What do you do when the walls are rebuilt but
your soul still is in ruins? What do you do when
you feel like you've made it home but it doesn't
feel like home anymore? That's the square we're
standing in today. Nehemiah chapter 8, the exile
is over, the city's been repaired, but the people...
are still wrecked inside. And when something
ancient happens, they ask for the scroll. They
ask for the word. This isn't a sermon about triumph.
It's actually about tears, about weeping when
the word hits you just right, about remembering
who you are after you thought it was all over.
And if you've ever come back from a hard season,
bruised, quiet, unsure, if the covenant still
holds, this one is for you, friend. Because the
word doesn't return to a throne room. It returns
to the square. The ones who are still standing.
The ones who need joy to become strength. And
if that's you, then listen close. It may not
be Sunday morning wherever you are, but... It
is Sunday morning right now in your headphones,
and you've just pulled up a pew in our little
Oklahoma church. This is the Semi -Seminarian.
I'm Pastor Jim, and I'll see you on the other
side. So as I begin this morning, let me start
with just a little sermon housekeeping. You guys
may not know, we do have a new liturgical season
just around the corner, and that's called Advent.
It's the four weeks before Christmastime, and
that's a time of preparation. It's a time in
which we focus on the reality of the coming of
Jesus into the world as a baby that will eventually
end on a cross and his resurrection. take that
as a church, that we take that moment so seriously,
we actually pause ourselves a full month out
from that event and slowly contemplate what it
means for God to come to us in the flesh. That's
called Advent, right? Now, you may not have realized
it, but we're going to spend, we will spend six
weeks of preparation. To actually get us to the
four weeks of Advent. And we've been doing that
through our sermon series that we've been doing.
We just finished East of Eden. And that was a
series in which we looked at what happens from
the garden to the time that things got so bad
we had to have a flood. Right? Now we're going
to fast forward in time. And we're in the 6th
century B .C. Okay? The temple in Jerusalem has
fallen. The people have been exiled. And now
they are returning back to Jerusalem to enliven
the covenant with God once more. And in their
way, they're doing the exact same thing Noah
did. Right after the flood, what was the first
thing that Noah did? Built an altar. Here we
are. The walls have just been rebuilt in Jerusalem.
The people have gathered. And what do they do?
They worship. And the covenant of God is restored
through this gigantic rupture in the lives of
the people of God. Now we're going to, in another
two weeks, we're going to fast forward again
and we're going to see God saying, I am going
to make this simple for all of you. I'm going
to stop pursuing you from clouds. I'm actually
going to come in the body and pursue you that
way. I'm going to cut out the middleman, so to
speak. And that's kind of the story that we find
throughout the whole of Scripture. We keep breaking
it. God keeps making it. Right? We're going to
see that. We saw that in Eden, east of Eden.
We're going to see it now in a new Jerusalem.
And then we're going to see it with the coming
of Jesus. But we're not there yet. Let's start
the middle part. Now, like I just said, we had
spent weeks east of Eden, and we followed a trail
of ash and blood. If you recall, we stood at
Abel's altar and watched his smoke rise. And
we stood with Cain in the aftermath of murder,
and we saw that covenant bend but not break.
Then we followed the lineage of Seth through
the floodwaters of Noah. And last week we watched
God lay down his bow in the clouds, not to say
never again to judge, but never again to destroy
without a promise to rebuild. And that is the
arc that we have walked through these messages.
Now the trail leads us forward, not from a garden
to a grave, but from wreckage to renewal, from
exile to something like hope. And I think...
If you listen closely, you'll hear the footsteps
of Advent walking with us. So here we stand between
Eden and Bethlehem, between the smoking altar
and the flickering lamp. But before we get to
the manger, Before we get to the angel chorus
and the swaddled infant, we stop in the town
square. We stop in Nehemiah 8 with calloused
hands and cracked lips, standing beside a whole
generation of God's people that had been broken
and is about to rebuild the word. This is a sermon
for those who made it back. This is a sermon
for the ones who wept too long to feel like they
could sing again. This is a sermon for the ones
who keep breaking it, and God keeps making it.
