10. December 2025
Advent 2 Midweek
Malachi 3:1–5; 4:1–6a; Matthew 11:11–15
This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.
“Truly, I say to you, among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist. Yet the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force… and if you are willing to accept it, he is Elijah who is to come. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
Centuries before Jesus said that, the Lord spoke through Malachi:
“Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me… the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; and the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight… For behold, the day is coming, burning like an oven… But for you who fear my name, the Sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings… Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes, and he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.”
Malachi says: a messenger, an Elijah, a day of fire, a coming Lord, a healing Sun, hearts turned. Jesus says: That’s John. John is the messenger. John is Elijah. And Jesus is the Lord who comes, the Messenger of the covenant, the Sun of righteousness.
So why does Jesus say John is “the greatest among those born of women”? Because all the prophets flow into him. John stands at the sharp point of the Old Testament. From Adam through Noah, from Abraham through David, from Isaiah to Malachi, the Spirit-driven preaching has been moving toward one thing: the Christ. John is the mouth at the end of that long line. He doesn’t invent anything new. He gathers up everything God said before and lets it all come out in a straightforward sermon: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”
That’s what makes John great. Not the camel’s hair, not the Jordan crowds, not the courage to call a king an adulterer. John is great because he refuses to talk about John. He preaches Christ. He prepares the way by preaching repentance and the forgiveness of sins. He levels the mountains of pride, fills in the valleys of despair, and gets people ready to meet the Lord who is coming.
Malachi had warned that this coming would not be safe or sentimental. “He is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap.” Fire that burns away impurity. Soap that scours the stain. The day is coming, “burning like an oven” for the arrogant and evildoer. This is what it means when the living God shows up among sinners: judgment, exposure, purification. No one strolls into the presence of the holy God with their pet sins tucked under their arm.
John preaches exactly that. He does not say, “Try a little harder, and God will be pleased.” He says, “Repent.” He calls religious leaders a brood of vipers. He warns of the axe at the root of the trees. He announces the One who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire, whose winnowing fork is in His hand. He names sin plainly—Herod’s adultery, the people’s greed, the soldiers’ abuse of power. He does not soften God’s Word to save his own skin.
It goes exactly how you’d expect. The kingdom “suffers violence.” Herod seizes John, throws him into prison, and then has him killed to keep a stupid oath and please a bitter woman. Later, Stephen will be stoned, James beheaded, Peter and Paul imprisoned and executed. They are all caught up in what Jesus says: “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.”
That’s not just political violence or persecution from the outside. Scripture uses the picture of a man assaulting a virgin—trying to seize her, strip off her garments, and drag her away. That’s what the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh try to do to the Church: to the virgin Bride of Christ. Tear off the white robe of Christ’s righteousness, drag her away from her Bridegroom, and join her to the idols of this age.
And don’t pretend you’re only a victim of this. You and I have participated in that violence. Whenever you would rather have a tame Jesus than the real one, you are trying to lay hands on the kingdom. When you want preaching that confirms your opinions instead of exposing your sin, you are reaching for the Bride’s robe. When you treat Christ’s Church as one option among many, when you shrug at doctrine, when you flee the Lord’s Service for anything that seems more urgent—that is not neutrality. That is hostility to the kingdom.
Your old Adam does not “have questions.” He is at war. He wants the Word shut up, the law silenced, the Gospel buried. He wants Jesus to be manageable, distant, and optional. That is the violence each of us brings to the text today. And yet Jesus says: “The one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”
Who is the least? Not the weakest Christian you can imagine. The least in the kingdom is Jesus Himself. He makes Himself least. He is the King who becomes servant of all, who “did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” He was born of a woman, laid in a manger, numbered with sinners at the Jordan, despised and rejected, mocked, stripped, and crucified outside the city.
All the violence that fell on John, all the rage directed at God’s Word, finally converges on Christ. Soldiers arrest Him. False witnesses accuse Him. Rulers mock Him. The soldiers strip off His garments and gamble for them. The crowds jeer. His own disciples run. The kingdom suffers violence in its King. The day burning like an oven—Malachi’s day of judgment—arrives, and the Sun of righteousness is hung up on a cross at midday darkness.
That’s the point: all that judgment that should have burned you to stubble falls on Him instead. The refiner’s fire consumes Him, not because He is impure, but because He has taken your impurity as His own. The wrath that should fall on you for your indifference, compromise, lust, and self-righteousness—that wrath is poured out on Him. He, the Bridegroom, lets Himself be treated like the harlot so that His Bride can wear the white robe. He, the righteous Son, is cut off so that you can be called sons.
Then, “for you who fear My name,” the Sun of righteousness rises “with healing in its wings.” Easter is that sunrise. The One who went down into the darkness comes up again with forgiveness, life, and salvation in His hands. The fire of judgment has become, for you, the warmth of His grace. Now notice how He delivers that healing, not as vague inspiration, but through real, earthy means.
In Holy Baptism, the violence is turned on you—but in mercy. The old Adam is drowned. Your name is linked to His Name. You are buried with Christ in His death and raised with Him in newness of life. The Lord doesn’t just call you to “make a decision.” He puts you to death and raises you.
In Holy Absolution, the same Jesus who once said, “Tell John the things you hear and see,” now sends a pastor to say to you: “I forgive you.” That Word is not commentary. It does something. The devil would snatch it away. Your flesh would shrug it off. But the Spirit presses it into your ears: You are forgiven.
At His altar, the Bridegroom feeds His Bride with His body and blood—the same body that hung under judgment, the same blood poured out under wrath. The kingdom still “suffers violence” in this way: the Lord gives you His crucified flesh to eat and His blood to drink. The world calls that foolishness. Your flesh calls it unnecessary. Faith says: That is my life.
Malachi also said Elijah would “turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.” That is not just about warm family feelings. It is about repentance and faith passing from generation to generation. Where Christ is preached, and His gifts are given, hearts are turned—fathers who bring their children to the font, parents who pray with and for their children, children who learn to call on the Lord’s Name and honor father and mother. The Lord stitches families back together around His Word, or He gives new brothers and sisters in the Church when earthly family will have nothing to do with you.
This is how the Lord overthrows the violence. The devil tries to break apart what God joins; Christ joins what sin has broken. The devil tries to strip off the robe; Christ robes you again and again in His righteousness. The devil tries to drag the Bride away; Christ holds fast to His Church, even when she wanders.
So where does that leave you today? It leaves you where John was trying to put you: not looking at John, not trusting in yourself, but looking at Jesus. John’s whole life is summed up in that one gesture: away from himself, toward Christ. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Hear what? That the greatest prophet bows before the Lamb. That the least in the kingdom—Jesus—has made Himself your servant. The fire has already burned. That the judgment has already fallen. The Sun has already risen.
Repent of your violence against the kingdom—your attempts to edit Christ, to domesticate His Word, to treat His gifts as optional. And then hear what John wanted you to hear all along: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” That includes yours. No exceptions. No leftovers. No “yes, but.”
The Day of the Lord is coming. For those who persist in unbelief, it will be a day of burning. For you who are in Christ, it is already a day of light. You have been marked by His cross, washed in His blood, fed at His table. The Sun of righteousness has risen over you.
So the Church, the Bride, keeps breathing out the prayer of faith: Amen. Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.
This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.
Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin