No one asks for hardship or trial, sorrow or calamity, illness or tragedy.

No one wakes up in the morning and says, "O.K., Lord. Today I'd like to be diagnosed with cancer, or if you've run out of cancer for today, maybe you could give me an illness that makes it hard for me to get around, or impossible to drive, or difficult to be out in public places for long periods of time."

No one prays to God as part of a New Year's resolution, "Lord, I'd like to have marital problems this year. This year I'd like to lose my job, or find out my kid is on dope, or face the death of a spouse."

No one utters such a prayer, any more than those Israelites prayed for God to send them into exile. Children born into poverty or war zones, or family systems where angry words and stony silence masquerade as love ask God to give them such a life any more than the Hebrew children born in Babylon asked to be born into captivity.

These trials and tribulations, to use the classic terms, are part of human life, for no other reason but that we are human. As I often say at funerals and memorial services, "In every life there is joy that turns to sorrow, love that faces loneliness, hope that is challenged by despair. No one escapes the burdens, everyone bears the scars of a life that is at some point both ecstasy and agony, fulfilled and drained, unafraid and frightened."

It's not that we ask God to beat us up, nor is it that God is like some giant homeowner stepping on ants and watching the rest scurry around in a panic. Let me say again what I have said several times before: God does not give us trouble to punish us. Pain, like joy, is a part of human existence. What matters is what we do with it.

There are those who go through life on the surface. It seems easier that way: feel what joy you can, avoid as much pain as possible. If it hurts, look away or blame it on someone else, or get out of the relationship and start over. To such as these, Malachi's words are fearsome: "The messenger of God in whom you delight is coming! 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; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present their offering to the Lord in righteousness."

Malachi's imagery is of God's purifying us as gold and silver are purified: in a fire so hot it burns away everything that is impure and leaves behind only the nugget of value. None of us wants to step into such a fire and have all that is impure in us burned away. But such fires are a part of our life in a variety of ways.

It is a painful fire when a friend rightly tells us our behavior is hurtful, and we don't want to admit they are right.

It can be agony to delve into the memories of our childhood, and who wants to resurrect that stuff anyway? So we keep it underground and never realize its insidious tentacles that reach into every part of our life and prevent us from experiencing the type of life God wants for us.

It is a difficult fire when someone points out we have become so bitter at what life has dealt us, that we are refusing to ask God to grant us the courage to change what we can, the strength to accept what we cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference. If the coming of the Lord will be like a fire that burns away everything that is not of God, then the prophet is right: who can endure the day of his coming?

And yet, these are words of good news, of glad tidings. For even now, in our lives we have experienced the clarity of vision, the renewal of life, the purity of spiritual value that comes when we have stood in the purifying fire and accepted its role in our life.

Many of us have stood in the fire, and found that an unwanted diagnosis became an occasion to reassess our priorities so that we put our energy into things of lasting value such as spending time with family and friends, making a difference in the lives of others, and bringing good and beauty and love to the world.

Many of us have stood in the purifying fire and found that marital tension became an opportunity to examine ourselves and the relationship, leading to greater health and wholeness in one partner or both.

If we are willing to be purified in the fire, trouble with our children can be an occasion for parents to address our own issues of anger and control and perfection.

Being hit in the face with the consequences of your addiction can begin the road to recovery.

Disquiet at work or the loss of our job can be a time to discern anew what our gifts and calling are at this time in our life, if we realize that the terrifying fire is really our friend.

Allowing ourselves to feel a high enough level of anger and frustration at the injustice of the world can move us to work for change.

Isaiah does not say "If you pass through the fire," but "When you pass through the fire, God will be with you." The purifying fire does come and we will be changed. We can choose to close our eyes, hold our breath and resist the process, hoping that the crisis will pass. But when we do that, the change we experience is a greater and greater fear of the next fire, with fewer and fewer resources to cope.

On the other hand when we see the crises and struggles of our life as an opportunity to experience the purifying power of God, when we stand with fear and trembling and God-given courage in the midst of the flame, we come out as new people.

There is a startling moment when we know what is right to do and we carry it out with unquestioned resolve and a deep sense of peace.

There is a dazzling moment when we see the beauty of the world and want to cherish it.

There is a moment of joy when the good within us bonds together so closely that we treasure our loved ones, protect the young, respect the elder, work for justice.

Our vision is cleared, our ears unstopped, our voices set free. We experience a first taste of the reign of God, when love and mercy and joy shall never end, when abundance will surround us, when justice will flow down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

The purifying fire may not cure our bodies, save our job, get our kids off drugs, or bring world peace. We may have a long way yet in the wilderness before we reach the Promised land, but our hearts begin to sing with joy and praise. The process of being purified is our journey as faithful Christians, and the journey is our home.

This Advent, do not run from the coming of the Lord. Step with courage into the refining fire of God so that all which is unhelpful, unnecessary and destructive might be burned away and you will become a treasured offering of righteousness to the Lord.