Malachi 1:2

Letters to the Faithful - Malachi 1:2

Berean Standard Bible

“I have loved you,” says the LORD. But you ask, “How have You loved us?” “Was not Esau Jacob’s brother?” declares the LORD. “Yet Jacob I have loved,

King James Bible

I have loved you, saith the LORD. Yet ye say, Wherein hast thou loved us? Was not Esau Jacob's brother? saith the LORD: yet I loved Jacob,

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To the beloved children of God scattered across the nations, to the household of faith in this present age, to those sanctified by grace and called according to His eternal purpose—grace and peace be multiplied to you through our Lord Jesus Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us. May His Spirit illumine our understanding and soften our hearts as we receive the Word of the Lord with reverence and humility.

Let us turn our hearts and attention to the voice of God as it thundered through His servant Malachi, a voice still ringing true and piercing the spiritual conscience of every generation. “I have loved you,” says the Lord. But you say, “How have You loved us?” And with this exchange, we are brought face-to-face with a tension that has existed since the beginning of the covenant relationship between God and His people: the tension between divine love and human blindness. The tension between the unfailing declaration of God’s affection and the frailty of man’s memory in the midst of hardship, trial, or spiritual numbness.

“I have loved you,” says the Lord. This is not the fragile affection of man. It is not the shallow sentiment of a passing mood. It is not the fading warmth of a feeling that comes and goes. It is the eternal decree of the God who is love, the sovereign and holy Creator whose love is not subject to change or time. When God declares His love, He speaks from the depths of His own being—unchanging, covenantal, relentless, and pure. His love is not earned by our obedience, nor withdrawn by our failures. It is a love that chooses, a love that pursues, a love that disciplines, and a love that never lies.

And yet, how do the people respond? “How have You loved us?”—a question not born of sincere inquiry, but of disillusionment and spiritual dullness. It is the voice of a people who had returned from exile, but whose expectations had not been fulfilled. The temple had been rebuilt, yet the glory was not as it once was. The promises of prosperity and divine favor seemed delayed. And in the gap between expectation and experience, they began to doubt the heart of God. This is not merely ancient history—it is a present-day posture among many who walk through the valley of unmet expectations, unresolved pain, and prolonged waiting.

Today, this same dialogue is repeated in many hearts. When trials press in, when prayers seem unanswered, when blessings appear distant, we are tempted to question the love of God. We ask, “How have You loved me, Lord, when sickness continues, when relationships are broken, when provision is lacking, when darkness seems to win?” We look at our circumstances, and when they do not align with our desires, we allow our perception of God's love to be defined by our temporary realities rather than His eternal truth.

But God does not define His love by our comforts. He defines His love by His covenant. He defines His love by His faithfulness, His discipline, and ultimately by the gift of Himself. His love is seen not only in what He gives, but in what He withholds. Not only in what He allows, but in what He redeems. His love sustains us through the fire, not always around it. His love corrects us when we stray, not to punish, but to restore. And though the Israelites questioned His love, the Lord reminded them of His sovereign choice—of His covenant with them, of His favor over them, of His preservation of them when others were laid waste.

We must be reminded that divine love is not proven in the absence of hardship, but in the presence of God through hardship. It is not proven by how much we receive, but by how closely He walks with us, even in the wilderness. It is a love that does not change when our hearts grow cold. It is a love that speaks first, even when we are silent. “I have loved you,” is not a statement to be earned, but a truth to be received and trusted.

And what shall we say in response? Shall we continue to question the unchanging God because we do not see what we wish to see? Shall we measure His love by our fleeting circumstances or by the cross, where He poured out the full measure of His heart? Shall we remain indifferent in worship, half-hearted in service, and casual in obedience, as the people in Malachi’s day did, because we have lost sight of His love?

The practical application, then, is this: if we truly believe that God loves us, our lives must reflect that belief. True faith in God’s love produces reverence, not familiarity. It produces obedience, not resistance. It produces worship that is sacrificial, not mechanical. If we live as those loved by God, we cannot offer Him the leftovers of our time, our resources, our affections. We cannot treat His house as common or His Word as optional. We cannot speak of His love while living in cold disinterest to His holiness.

Let every believer examine their own heart. Have you forgotten His love? Have you let disappointment define your doctrine? Have you withheld your best from the One who gave all? Have you grown weary in well-doing because you feel unseen or unrewarded? Hear again His voice: “I have loved you.” Let that be enough to strengthen your hands, to awaken your spirit, to ignite your passion again. His love is the beginning of all obedience, the foundation of all worship, the wellspring of all perseverance.

