News from the Ruins
Introduction: The Politics of a Broken Heart
We live in a time of widespread, institutional decay. The walls of our civilization are broken down, and the gates have been burned with fire. And in response to this, the modern church has largely offered two solutions, both of them catastrophic failures. The first is a pietistic retreat. This approach sees the rubble of society, the political corruption, the cultural rot, and says, "That is the world, and we are not of it. Let us retreat into our holy huddles and polish the brass on a sinking ship." The second response is a secularized activism, which is just as bad. This approach sees the same rubble and says, "Let us adopt the world's tools, the world's language, and the world's anger to fix the world's problems," all without any reference to the God who judges nations.
Both are forms of unbelief. One detaches faith from the world God made, and the other detaches the world God made from faith. But the book of Nehemiah crashes into our false dichotomies with the force of a battering ram. Nehemiah is a man of God, a man of deep and profound prayer, and he is also a high-ranking political official in a pagan empire. He is a statesman. He is a cupbearer to the most powerful man in the world, and his heart is not in Susa, but in Jerusalem. He shows us that a heart broken over sin and ruin is not a disqualification for public life; it is the essential prerequisite for it. A man who does not weep before God in private has no business trying to build for God in public.
The story of Nehemiah begins not with a building committee, but with bad news. It begins with a godly man asking the right questions, hearing a terrible report, and allowing that report to do its devastating, necessary work in his own soul. Before we can ever rebuild, we must first learn to see the ruins for what they are, and we must learn to let the sight of them break our hearts.
The Text
The words of Nehemiah the son of Hacaliah.
Now it happened in the month Chislev, in the twentieth year, and I was in Susa the capitol, that Hanani, one of my brothers, and some men from Judah came; and I asked them concerning the Jews who had escaped and remain from the captivity, and about Jerusalem. They said to me, “The remnant there in the province who remain from the captivity are in great calamity and reproach, and the wall of Jerusalem is broken down and its gates are burned with fire.”
(Nehemiah 1:1-3 LSB)
A Man in the Palace (v. 1)
We begin with the setting, which is anything but incidental.
"The words of Nehemiah the son of Hacaliah. Now it happened in the month Chislev, in the twentieth year, and I was in Susa the capitol, " (Nehemiah 1:1)
Scripture anchors us in real history. This is not a parable. This is a man, Nehemiah, in a particular month, Chislev, in a particular year, the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, in a particular place, Susa the capitol. God's redemptive work is not an abstract idea; it unfolds on the map and on the calendar. Susa was the winter capital of the Persian Empire, the very center of pagan geopolitical power. And right there, in the heart of the beast, is God's man.
Nehemiah's position as cupbearer was one of immense trust and influence. He was not some forgotten exile working in the salt mines. He was a senior cabinet official. He had the king's ear every single day. This is the first lesson. God does not despise worldly authority or position; He uses it. He is pleased to place His people in strategic positions for the sake of His kingdom. The impulse to flee from all secular influence is a Gnostic one, not a biblical one. God had His man Joseph as prime minister of Egypt, His man Daniel as a chief administrator in Babylon, and His man Nehemiah as a trusted courtier in Persia. To believe that Christians should have no part in civil governance is to tell God that His providential placements are a mistake.
Nehemiah was a man living in two worlds, but his heart was only in one. He worked in Susa, but he lived for Jerusalem. He was a faithful servant to a pagan king, but his ultimate allegiance was to the King of Heaven. This is the model for every Christian who works in a secular environment. You are there as an ambassador, a representative of a higher throne.
The Question of a Watchman (v. 2)
Nehemiah's position gave him access, and his heart gave him the right priorities. His first question reveals everything.
"that Hanani, one of my brothers, and some men from Judah came; and I asked them concerning the Jews who had escaped and remain from the captivity, and about Jerusalem." (Nehemiah 1:2)
Notice what he did not ask. He did not ask about the real estate market in Judea. He did not ask about the latest political gossip from back home. He asked about two things: the people of God and the city of God. "How are the Jews doing? And how is Jerusalem?" His concern was for the covenant community and the covenant capital.
This is a deeply diagnostic question. What do you care about? When you have a chance to get news, what is the first thing you ask? Your answer reveals your treasure. Nehemiah's heart ached for Zion. Though he was comfortable in the palace, surrounded by luxury and power, his soul was tied to the remnant struggling hundreds of miles away. He was a true watchman on the walls, even when he was far from the walls themselves. He understood that the welfare of God's people was his own welfare. He was not an individualist; he was a covenant man. Their reproach was his reproach.
We must cultivate this same holy concern. We should be men and women who ask, "How fares the Church? How fares our city?" We should be eager for news about the state of God's people, not so we can gossip, but so we can know how to pray and how to act.
A Report of Calamity and Reproach (v. 3)
The answer Nehemiah receives is bleak. It is a report of comprehensive failure.
"They said to me, 'The remnant there in the province who remain from the captivity are in great calamity and reproach, and the wall of Jerusalem is broken down and its gates are burned with fire.'" (Nehemiah 1:3)
The report has two parts, concerning the people and the place. The people are in "great calamity and reproach." Calamity refers to their objective circumstances: they are in trouble, afflicted, and struggling. But the second word is the dagger. They are in "reproach." This is a word for shame, disgrace, and scorn. Their condition was a public embarrassment. The surrounding nations looked at the pathetic state of the Jews and their city and mocked them. And in mocking them, they were mocking their God. "What kind of God is this Yahweh," they would say, "who cannot even protect His own city?" The reproach of the people was a reproach on the name of God.
The physical state of the city was the visible symbol of this spiritual disgrace. "The wall of Jerusalem is broken down and its gates are burned with fire." In the ancient world, a city without walls was not really a city. It was a vulnerable, indefensible, shamed settlement. A wall provided three things: security from enemies, identity as a distinct people, and the glory of a great city. Jerusalem had none of these. The broken wall was a constant, visible reminder of their covenant unfaithfulness and God's judgment. It was the physical evidence of their spiritual ruin.
This is what sin does. It breaks down our defenses. It burns up our glory. It leaves us in calamity and reproach. When the church compromises with the world, when we neglect God's law, when we abandon our first love, our walls get broken down. We lose our distinctiveness. We become vulnerable to every passing fad and every hostile attack. And we become a reproach, a laughingstock to a world that, deep down, expects us to be something different, something holy.
Nehemiah heard this report, and he did not shrug. He did not make excuses. He did not blame the Persians. He understood that the rubble in Jerusalem was the direct consequence of the rebellion in Israel's heart. This accurate diagnosis, this willingness to see the ruin for what it was, was the first step toward restoration. You cannot fix a problem that you refuse to see. The bad news was actually a grace, because it was the necessary catalyst for the good work that was to come.