July 7, 2024: Message: A Plea for the Miserable and Disgraced | Scripture: Nehemiah 1:1-4 | Speaker: Pastor Stephen Choy
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Introduction
If able, please stand for the reading of Nehemiah 1:1-4. TWoL: The words of Nehemiah, the son of Hacaliah. Now it happened in the month of Chislev, in the twentieth year, as I was in Susa the citadel, 2 that Hanani, one of my brothers, came with certain men from Judah. And I asked them concerning the Jews who escaped, who had survived the exile, and concerning Jerusalem. 3 And they said to me, “The remnant there in the province who had survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.” 4 As soon as I heard these words I sat down and wept and mourned for days, and I continued fasting and praying before the God of heaven.
As we get into this third act of Ezra-Nehemiah, roughly a decade after Ezra 10, allow me to remind you of the facts and context of where we are in Israel’s history, and how this man, Nehemiah, comes into its focus. You’ll remember that Judah, the southern portion of Israel, is exiled to Babylon in 586 B.C. But in 539 B.C., this Persian king named Cyrus defeats Babylon and issues an edict permitting Israel and other nations to return to their homelands, restore their worship places, and re-establish their religions and cultural centers.
So, around 50,000 Jews in 537 B.C. return to Judah, and almost as soon as they return, they begin rebuilding the temple. Only they meet resistance from those who are already living in the land—these Samaritans, and their resistance prevents Israel from completing the temple until nearly 20 years later in 518 B.C. And that’s all they’d get for another 70+ years.
Yet, what we’re told in passages like 2 Samuel 5, 1 Kings 6-7, and 2 Chronicles 2-3 is that Jerusalem was supposed to be more than a temple. It was supposed to be the city of the King. It was to be a city on a hill—a beacon to all the nations around it that as they looked up, they’d know this is the holy place of the most high God. And around this city was supposed to be a tall, fortified wall not just for defence and protection but, so that when you went to the city and walked into it, there’d be no question as to its parameters—you’d know not only that this was God’s city, but you’d know exactly who God’s people were. This was his distinct, distinguished, and beloved covenant community, and he was theirs.
But Ezra 4:7-23 reveals that as the Jews are building this wall to distinguish the city—a wall very much integral to the Jewish religion—they meet resistance from the Samaritans again, and these Samaritans, sometime between 455-445 B.C., write to the Persian King, who by now is Artaxerxes. And this Artaxerxes listens to the Samaritans, and he says to the Samaritans, “do whatever you need to stop them, and do it with haste.” And Ezra 4:23 tells us that the Samaritans go into Jerusalem quickly using great force and power to carry out the king’s command—meaning Ezra 4:23 is, likely, describing for us the beginnings of the resultant destruction that’s described here in our passage in Nehemiah.
Now, prior to judging him, you should know, Artaxerxes stops the wall project based on very real concerns. He’s told by the Samaritans that this wall might be used to mount an attack against Persia and its cities, or that they’d hide behind it to avoid paying taxes. And at that time, Persia was under a lot of stress from surrounding nations. Pretty much from 460 B.C. until 446 B.C., Artaxerxes would face several rebellions in his empire because his taxes were too high, the people were too poor, or because Persia was just too big to control. So, a paranoid Persian king makes sense.
And this forms the backdrop to Ezra’s initial journey to Jerusalem in 458 B.C.—to serve as a mediator between Persia and these rebellious provinces, and then, again, ten years after Ezra has left Jerusalem and returned to Susa, it’s likely why Artaxerxes permits Nehemiah, someone we’ll learn is a friend to the king, to go to Judah in 445 B.C. Nehemiah was sent not only to supervise the Judahites’ wall building, but he was to be an emissary of the king to stem the rebelling factions in the Trans-Euphrates region.
You see how God’s working out his sovereign plan and purposes through history—where he’s using sin and conflicts between other nations to bring about the good of his people—a people who are thought to be useless and unimportant on a global scale. The God of the universe pays particular attention to them. He does not forsake them, and he knows a wall is necessary for both their future survival and to fulfill his plans for a coming Messiah.
The nations rage, and Persia falters, so that Nehemiah might be sent. And who is Nehemiah? Well, it’s not all that clear. In fact, what we are told about him doesn’t make him particularly suited for the task he’s given.
And still yet, I think this lack of detail—the kind of mystery surrounding Nehemiah—is intentional on the part of the author. He wants us to feel the uncertainty, so that we might better grasp divine sovereignty, and so that we might grow in our urgency—an urgency to think less of ourselves and give whatever we are—whatever we have for the sake of the gospel—just as Nehemiah gives all he is and has for the sake of saving his people who are in trouble.
This is what Nehemiah 1:1-4 wants to renew in us—an urgency for the gospel no matter who we are—no matter how gifted or ungifted we may be. We’re to see the need for Jesus, and we’re to respond in proclaiming him. Renew your urgency for the gospel and do this in three ways beginning with our first point: renew your urgency for the gospel by…
1) Consider(ing) the State of God’s World
Like I said, Nehemiah isn’t very well described in our text. It tells us he’s the son of Hacaliah and the brother of Hanani who comes to Susa with certain men from Judah. There’s no mention of Hecaliah or Hanani in any other biblical text. So, these aren’t overtly helpful facts for us on the face of it.
The second detail we’re given is that it’s the twentieth year of something? Most likely the twentieth year of Artaxerxes reign or of Nehemiah’s service to the king, which makes sense because Artaxerxes came to power in 465 B.C., and Nehemiah goes to Israel is 445 B.C. Again, this detail is nice to know in terms of where we are in the chronology of Ezra-Nehemiah, but not particularly important, it seems, for describing Nehemiah.
Then the last detail we’re provided is that Nehemiah’s in Susa, in the citadel—the same city that Ezra’s from—in fact, they know each other, are likely good friends, and probably have very similar interests and concerns about the people of God. But more important, for now, than his proximity and likeness to Ezra is the fact that Nehemiah is from the citadel in Susa—he lives near or in the same place as the king. A fact that would not have been recorded if he were a mere servant or door guard. So, he’s likely favoured, quite strongly, by Artaxerxes.
That is all the explicit detail that we’re given about Nehemiah here, and I want us to put a finger on it—asking you to try and remember these explicit details describing our main character—because, now, I want to switch and consider the implicit details about who this man is. Then, at the end, I’ll combine how all these explicit and implicit details work together for our good and the glory of God.
So, what is it we know about Nehemiah implicitly? The first thing is that he cares very deeply for the state of God’s World. We see this in the last little bit of verse 2. Nehemiah asks his brother, “How is Jerusalem?” And his brother answers, “The wall of Jerusalem is broken down, and its gates are destroyed by fire.”
This then triggers a rather effusive reaction in Nehemiah in verse 14, why? Is Nehemiah simply over emotional? Or overreactive? I’ve spoken to you all about how often I cry. I cry a lot, and my brother has often noted that when Stephen finds something sad, it’s not usually, actually sad. He’s just really emotional for some reason—like I’m some alien that can’t be understood. Is Nehemiah like an alien we can’t understand? No, I think we’re meant to see something greatly distressing here.
And where it starts is understanding that the world as we perceive it—this place full of natural wonder that’s been gifted to us by an infinitely gracious God, even with all its beauty, is not as it’s supposed to be. Paul tells us in Romans 8:18-21 that God has subjected creation to futility—to corruption—to the display of some physically horrific things—so that we might be able to see how spiritually horrific sin is.
All that war. All that bombing taking place in Gaza. Hamas taking hostages and striking without provocation. Russia imposing its will on the Ukraine. The Rohingya crisis in Myanmar displacing nearly a million people due to prejudicial policies. The list goes on-and-on. All that famine and, so-called, natural devastation. All that homelessness. All that parentlessness. All those suffering from debilitating disease and mental illness.
These things may not all be the direct outcome of sin—a boy or girl born blind is not blind because the father or mother was, necessarily, more sinful than other people, but these kinds of physically horrific things are meant to show us—to wake us up to the fact—that there is something very clearly wrong. That as the world is falling to pieces, we’re to understand that this is an image of what sin does—what sin promises—to the heart and soul of people who do not have, or do not think they need, a Saviour.
And Nehemiah gets this! He thinks of Jerusalem—the place that was supposed to be the home of God, himself, with his people—his mountain—his Zion—the new Eden—the holy temple, and Hanani tells him, “It’s broken down. Its gates are destroyed by fire.” And this rends open Nehemiah’s soul not only because such destruction gives him a very clear picture of what sin does in us, and how it condemns us, but because Jerusalem is supposed to be the place from which someone is coming to vanquish that sin. Jerusalem is supposed to be the hope of the nations.
If Jerusalem has no wall—if Jerusalem falls—then there is no hope of salvation. And there sits Nehemiah in Susa’s citadel of lavish wines and infinite comfort. I imagine that he’s thinking of the juxtaposition between what he’s surrounded by, and what’s happening in Jerusalem, and in his sorrow, he falls to his knees, “God, how can you use me in this world so that all hope might not be lost?”
How might God use you in this world so that all hope might not be lost? How has he positioned you to be a beacon of light? How has he positioned us as a church to be that city set on a hill? Are there people near you who don’t know the gospel? Don’t tell me there aren’t. Are there people you know in deep affliction and distress? Don’t tell me there aren’t. Rather, renew your urgency for the gospel as you consider the state of God’s world and the horrific nature of its sin. As you look at your lavish, undeserved life, let the juxtaposition set in and let that move you into God-fearing, God-loving, God-believing prayer and action—to do what those without the gospel cannot do.
Nehemiah believed with his whole heart that Jerusalem was necessary to God’s plan of salvation in history. Do you believe the gospel to be that same thing? Do you believe the church to be the means by which that salvation might be declared and received? Because if you do, your life should never look the same as those in unbelief. Renew your urgency for the gospel by considering the state of God’s world.
2) Consider(ing) the State of God’s People
Yet not only is Nehemiah implicitly concerned for the world and for Jerusalem, the city, but he’s, secondly, a man who’s deeply concerned for Jerusalem, the people of God—the Jews who are living in that place and throughout Judah. He asks not only about the city but also about the exiles, and he’s given an answer from his brother that they’re in great trouble and shame. The state of God’s people is just as much a reason for Nehemiah’s intense reaction in verse 4 as is his concern over the state of God’s world.
And these words that Hanani uses—that the people are in great trouble and shame—the word for trouble there, according to one commentator, is perhaps “the strongest word in the Hebrew language that depicts danger, disaster, calamity, or misery; it describes a condition detrimental to life.” The word for shame, conversely, depicts a people with immense “reproach, scorn, contempt, threat, or disgrace.”
In other words, Nehemiah’s question and Hanani’s report are filled with great irony because these are the Jews who’ve escaped—the ones who’ve survived the exile, yet they’re the ones who are now miserable. They’re the ones who are now disgraced. And this is baffling to Nehemiah because didn’t God say in Ezekiel 28:25-26 that he would exercise judgment upon anyone who treats his ransomed people with contempt, with scorn, or with the intent to disgrace? Here Israel stands in misery. Here Israel stands disgraced—not its enemies.
What’s more is that Nehemiah likely knows what these people have been through up until now. He likely knows what it took for them to overcome the opposition they faced in reconstructing the temple. Like I said, he was probably friends with Ezra, who was in Susa at the same time as Nehemiah in the ten years leading up to Nehemiah’s departure, and they were both high up in the Persian king’s court, so Nehemiah probably knew what Israel had suffered in their repentance, divorcing and casting out the foreign women and children from their midst. Haven’t these people suffered enough—death, exile, threat, loss of loved ones? So then verse 4 comes: “When, O God, will you satisfy your promise?”
There’s this great story I heard once of one of the first women to attend and graduate from Oxford. Her name was Dorothy Leigh Sayers, and she went on to become one of the most famous crime novelists of the 20th century, most of which were about a detective named Lord Peter Wimsey. And part way through her writing about this detective, a character named Harriet Vane shows up. Now, in the book, Harriet Vane is described as one of the very first women to graduate from Oxford. She’s also known for writing crime novels.
If you’re a reader paying attention to whose work you’re reading, you’re asking yourself, “hang on, who is this Harriet Vane? She sounds a lot like a self-portrait of Dorothy Sayers.” And many who’ve studied the life and works of the real Dorothy Sayers found that she had looked at this character, Lord Peter Wimsey, whom she had created, saw how difficult a time he was having—how lonely he was—how much he needed a partner as much as a companion, and she wrote herself into the story to be the one to love him, and by her loving him, she, through the character of Harriet Vane, saves him.
This is what verse 4 of our passage depicts in two ways. It is, firstly, Nehemiah so in love—so desperately hopeful for the salvation and preservation of his people—that he does the only thing he knows to do. He prays, and we’ll find that he prays a lot. He is a man of deep, regular, and thorough prayer. He prays so that he might write himself into the story of these Jews living almost a thousand miles away—that by his praying God might hear him, and in his hearing him, that God might save them.
And yet, the similarities of Harriet Vane are seen in another way in verse 4 because Nehemiah isn’t just trying to contribute to the preservation of these miserable, disgraced Jews, but he’s asking God to write himself into their story to be the one who loves them, to be the one who remembers his promise to them, to be the one who saves them—that the creator God of heaven might intercede for unworthy worms like us.
