Father, Do Not Let Me Rebuild the Walls and Miss the Kingdom

Father, here I am.

I do not want merely to study Nehemiah as an interesting story about leadership, rebuilding, reform, or perseverance.

I want You to show me where I am in the story.

Jerusalem had broken walls.
Your people were scattered and discouraged.
Nehemiah saw what was wrong, grieved over it, prayed, and then acted.

I also see things that seem broken.

I see division among Christians.

I see churches that seem more concerned with maintaining institutions than making disciples.

I see Christians who know much about worship, theology, spirituality, or church life but seem uncertain about the mission You have given us.

I see loneliness where there should be one-anothering.

I see spectators where there should be equipped saints.

I see people who need to hear the proclamation that Jesus Christ is Lord.

And I often find myself saying:

Someone ought to do something.

Father, I suspect that one reason Nehemiah troubles me is that he did not merely complain about Jerusalem.

He wept.
He prayed.
Then he got up.

Father, Nehemiah did not begin with a strategy.

He began with grief.

His concern for Jerusalem drove him into Your presence.

That is already a warning to me.

I can become angry about what is wrong.

I can analyze it.

I can write about it.

I can explain exactly how ministries, parishes, churches, denominations, or Christian movements ought to operate differently.

I can even be right.

But being right about the broken wall is not the same thing as grieving over it with You.

Do not let my frustration become a substitute for intercession.

Do not let criticism give me the illusion that I have acted.

Do not let anger become easier than love.

Nehemiah confessed:

“I and my father's house have sinned.”

He did not pray:

Father, fix those people.

He placed himself inside the repentance of God's people.

Father, teach me to say the same.

Where I accuse the Church, let me remember that I am part of the Church.

Where I lament the failure of Christians to love one another, show me where I have failed to love.

Where I complain that Christians are not making disciples, ask me:

Whom are you discipling?

Where I complain that believers are isolated, ask me:

Whom are you deliberately drawing into fellowship?

Where I complain that the saints are not being equipped, ask me:

Whom are you helping become capable of ministry?

Where I complain that Christians are divided, ask me:

What relationship are you building across those divisions?

Father, Nehemiah eventually stood before the people and said:

“Come, let us build.”

Not:

“Someone should rebuild it.”

Not:

“I have written a compelling critique of why the wall is broken.”

Not even:

“I will rebuild Jerusalem myself.”

He called people together.

Come, let us build.

That may be one of the lessons I most need to learn.

Your Kingdom does not advance through isolated heroes.

You create a people.

A Body.

An ekklesia.

Members joined to one another.

Different gifts.
Different callings.
Different sections of the wall.
One Lord.
One mission.

Father, protect me from the temptation to imagine that because I can see a problem clearly, I must therefore personally solve the whole problem.

Perhaps my task is only one gate.

One section of wall.

One conversation.

One relationship.

One person encouraged.

One disciple accompanied.

One connection made between people who need one another.

One idea placed into the hands of someone better positioned to use it.

Father, show me my section of the wall.

Father, this sentence catches me.

They prayed.

And they posted a guard.

They trusted You.

And they acted prudently.

They did not choose between dependence upon God and responsible human action.

Father, keep me from separating what You have joined together.

There is a form of spirituality that says:

Pray.
Rest.
Be loved.
Abide.
Trust.

All of that is true.

And I need it.

But there is also:

Rise.
Go.
Build.
Teach.
Equip.
Proclaim.
Serve.
Make disciples.

That is also true.

Do not let me use mission to escape intimacy with You.

And do not let me use intimacy with You to escape mission.

You did not create me merely to sit beside the fire with You forever.

But neither do You send me onto the road without first bringing me near.

Father, teach me the rhythm:

Come near.
Listen.
Receive.
Rise.
Go.
Serve.
Return.

Let the hearth prepare me for the road.

And let the road continually drive me back to the hearth.

Father, Nehemiah knew there were distractions that looked like legitimate invitations.

Come meet with us.

Come explain yourself.

Come defend yourself.

Come respond to this accusation.

But he recognized that some conversations would merely pull him away from the work.

Father, I can easily spend enormous amounts of attention on things that feel important.

Arguments.
Articles.
Responses.
Online conversations.
Church controversies.
Plans.
Systems.
Ideas.
Possible projects.
Possible alliances.
Possible ministries.
Possible problems.
Possible futures.

And sometimes all the possibilities themselves become a way of not doing the next actual thing.

Teach me Nehemiah's sentence:

“I am doing a great work and I cannot come down.”

