The living archive is loading.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
Continue exploring
Connected by scripture or shared themes.
How many of you enjoy going to the movies? Not me — my family says it's because I'm a tightwad, but I like to say it's because I'm a good steward of my finances. Why would I pay $15 a person to watch a movie I can stream at home in two weeks?
Here's a question: when was the last time you stayed for the credits? The movie ends, the music starts, the lights slowly rise, and we all leave. Even at home, most of us don't wait ten seconds for the next episode — we're clicking "skip." We don't have time to look at all those names at the end because we've got better things to do.
There was an article in the New York Times titled "Why I Watch the Closing Credits of Every Movie I See." It said:
"Our culture of on-demand binge-watching conditions us to race past the credits, taking for granted the collective creative efforts behind the movies and TV shows we so voraciously consume."
If you actually stick around and look at the credits, you'll see hundreds of names — electricians, carpenters, video editors, camera operators, set designers, makeup artists, composers. Skilled craftsmen who love what they do, but whose names will never be recognized.
In Nehemiah chapter 3, we have what could be called the movie credits for the memoir of Nehemiah. At first glance it just seems like a list of names — hard-to-pronounce names. But what if that's the point? What if God included this chapter, which seems so insignificant, because he wanted us to notice something we easily miss?
I believe God gave us Nehemiah 3 to remind us that we need to recognize the beauty and power in simple, ordinary, everyday faithfulness.
We've been conditioned by our culture to chase after significance. We want to be seen, we want to be known. But in that pursuit, ordinary faithfulness can seem insignificant, and we become spectators rather than participants.
One of Satan's greatest temptations isn't outright rebellion against God — that would be too obvious. He's sneakier than that. He wants to get us to a place where we're content just watching instead of participating. We watch sports, politics, social media, podcasts, YouTube. We spend way more time watching other people's lives than living our own.
What's even sadder is that this happens in church too. We watch worship. We watch sermons. We watch other people serve, lead, and pray. We spend most of our lives watching other people live out their faith instead of figuring out how to live out our own.
Nehemiah paints a different picture. Nobody is just standing around watching. Everybody has a purpose, and that purpose leads to a task they embrace — excited to be part of something bigger than themselves, even if their task feels unseen or insignificant.
Here's what I want you to leave with today: every name matters. Every single person, including you, has a purpose. No task is too small or too insignificant, because we are part of a movement that's making a difference. We have the opportunity to rebuild what has been broken.
Eliashib the high priest and his fellow priests went to work and rebuilt the Sheep Gate. They dedicated it and set its doors in place, building as far as the Tower of the Hundred, which they dedicated, and as far as the Tower of Hananel. The men of Jericho built the adjoining section, and Zaccur son of Imri built next to them...
It's a lot of names, a lot of people — but a lot of people willing to make a difference.
For those who missed previous weeks, here's a quick recap: Nehemiah is the cupbearer, the official wine taster for the king. He hears that his hometown Jerusalem is in ruins, and it crushes him so deeply that it affects him not just emotionally but physically. Through prayer, he begs God to do something.
A warning: be careful when you ask God to do something, because he may use you to do it. That's exactly what happens with Nehemiah. The king notices something is wrong, Nehemiah shares his heart, and the king provides everything he needs to go back to Jerusalem and rebuild the wall. Nehemiah gets there and, leader that he is, plans, strategizes, and invites others to join him.
Then we come to chapter 3. If I were Nehemiah, I'd want to make this rebuilding sound epic — the spectacular amount of wall rebuilt, the tons of rock moved. I'd want it to seem glamorous and inspiring. But instead, Nehemiah stops and recognizes the regular, ordinary, everyday work being done by faithful people willing to stand in the gap.
I confess I'm often guilty of wanting the spectacular instead of embracing the daily rhythms and quiet obedience of clearing away rubble, one rock at a time, in my own life and the lives of those around me.
Notice something in verse 1: "they dedicated it." Some translations say "consecrated." The Hebrew word is kadash — it literally means to declare as holy. Why would they declare a gate holy? It wasn't a fancy gate. Nothing they did was fancy. It was simple — but they recognized that the work meant more. This wasn't their project; it belonged to God and was for God.
Nehemiah quietly reminds us that our lives have been dedicated to God. We have been set apart not for our glory, but for his glory, his honor, his work. Everything we are, everything we do, is consecrated — it's holy.
Modern culture has convinced us we can divide our lives into two sections: the sacred and the secular. Church is sacred; work is secular. The Lord's Supper is consecrated; family dinner chaos is secular. Sunday is holy; Monday through Friday, not so much.