Let us return to Him with whole hearts, not because our situations have changed, but because His love has not. Let us offer Him the best of our worship, the first of our strength, the fullness of our devotion—not to earn His love, but because we are already loved. Let us reject the coldness of doubt and renew the warmth of trust. Let us remember the cross, where every question of “how have You loved me?” is answered once and for all.

To the God who loved us first, who loves us still, and who will love us to the end—be glory, honor, and praise, now and forever. May our lives echo back the words He has spoken: “We love You, Lord, because You first loved us.”

Amen.

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O Sovereign and Eternal God, holy and righteous in all Your ways, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, we come before You with open hearts and humbled spirits. You are the God who speaks from the heights of glory and from the depths of mercy. You are the One who declares, not with uncertainty, but with conviction and constancy: “I have loved you.” And we receive that word now, not as a casual sentiment, but as the thunder of heaven wrapped in tenderness—a word that has shaped creation, sustained nations, and preserved a remnant through every age.

O Lord, forgive us. For though You have spoken love, we have often responded in confusion, or worse—in indifference. We have heard the declaration of Your affection, yet too many times we have answered with questions born from doubt, pain, or spiritual forgetfulness: “How have You loved us?” We confess that we have looked upon Your covenant with weary eyes, searching for proof of love in circumstances rather than in the constancy of Your character. We have judged Your heart by the winds of our trials rather than by the weight of Your promises. And in doing so, we have grieved Your Spirit and dulled our hearts to the wonder of Your nearness.

But even in our faltering, even in our questioning, even in our frailty, You remain faithful. You are the God who does not abandon the work of Your hands. You are the God who has chosen us—not because we were great, not because we were many, not because we were deserving—but because You are love. Your choice is eternal. Your mercy is unmerited. Your love is not reactionary, but sovereign and steadfast.

Lord, today we pause to remember that Your love is not proven by abundance or comfort, but by Your covenant and Your cross. Your love is not measured by temporary ease, but by eternal security. You have loved us with an everlasting love. You have drawn us with cords of kindness. You have disciplined us as sons and daughters. You have preserved us through exile and restored us through grace. You have carried us through wilderness seasons, sustained us through famine, and spoken to us even when we turned away.

And still, we have often come to You with questions that should have been prayers of thanksgiving. We have murmured in the place of worship. We have complained while You provided. We have grown numb to the wonders of Your presence and bored with the riches of Your Word. We have brought offerings not from the fullness of gratitude, but from the leftovers of our convenience. We have given You what costs us little and wondered why Your fire has not fallen.

But You, O Lord, are patient. You speak again and again: “I have loved you.” Your voice is not silenced by our doubts. Your mercy is not exhausted by our wanderings. Your heart remains open, beckoning us to return—not merely to obedience, but to fellowship. Not merely to service, but to intimacy.

So we return, Lord. We come not to demand proof, but to declare praise. We come not to question, but to worship. Let every lie we have believed about Your nature be uprooted. Let every disappointment that has distorted our vision be surrendered. Let every false definition of love be cast down. Let our hearts be healed of their forgetfulness and reawakened to the truth that before we ever knew You, before we ever served You, before we ever called on Your name—you loved us.

We pray now, Lord, that this love would do what it was always meant to do: transform us. Let it purify our motives. Let it sanctify our affections. Let it embolden our witness. Let it fill our worship with holy awe. Let it make us generous with mercy, fearless in trial, and joyful in obedience. Let it silence the voice of shame and break the chains of performance. Let it remind us, day by day, that we are not striving for love, but standing in it.

For those among us who feel abandoned—remind them that You have loved them. For those who suffer loss and cannot see beyond the sorrow—whisper again, “I have loved you.” For the weary intercessor, the hidden laborer, the forgotten servant—anchor them in Your word that does not change. For the rebellious child returning home, for the cold-hearted believer longing for warmth—let Your love melt away every barrier and make their hearts tender again.

Let Your Church rise in this hour, not with arrogance but with assurance. Let us be a people rooted and grounded in love. Let us love not because we must, but because we are loved. Let us forgive, not because it is easy, but because we have been forgiven much. Let the banner over us be love—not self-promotion, not performance, not fear, but love that flows from the throne of grace and floods every dry place in us.

And above all, let us never lose wonder at this mystery: that the God who formed galaxies would look upon us with affection; that the King of kings would say to mere dust and breath, “I have loved you.” Let that truth grip us until we are undone, remake us until we are whole, and send us out until the nations know the love that we ourselves have tasted.

We offer this prayer to You, the God who loves without condition, without wavering, without end. In the name of Jesus Christ, the embodiment of Your love, the seal of our salvation, and the proof of Your eternal heart for us, we pray with full hearts and surrendered lives.

Amen.