Some of us know that journey far too well. We've
been to our own Babylon. Maybe not a foreign
country with strange gods, but a foreign season
with strange comforts. Places where that covenant
felt distant, where the words got blurry, where
you started singing someone else's song without
even noticing. But like these returned exiles,
you're standing here today, not because you have
it all figured out, not because you have rebuilt
your life perfectly, but because something in
you, something deeper than your mistakes, remembers
there's a word you need to hear again. It's been
70 years since the temple had been destroyed.
70 years since Jerusalem had burned. Since the
walls had crumbled. Since the city of Zion was
left to weeds and the wind and the buzzards.
70 years of remembering the Psalms but forgetting
the tune. 70 years of exile. Not just geographic
exile, but spiritual exile. Not just being far
from the land, but being far from the story.
Some of the children born in Babylon don't even
know how to speak Hebrew. They've heard the name
Yahweh, but they've never stood before his word.
And now they're home. But it doesn't feel like
home yet. They've rebuilt the walls, yes. They
got the rocks back in place, but there's still
something missing deeper. Because a house isn't
a home without the voice that fills it. And a
people aren't a people without the word that
calls them back. It's early in the morning. The
sky over Jerusalem is still a little pink around
the edges. Dust hasn't started to rise from the
heat of the day just yet. And in the square by
the water gate, the people start to gather. Not
for a festival, not for a battle, not even for
a vote. They come for the book. They've come
to ask for the scroll. No one hands out donuts,
there's no light show, there's no posters or
parking teams. Just this one ancient request.
whispered from the broken -down generations like
a prayer made of bone and breath, bring out the
book. And that's where it all starts. Not with
a miracle, not with a king, not with fire or
wind or wine, but with Scripture. After the wreckage,
The word returns. The wooden platform built for
Ezra isn't fancy. No pulpit carved from mahogany.
No stage lights, no sound system. Just planks
of cedar thrown together so he can be seen above
the crowd. The morning sun catches the edges
of the scroll as he unfurls it. Some of the older
folks, the ones who remember what Jerusalem looked
like before, They catch their breath. They had
sworn they would never see this sight again.
Some of them have tears before the first words
are ever spoken. The younger ones, these children
born in Babylon, they're not even sure what to
expect. Is this what their grandparents would
talk about in whispers? Is this the word that
built and broke nations? Is this why their parents
sometimes would stare off into the distance,
humming tunes that didn't fit with the Babylonian
streets around them? Friends, the word of the
Lord. Nehemiah chapter 8, beginning verse 1.
And all the people gathered as one man into the
square before the water gate. And they told Ezra
the scribe to bring the book of the law of Moses
and the book that the Lord had commanded of Israel.
So Ezra the priest brought the law before the
assembly, both men and women and all who could
understand what they had heard on the first day
of the seventh month. And he read from it, facing
the square before the water gate from early morning
until midday, in the presence of the men and
the women and those who could understand. And
the ears of all of the people were attentive
to the book of the law. And Ezra the scribe stood
on a wooden platform. that they had made for
that purpose. And I leave out, it says who's
all there, and it gives about 20 different names
I can't pronounce, but that's not important.
Verse 5, And Ezra opened the book in the sight
of all the people, for he was above all the people.
And as he opened it, all the people stood. And
Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God. And all
of the people answered, Amen, Amen, lifting up
their hands. And they bowed their heads and worshiped
the Lord with their faces to the ground. Also,
a bunch of Levites named here, it doesn't matter,
helped the people to understand the law. while
the people remained in their places. They read
from the book, from the law of God clearly, and
they gave sense so that the people understood
the reading. And Nehemiah, who was the governor,
and Ezra, the priest and scribes, and the Levites
taught the people, saying, this day is holy to
the Lord your God. Do not mourn or weep. For
all of the people wept as they heard the word
of the law. Then he said to them, Go your way,
eat the fat, drink the sweet wine, and send portions
to anyone who has nothing already. For this day
is holy to our Lord. And do not be grieved, for
the joy of the Lord is your strength. So the
Levites calmed all the people, saying, Be quiet,
for this day is holy. Do not be grieved. And
all the people went their way to eat and to drink
and to send portions and to make great rejoicing,
because they had understood words had been declared
to them. No one told them to stand. No one...
