution of lye soap and water. Then the fuller would scrub the yellowish, homespun cloth until it became gleaming white. Just as blacksmiths were known by the callouses on their hands from wielding the hammer, fullers were known by their hands' red and peeling skin, from handling these caustic chemicals.
This is what Malachi is predicting will happen when the Messiah comes: we will be melted down in the blaze of a silversmith's fire. We will be scrubbed with burning lye until our impurities are dissolved away. It's no wonder he exclaims, "Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?" (It's a far cry from "... the little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay," isn't it?)