And in both ways, God answers the desperation of Nehemiah, doesn’t he? Because, as we’ll find out in this book, he sends Nehemiah himself to be the means of their preservation. He leads Nehemiah not only to deep abiding prayer but also to intentional action. And this should be a signifier to us that very often when we pray that God might send people out to save the nations—to save our city—to save our community—to save our friends and family—we are the answer to that prayer. We are the way that God is writing into the story of their lives so that they might know his love and find salvation.
But he also answers Nehemiah’s desperation in the second way because the God of creation looked at what he had made. He saw us in our suffering—and more than our suffering, he saw us in our wicked rebellion—our utter evil—our intentional infliction of pain upon one another—and he had compassion upon us, so much so that he writes his own Son into the story, and in Christ the great enemy and penalty of our own sin is vanquished, our misery and disgrace are vindicated, and our glory, undeserved in every conceivable way, is assured for all who repent and believe in his saving work upon a cross.
Here is the infinite, matchless grace of our God on display in the gift of his Son—that through his Son he has assured the renewal and rebuilding not only of the heavens and earth—a world with God as it was meant to be, but he has also assured the renewal and rebuilding of us, his people, as we were meant to be with him—not as those who are miserable and disgraced, but as those who are infinitely secured and valued—as those who are loved.
3) Consider the State of Your Heart
And might I end here with a brief reflection and application upon the state of your own heart, first, to ask when was the last time you sought to write yourself into the story of the life of someone you love? I don’t mean for you to barge in. I don’t mean for you to bludgeon someone with the Bible. But I mean, really, if you say you love someone, why would you let any harm come to them? Why would you let hell overtake them? If they were drowning, would you not put your hand out to catch them and yell, “Take my hand! Take my hand!” and then yank them out with all your ability until they were safe? Would you not say it’s loving to do this?
We, as Christians, ought to be the most loving—the most willing to write ourselves desperately, emotionally, seriously, persistently, and naturally into our unsaved neighbours’ lives. I use these adverbs: desperately, emotionally, seriously, persistently, and naturally because they describe Nehemiah’s posture towards the Jews and Jerusalem in verse 4.
He’s desperate asking the only God of heaven who can help. He’s emotional in his weeping and mourning—something some of us are too afraid to be, even in our most vulnerable moments. He is serious in that he not only prays, but he fasts. He is more tenacious for the people and for the city of God than he is for his own body. He is persistent in that he continued to do this for days, and not just in this instance, but throughout this book, Nehemiah prays nine times, which also and finally tells us that doing this comes to him naturally. It comes to him as if it were like breathing.
Is your petitioning and intervening for the lives of those whom you love like breathing? Because if it is not, and I imagine for most of us it is not, then we have not loved those whom we say we love like Christ loved us. And let me remind you, Christ didn’t just love us naturally like one breathes, but he loved us and his Father in heaven so desperately, so emotionally, so seriously, and so persistently that he put on a new nature and gave up his breath so that we might have life in him forever.
And yet, secondly, perhaps you think little, in your heart, of your ability to intervene. Perhaps you think little of your praying. Perhaps you think little of your efficacy in the lives around you. I remember Joyce once coming up to me and saying, “I don’t know why people keep asking me, I guess they know I enjoy praying, so I get all these requests to pray for them, and I do.” And it’s not to belittle Joyce because what she said she said in humility. But some of us don’t think this in humility, we think it in pride so much so that we don’t pray, we don’t intervene, or we don’t think we can be used by God.
Do you remember how I started this sermon? Explicitly, we know that Nehemiah is the son and brother of nobodies. He’s served for twenty years doing nothing that would have equipped him for the task he’s about to undertake. And yet, three facts—mostly implicit—are of great import that set him up to not only do what God calls him to do but to be the perfect man for the job: he was a friend of the king, he was concerned over the state of God’s world, and he was concerned over the state of God’s people.
The moral of all this is: you don’t have to be anybody or know something profound and exceptional to be effective for the King. You need only to be his friend, to love his world, and to cherish his people, and we are made possessors of all these things if we have the gospel. You were once miserable. You were once disgraced. But now you’ve been given a new heart—a new garment—a new righteousness so that you might be the proper herald of the King’s most wonderfully glorious news.
Don’t delay in showing your gratitude and zeal for what the King has done, and what more he intends to do through you. Renew your urgency for the gospel. Deliver it to the lost. Do this because Christ, our greater Nehemiah, wrote himself into your story in all urgency to save you from your sin.
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