waved a flag. No one passed out instructions
before the meeting, but when Ezra opened the
scroll, the whole crowd rose to its feet. Because
even after 70 years of silence, somewhere in
their bones, they still knew what to do when
the word returned. They stood like their ancestors
stood. They lifted their hands and whispered
amen and amen. Like perhaps they had been waiting
a lifetime to remember how to say it again. They
bowed their heads like the story still held them.
They stood like a people who had wandered too
far, cried too deep, sinned too long. but still
knew they were being called back by something
older than their failures, stronger than their
shame. It's what happens when the word returns.
It doesn't scold. It summons. It doesn't point
to your exile. It pulls you forward towards your
name. And it begins not with you being told what
to do, but with you being reminded who you are.
The first time God gave his law to his people,
they were fresh out of Egypt. They were camped
under fire and thunder. But this time, they're
fresh from Babylon. No thunder, no fire, just
memory. But it's enough, because the covenant
from God still holds, even after exile, even
after our forgetting, even after our failures.
And God didn't meet them with a sword. He met
them with a scroll. And when they heard it, they
stood. From Sinai to the water gate, the pattern
holds. God speaks and his people respond. But
notice the difference here. At Sinai, they stood
back in fear, begging Moses to be their middleman.
Here, generations later, they press in closer.
They hunger for the word. They don't want distance
from it. They want understanding of it. That's
what exile had taught them. You can rebuild your
walls, but without the word, you're still lost.
We all know what it's like to come back from
something, to stumble home after the worst of
it. The dust still on our shoes. The ache still
in our chests. We don't come back whole. We just
come back tired. That's how they had come back
to Jerusalem. Yes, the walls are up. The temple
being rebuilt. But nobody throwing parties. Nobody
passing out medals. They weren't celebrating
yet. They were gathering together. Something
in them remembered. They needed something more
than just brick and mortar. They needed the word.
And so they showed up. They stood shoulder to
shoulder in the square. No one coerced them.
No one guilted them into it. They just knew something
sacred had to be heard again. And they asked
for the book. And when it was open, they stood
up and they wept. Have you ever wept at the sound
of God's voice breaking through after a long
silence? These people did. Have you ever felt
that pull in your chest when you know the word
finally finds you, names you, and claims you
again? These people did. There in that square
with the morning sun still climbing higher, they
remembered what they had forgotten. Before they
were exiles, before they were survivors, before
they were rebuilders, they were a covenant people,
named, chosen, spoken to by the living God. Do
you remember when the word first caught you?
I mean really found you, not just hearing it,
not... not even just knowing it existed, but
that moment when it opened something inside of
you, when you suddenly realized it's not just
some ancient text, but it's speaking my name.
That is what happened that morning in the Watergate
Square. After 70 years of exile, The word returned,
and with it, their identity. As I'm reading this,
I do think one of the first questions I had was,
why the weeping? I mean, really, why all the
tears now? They've come home. They've survived
exile. The wall's been rebuilt. Shouldn't this
be a day of triumph? That's not how grace works.
Grace doesn't just pat you on the back. Grace
grabs you by the collar and reminds you who you
are. Sometimes when the word hits you just right,
when it slices through all of the excuses and
hits that ache, You cry, not because you're ashamed,
but because you now remember. You remember the
voice that called you by name. You remember the
promises you have forgotten. You remember the
story you tried to bury under busy schedules
and your own survival mode. That's what the people
in Nehemiah's day were feeling. This wasn't guilt
for guilt's sake. This was sacred memory rising
like the smoke from that altar. They weren't
crying because they were in trouble. They were
crying because they had been found. We know how
this feels. Those moments when a verse you've
heard a hundred times suddenly strikes you new.