You know what I've realized is the single greatest indicator of this divide? The way we act when we curse at church versus at work. On the patio at church, someone drops an F-bomb and immediately says, "Pastor Justin, I'm so sorry, Lord forgive me." But on the construction site during the week? No apology. Why? Because we've divided our lives into sacred space and secular space. But God says there's no division. The Bible never divides it that way.
Paul says in Romans 12:
"Offer your bodies as living sacrifices."
Not a part of your life. Not a season of your life. Your whole life. Eugene Peterson phrases it this way in The Message:
"Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walking-around life — and place it before God as an offering."
God rebuilds through people who see their ordinary work as holy. Your 9-to-5 job — building, teaching, filing, recording, whatever it looks like — God says, "That is sacred work."
Parents, the time and energy you invest in your kids — chasing toddlers, changing diapers, driving to school and practice, cooking, cleaning, helping with homework — God says, "That's a holy calling."
Students, when you show up at school, spend time with friends, do your schoolwork, play ball, do band or theater — God says, "That's a consecrated practice." Everything you do is holy work, and we've got to quit pretending it's separate.
Paul writes in Colossians 3:
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."
Ask yourself: Am I treating my everyday ordinary responsibilities as holy assignments from God? So many of us miss what God is doing around us because we're waiting for the extraordinary — a bigger opportunity, a better source of inspiration. But the biggest opportunity is usually right in front of us. The best source of inspiration is right next to us, and we don't see it.
Nehemiah lists a diverse group of builders — priests, goldsmiths, merchants, the ruling class, even a group of daughters who stepped in to lead and work. Old and young, professionals and tradesmen, people from every walk of life. But what stands out most is that families worked side by side, multiple generations coming together, each doing what they could for a better future.
God rebuilds through people who work alongside the next generation. Our culture loves generational wars — Boomers ruined everything, Gen X checked out, millennials are entitled, Gen Z is too sensitive, and who knows about Gen Alpha.
Older generation: you need the love and passion of the younger generation. They remind us what it looks like to live with fire in our hearts. Younger generation: you need the scars and stories of the older generation — a lifetime of experience in the love, grace, and power of God.
My grandparents are 89 and 88, and I love asking them, "Tell me all the stories." So much of my spiritual legacy comes from them. But I also just came from youth camp, and the fire, passion, and energy there was exciting — a reminder of the childlike faith Scripture calls us to.
David writes in Psalm 71:
"Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your mighty acts to all who are to come."
There is no greater opportunity to rebuild the wall than to pour into the next generation. Seven years ago, I stepped from youth ministry into the campus pastor role, and I used to joke I got "demoted." But there is nothing like working with the next generation and seeing what God does in their lives.
Churches die when the people in the pews refuse to pour into the next generation. This isn't babysitting — it's an opportunity to form young hearts and minds into the image of God, to teach them to know and love him.
Let's raise up a generation who doesn't care what the world thinks, who knows their life is dedicated to God. Let's raise up the greatest doctors, engineers, athletes, teachers, and creatives — a generation that brings revival because someone poured into them and showed them they were more.
You may be thinking, "That's big. Where do I even begin?" Notice how Nehemiah keeps repeating a phrase: "opposite his house," "in front of his home," "across from his own house." Nobody negotiates their assignment. Nobody says, "I want to build at this gate, not that one." They simply jump in and rebuild the wall nearest to where they live.
God rebuilds through people who faithfully start with what's in front of them.
Remember Choose Your Own Adventure books? We want to live life that way — choosing our own purpose, deciding how our story goes. But God says, "I've already written an amazing script for you."
"For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." (Ephesians 2:10)
Don't get hung up on needing it to be spectacular or epic. Paul writes:
"Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and work with your hands... so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders, and so that you will not be dependent on anyone."
So many of us are asking God for a different adventure — "I know you're sending me this way, but I don't think so, I want to do this instead." And God says, "No, this is what you were created for." When we try to rewrite our story, we miss the beauty of the heavenly script that is our life.
Living on mission starts right where you are, here and now. The most impactful work is the work right in front of us. So ask: where do you encounter brokenness in your daily life?
For me, other than my kids, it's my barbershop. Same crew every time — Javi does great work, Salsa's in the chair next to him, Wendy's over there. I'm usually the quiet guy. But I hear them talking about their hurt and pain, what they're going through. God says, "You're here. You're in the chair. You're not going anywhere. Why don't you start building?" It doesn't have to be spectacular — you don't have to preach a sermon from the barber chair. Just care. Offer to pray. Invite.
