Malachi begins his text by...
Illustration
Malachi begins his text by talking about God sending his people a messenger. We all
know that the word, "angel," means "messenger." We also know that angels come in
different ways. I think this parable about a messenger will speak for itself.
The other night when my wife was out of town, I went to work out and on the way home, I decided to stop at the Waffle House. After exercise, I thought maybe a few carbs wouldn't hurt. I sat down in the no-smoking section and ordered an omelet with bacon, grits (this is the South), whole-wheat toast, and coffee. Waiting for my food to come, a woman came and sat down next to me. She was the strangest looking woman I have ever seen. She had bright red hair, wore a flowery dress and a hat, and of all things, she was covered in flowers. She had on lots and lots of make-up, long green leather gloves, and red high heels.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"
Well, I didn't know what to say. I was enjoying the silence, but found myself saying, "No, I don't mind."
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Roger."
She said, "My name is Gabriella."
Must be Italian, I thought.
"What do you do?" she asked.
Uh, oh, I thought. People always either salivate when you say you are a preacher or give you this very strange look like you've told them some very bad news. I said, "I'm a preacher."
She didn't even blink. She said. "I'm a messenger."
"A messenger?"
"Yes," she said, "I am a messenger and I have been sent to give you a message."
Huh? "Who sent you to bring me a message?"
"Her," she said.
I asked, "Who is her?"
Gabriella said, "God."
I thought I must be losing my mind right there in the no-smoking section of the Waffle House. "God," I said in my most ministerial voice, "is not a her!"
"Whatever," she said.
"Well, if you are a messenger, what is this message from, er, her?"
Gabriella said, "The message is: Hang in there."
"What kind of a message is that?"
Gabriella said, "I don't know, I'm just the messenger. I guess you'll have to figure out what it means for yourself." And without a word, she got up and left the table and sauntered out the door.
As she got in her car, my waitress brought my omelet to the table. When I finished my meal, I couldn't get the message out of my mind. "Hang in there." As I drove home I kept saying to myself, "I wonder if Gabriella was an angel?"
(From a sermon by Roger Lovette.)
The other night when my wife was out of town, I went to work out and on the way home, I decided to stop at the Waffle House. After exercise, I thought maybe a few carbs wouldn't hurt. I sat down in the no-smoking section and ordered an omelet with bacon, grits (this is the South), whole-wheat toast, and coffee. Waiting for my food to come, a woman came and sat down next to me. She was the strangest looking woman I have ever seen. She had bright red hair, wore a flowery dress and a hat, and of all things, she was covered in flowers. She had on lots and lots of make-up, long green leather gloves, and red high heels.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"
Well, I didn't know what to say. I was enjoying the silence, but found myself saying, "No, I don't mind."
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Roger."
She said, "My name is Gabriella."
Must be Italian, I thought.
"What do you do?" she asked.
Uh, oh, I thought. People always either salivate when you say you are a preacher or give you this very strange look like you've told them some very bad news. I said, "I'm a preacher."
She didn't even blink. She said. "I'm a messenger."
"A messenger?"
"Yes," she said, "I am a messenger and I have been sent to give you a message."
Huh? "Who sent you to bring me a message?"
"Her," she said.
I asked, "Who is her?"
Gabriella said, "God."
I thought I must be losing my mind right there in the no-smoking section of the Waffle House. "God," I said in my most ministerial voice, "is not a her!"
"Whatever," she said.
"Well, if you are a messenger, what is this message from, er, her?"
Gabriella said, "The message is: Hang in there."
"What kind of a message is that?"
Gabriella said, "I don't know, I'm just the messenger. I guess you'll have to figure out what it means for yourself." And without a word, she got up and left the table and sauntered out the door.
As she got in her car, my waitress brought my omelet to the table. When I finished my meal, I couldn't get the message out of my mind. "Hang in there." As I drove home I kept saying to myself, "I wonder if Gabriella was an angel?"
(From a sermon by Roger Lovette.)