When a line of scripture you've skimmed over
for years stops you dead in your tracks? When
words you have memorized as a kid finally have
meaning? That holy interruption when God's truth
bypasses your defenses and touches that tender
spot where you've been hiding, where you've been
hurting, when you've been trying to forget who
you really are. The Hebrew word for law here
is Torah. But it means more than rules. It means
instruction or teaching or direction. What these
people were hearing wasn't just a list of do's
and don'ts. They were hearing a story that had
shaped them. The promises spoken over their ancestors.
The covenant that defined them. No wonder they
wept. They weren't just remembering the rules.
They were remembering their roots. Let's walk
through what's happening. Ezra opens the scroll
and reads morning to midday. The people don't
fidget. They don't wander. They listen. And the
Levites move through the crowd, not just reading,
but explaining, making sure everybody understands
it. That's not performance. Heck, that's good
pastoring. They gave the sense of the word. They
gave the people an understanding of it. This
wasn't just about hearing and learning Hebrew.
It was about making the word real again. They
weren't just reacquainting themselves with the
rules. They were remembering the relationship.
Covenant isn't a checklist. It's a story. It's
their story. And the story hadn't ended yet.
Not with exile. Not with rubble. Not even with
the tears. Because God is still speaking. And
they were still his. So when Nehemiah stands
up, governor, scribe, priest, preachers, all
together, he doesn't say, Good. You should cry.
He says, don't mourn. Don't weep. Because the
word, friends, has not been given to crush you.
It's been given to restore you. And he says,
this day is holy. Eat the fat. Drink the sweet.
Share with the ones who have nothing. Because
the joy of the Lord is your strength. Let's look
at verse 8 one more time. They read from the
book, from the law of God clearly, and they gave
the sense so that the people understood the reading.
The Hebrew phrase is Vesem Sekel. Vesem Sekel.
It literally means putting sense or giving understanding.
It wasn't just enough to hear the words. They
needed to grasp the meaning. The Levites weren't
just translating. They were interpreters. They
were building a bridge between an ancient text
and a present reality, between Mosaic commandments
and post -elixir application. What? The stuff
Moses talked about in the reality of our new
world. Between what was written and what's needed.
And isn't that what we're doing right now? Giving
the sense of scripture. Building a bridge between
the then and the now. Between the Watergate Square
and this sanctuary. That's what preaching is
supposed to be. Not performance, but illumination.
Not guilt, but understanding. Kind of understanding
that leads not to burden, but to joy. And did
you catch what Nehemiah told them? He didn't
say go clean yourselves up first. He didn't say
sit in your guilt a little bit longer. He said
this day is holy. Go feast. That right there,
friends, is the gospel. Because what makes the
day holy is not how hard they wept. It's how
fully God meets them in it. It's not their performance.
It's his presence. This is what covenant grace
looks like. Shows up in that square after exile.
It doesn't scold or shame. It speaks, explains,
and then it invites. It invites them to eat the
fat, the good stuff, to drink the sweet wine,
the best stuff, to send portions to those without
the shared stuff. Because the word of God never
ends with just head knowledge. It ends in heart
transformation and community restoration. turns
understanding into joy, and that joy becomes
our strength. So let's be clear. It's not joy
instead of weeping. It's joy through understanding.
It's not about pretending the exile didn't happen.
It's about realizing that the covenant never
left. They didn't just rebuild the wall, God
rebuilt their name. Now notice what else happens.
The first day of the seventh month, we find that
date in verse 2. The first day, the seventh month.
That's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, Feast
of New Trumpets. It's the day that begins the
High Holy Days, leading to another festival called
Yom Kippur. In the old calendar, this was a day
to blow the shofar, to gather, to remember. And
now, post -exile, it becomes the day the word
returns. Think about that timing. God doesn't
wait for them to get everything perfect. He doesn't
wait for the temple service to get fully restored.