God is asking us the same question he asked long before Nehemiah, in Ezekiel 22:
"I looked for someone who might rebuild the wall of righteousness that guards the land. I searched for someone to stand in the gap in the wall so I wouldn't have to destroy the land, but I found no one."
Will you help rebuild the wall? Or will you sit back and watch it crumble?
I'm so glad that even when no one was willing to rebuild the wall, Jesus refused to sit back and watch us crumble. Just as the Babylonians broke down the walls of Jerusalem, sin had broken down humanity. But Jesus entered the rubble. He entered the mess. He took up a cross, shouldered our sin and brokenness, and paid the price we couldn't pay.
But Jesus doesn't just die for us — he invites us to join him in rebuilding the world around us, to enter the rubble and mess of those around us, reaching them with a message of hope and love so they can encounter a God who loves them and wants to radically change their lives. Then they have the opportunity to connect with the church, a family that will always be there for them.
Why us? God doesn't need us — he could do this on his own. But his goal isn't just to rebuild walls; it's to rebuild people — his sons and daughters who've wandered away but whom he loves dearly.
Every time we walk into someone's rubble and help clear away the stones of hurt and pain, it shapes us. We become a little more like Jesus — understanding a little more of his love, grace, and mercy. And in that same moment, God is repairing and healing something inside of us.
Peter writes in 1 Peter 2:
"As you come to him, the living stone — rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him — you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."
God is inviting you into rebuilding what has been broken. If you say yes, he promises to walk with you — not only helping you rebuild your world and community, but rebuilding you, from the inside out.
The question we all have to answer today is this: will we accept the invitation? Will we add our name to the credits? Or will we sit back and watch the walls around us continue to crumble?
How many of you enjoy going to the movies? Not me — my family says it's because I'm a tightwad, but I like to say it's because I'm a good steward of my finances. Why would I pay $15 a person to watch a movie I can stream at home in two weeks?
Here's a question: when was the last time you stayed for the credits? The movie ends, the music starts, the lights slowly rise, and we all leave. Even at home, most of us don't wait ten seconds for the next episode — we're clicking "skip." We don't have time to look at all those names at the end because we've got better things to do.
There was an article in the New York Times titled "Why I Watch the Closing Credits of Every Movie I See." It said:
"Our culture of on-demand binge-watching conditions us to race past the credits, taking for granted the collective creative efforts behind the movies and TV shows we so voraciously consume."
If you actually stick around and look at the credits, you'll see hundreds of names — electricians, carpenters, video editors, camera operators, set designers, makeup artists, composers. Skilled craftsmen who love what they do, but whose names will never be recognized.
In Nehemiah chapter 3, we have what could be called the movie credits for the memoir of Nehemiah. At first glance it just seems like a list of names — hard-to-pronounce names. But what if that's the point? What if God included this chapter, which seems so insignificant, because he wanted us to notice something we easily miss?
I believe God gave us Nehemiah 3 to remind us that we need to recognize the beauty and power in simple, ordinary, everyday faithfulness.
We've been conditioned by our culture to chase after significance. We want to be seen, we want to be known. But in that pursuit, ordinary faithfulness can seem insignificant, and we become spectators rather than participants.
One of Satan's greatest temptations isn't outright rebellion against God — that would be too obvious. He's sneakier than that. He wants to get us to a place where we're content just watching instead of participating. We watch sports, politics, social media, podcasts, YouTube. We spend way more time watching other people's lives than living our own.
What's even sadder is that this happens in church too. We watch worship. We watch sermons. We watch other people serve, lead, and pray. We spend most of our lives watching other people live out their faith instead of figuring out how to live out our own.
Nehemiah paints a different picture. Nobody is just standing around watching. Everybody has a purpose, and that purpose leads to a task they embrace — excited to be part of something bigger than themselves, even if their task feels unseen or insignificant.
Here's what I want you to leave with today: every name matters. Every single person, including you, has a purpose. No task is too small or too insignificant, because we are part of a movement that's making a difference. We have the opportunity to rebuild what has been broken.
Eliashib the high priest and his fellow priests went to work and rebuilt the Sheep Gate. They dedicated it and set its doors in place, building as far as the Tower of the Hundred, which they dedicated, and as far as the Tower of Hananel. The men of Jericho built the adjoining section, and Zaccur son of Imri built next to them...
It's a lot of names, a lot of people — but a lot of people willing to make a difference.