Not because everything else is beneath me.

But because obedience requires attention.

Father, show me the work You have actually given me.

Then give me permission to leave some other worthy things undone.

Father, perhaps this is the most frightening lesson in Nehemiah.

The wall was completed.

The gates were restored.

The city was protected.

The people gathered.

Ezra read the Law.

They wept.

They worshiped.

They renewed the covenant.

They promised obedience.

There was celebration.

It looked like success.

And yet by chapter 13, things were already falling apart again.

Father, do not let me confuse successful projects with transformed people.

Do not let me confuse:

A program with discipleship.
Attendance with allegiance.
A meeting with community.
A curriculum with formation.
A committee with mission.
A website with influence.
An article with obedience.
A theological insight with holiness.
A powerful religious experience with lasting transformation.
A rebuilt wall with a renewed heart.

Your people needed more than better organization.

They needed what Your prophets promised:

“I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.”

— Ezekiel 36:26

Father, that means I need this too.

I can devote myself to reforming structures while remaining unreformed.

I can advocate disciple-making without being deeply discipled.

I can defend Christian unity while becoming impatient and contemptuous toward Christians who frustrate me.

I can proclaim the Kingdom while secretly wanting my own plans vindicated.

I can call others to allegiance to King Jesus while resisting Him when His commands interfere with my preferences.

Father, rebuild me.

Father, Nehemiah built.

But ultimately Nehemiah could not build the Kingdom.

Neither can I.

I cannot manufacture revival.

I cannot manufacture Christian unity.

I cannot manufacture disciples.

I cannot make anyone love Jesus.

I cannot force institutions to change.

I cannot even transform my own heart through sufficient determination.

Jesus said:

“Apart from me you can do nothing.”

— John 15:5

But He also said:

“Abide in me.”

And Your Word says:

“We are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

— Ephesians 2:10

So the answer is neither:

Do everything.

Nor:

Do nothing.

It is:

Abide — and walk in the works You prepared.

Father, that is the life I want.

Not frantic activism.

Not passive spirituality.

Not religious busyness.

Not endless analysis.

Not the fantasy of personally fixing the Church.

I want faithful participation in Your work.

Father, I place before You the things that concern me.

Christian unity.

Evangelization.

Disciple-making.

Equipping the saints.

The recovery of genuine Christian community.

Helping people understand the Gospel as allegiance to Jesus Christ, the rightful King.

Helping Christians move from spectatorship toward participation in Your mission.

I do not know how much of this You are actually assigning to me.

Perhaps far less than I imagine.

Perhaps more than I expect.

So I ask neither for a grand mission nor for an escape from mission.

I ask simply:

What is mine to do?

Show me the section of wall nearest my house.

Show me the people already within reach.

Show me the conversation that needs to happen.

Show me the relationship that needs cultivation.

Show me the task that does not require another committee, another permission, another perfect plan, or another year of preparation.

And if the task You give me looks embarrassingly small, protect me from despising it.

One conversation can matter.

One friendship can matter.

One person discipled can matter.

One bridge between divided Christians can matter.

One faithful act of obedience can matter.

Your Kingdom grows from mustard seeds.

Father, before I leave this prayer, let me ask You five questions.

Father,

Do not let me read Nehemiah and admire his courage while avoiding his obedience.

Do not let me lament broken walls without asking which stones You have placed within my reach.

Do not let me confuse criticizing the ruins with rebuilding them.

Do not let me pray when You are telling me to move.

Do not let me move when You are telling me to remain with You.

Teach me to weep before I plan.

Teach me to pray before I act.

Teach me to plan carefully.

Teach me to recruit rather than control.

Teach me to equip rather than merely perform.

Teach me to persevere when opposition comes.

Teach me to ignore distractions that pull me away from obedience.

Teach me to distinguish visible accomplishments from genuine transformation.

And most of all, Father, do not let me spend my life trying to rebuild Your Church while neglecting the rebuilding You want to accomplish in me.

Give me the new heart You promised.

Make me deeply rooted in Christ.

Fill me with Your Spirit.

Then send me.

Let intimacy with You become mission.

Let mission drive me deeper into intimacy with You.

Let the hearth and the road belong together.

And when I see everything that remains broken, remind me that I am not the Messiah.

Jesus is King.

This is His Church.

This is His mission.

This is His Kingdom.

I am simply one servant on one section of the wall.

So today, Father, show me my place.

Put the next stone in my hands.

And give me grace to set it where it belongs.

Amen.