He meets them where they are. In a half -built
city, a motley crowd, a wooden platform, because
covenant isn't about perfect circumstance. It's
about divine faithfulness showing up in the midst
of human brokenness. It's about the word finding
its people, even when the people have forgotten
how to find it themselves. So now, what about
you? You've come back from things too, maybe
not Babylon, maybe a rough few years, maybe your
own kind of exile, spiritual numbness, emotional
burnout. Maybe you've rebuilt the walls, and
on paper, you're back, baby. Something inside
of you still cracked. You showed up to church.
You stood when the word was read. Maybe you didn't
even know why you came, but here you are. Scroll
was open. The word was speaking. Friends, I am
here to tell you, this day is holy. Don't mourn
like God's presence is a threat in your lives.
Don't sit in the shame like the covenant depends
somehow on your behavior. Don't miss what Nehemiah
says. Go your way. It doesn't mean walk away
from conviction. It means walk instead into joy.
Eat the good meal. Call someone who doesn't have
one. Lift a glass and remember you're still named,
still known, still his. Why? Because the joy
of the Lord is your strength. Not the joy you
manufacture. Not the shallow happiness of distraction.
Not the fake it till you make it grin. His joy.
God delights in you, his people. And he delights
in the covenant that still stands. That's what
will hold you. Not your grit. Not your effort.
Not your weeping, but your remembering. Remembering
the word that is called you. The scroll that
still opens. The voice that still names you.
The joy that still strengthens you. So go ahead.
Weep if you must. But don't stay in it. Because
joy is what God has for you. Joy is what covenant
grace leads to. Joy, my friend, is the strength
that rebuilds everything. And maybe you're sitting
there thinking, Pastor, you just don't understand
what I've been through, what I have done, how
far I have wandered. I don't have to understand.
Because the God who spoke at Sinai, who met them
in the Watergate Square, who has found you today,
He understands. And his word to you this morning
is not try harder. It's this day is holy. So
here's what I want you to do this week. Find
a place in your house, a kitchen table, a back
porch, favorite chair, and open the word. Not
out of duty. Not out of guilt, but out of hunger.
Like these exiles who asked for the scroll. Read
it slowly. Let it find you again. And when it
does, when that moment of recognition hits, don't
just weep, rejoice. Because the covenant remains.
The word returns. And you? You're being rebuilt.
So let me say it plainly. If you walked in here
today feeling like you've been in exile from
God, from yourself, from hope, today is your
Watergate Square moment. Today is the day when
the word finds you again. And yes, it might make
you weep. But it will not leave you there. Because
after the wreckage, after the exile, after the
long silences, the word returns. And with it,
joy. Joy strong enough to rebuild everything
that's been broken. Amen? Amen. If the word found
you today, right there in the quiet of your headphones
or the chaos of your kitchen, take a breath.
You don't have to fix it all. You don't have
to carry it alone. Maybe you wept a little. Maybe
something stirred. Maybe you remembered a name
you'd forgotten. Your own. It's what happens
when the word returns. It doesn't shout you down.
It draws you back. Remind you who you are. Still
called. Still named. Still a part of the story.
So go ahead. Eat the good stuff. Drink the sweet.
Call somebody and share what's left in the pot.
Because this day is holy. Not because it's easy.
But because the joy of the Lord is your strength.
And if this hit home, if something sacred stirred
in you today, Remember, it might not be Sunday
morning wherever you are, but it is Sunday morning
right here in your headphones. We pulled up a
little pew in our little Oklahoma church, and,
man, we're glad you did. Now, if it brought you
comfort, if it gave you something worth holding
on to, go ahead, throw a like in the offering
plate. It's not about algorithms. It's about
witness. It tells us somebody's still listening,
somebody's tuning in, still holding on to grace.
And if you'd like to know when church meets again,
just tithe your subscribe. That way you won't
miss it when the word shows up again. Hey, be
good. And until next time, be blessed. You're
tuned to the Late Night Revival Line, the semi
-seminarian. where the gospel still rides the
static and grace don't charge admission. If you
believe a click can be a witness, then, friend,
you know what to do. Throw it in the plate.