For those who missed previous weeks, here's a quick recap: Nehemiah is the cupbearer, the official wine taster for the king. He hears that his hometown Jerusalem is in ruins, and it crushes him so deeply that it affects him not just emotionally but physically. Through prayer, he begs God to do something.
A warning: be careful when you ask God to do something, because he may use you to do it. That's exactly what happens with Nehemiah. The king notices something is wrong, Nehemiah shares his heart, and the king provides everything he needs to go back to Jerusalem and rebuild the wall. Nehemiah gets there and, leader that he is, plans, strategizes, and invites others to join him.
Then we come to chapter 3. If I were Nehemiah, I'd want to make this rebuilding sound epic — the spectacular amount of wall rebuilt, the tons of rock moved. I'd want it to seem glamorous and inspiring. But instead, Nehemiah stops and recognizes the regular, ordinary, everyday work being done by faithful people willing to stand in the gap.
I confess I'm often guilty of wanting the spectacular instead of embracing the daily rhythms and quiet obedience of clearing away rubble, one rock at a time, in my own life and the lives of those around me.
Notice something in verse 1: "they dedicated it." Some translations say "consecrated." The Hebrew word is kadash — it literally means to declare as holy. Why would they declare a gate holy? It wasn't a fancy gate. Nothing they did was fancy. It was simple — but they recognized that the work meant more. This wasn't their project; it belonged to God and was for God.
Nehemiah quietly reminds us that our lives have been dedicated to God. We have been set apart not for our glory, but for his glory, his honor, his work. Everything we are, everything we do, is consecrated — it's holy.
Modern culture has convinced us we can divide our lives into two sections: the sacred and the secular. Church is sacred; work is secular. The Lord's Supper is consecrated; family dinner chaos is secular. Sunday is holy; Monday through Friday, not so much.
You know what I've realized is the single greatest indicator of this divide? The way we act when we curse at church versus at work. On the patio at church, someone drops an F-bomb and immediately says, "Pastor Justin, I'm so sorry, Lord forgive me." But on the construction site during the week? No apology. Why? Because we've divided our lives into sacred space and secular space. But God says there's no division. The Bible never divides it that way.
Paul says in Romans 12:
"Offer your bodies as living sacrifices."
Not a part of your life. Not a season of your life. Your whole life. Eugene Peterson phrases it this way in The Message:
"Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walking-around life — and place it before God as an offering."
God rebuilds through people who see their ordinary work as holy. Your 9-to-5 job — building, teaching, filing, recording, whatever it looks like — God says, "That is sacred work."
Parents, the time and energy you invest in your kids — chasing toddlers, changing diapers, driving to school and practice, cooking, cleaning, helping with homework — God says, "That's a holy calling."
Students, when you show up at school, spend time with friends, do your schoolwork, play ball, do band or theater — God says, "That's a consecrated practice." Everything you do is holy work, and we've got to quit pretending it's separate.
Paul writes in Colossians 3:
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."
Ask yourself: Am I treating my everyday ordinary responsibilities as holy assignments from God? So many of us miss what God is doing around us because we're waiting for the extraordinary — a bigger opportunity, a better source of inspiration. But the biggest opportunity is usually right in front of us. The best source of inspiration is right next to us, and we don't see it.
Nehemiah lists a diverse group of builders — priests, goldsmiths, merchants, the ruling class, even a group of daughters who stepped in to lead and work. Old and young, professionals and tradesmen, people from every walk of life. But what stands out most is that families worked side by side, multiple generations coming together, each doing what they could for a better future.
God rebuilds through people who work alongside the next generation. Our culture loves generational wars — Boomers ruined everything, Gen X checked out, millennials are entitled, Gen Z is too sensitive, and who knows about Gen Alpha.
Older generation: you need the love and passion of the younger generation. They remind us what it looks like to live with fire in our hearts. Younger generation: you need the scars and stories of the older generation — a lifetime of experience in the love, grace, and power of God.
My grandparents are 89 and 88, and I love asking them, "Tell me all the stories." So much of my spiritual legacy comes from them. But I also just came from youth camp, and the fire, passion, and energy there was exciting — a reminder of the childlike faith Scripture calls us to.
David writes in Psalm 71:
"Since my youth, God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your mighty acts to all who are to come."
There is no greater opportunity to rebuild the wall than to pour into the next generation. Seven years ago, I stepped from youth ministry into the campus pastor role, and I used to joke I got "demoted." But there is nothing like working with the next generation and seeing what God does in their lives.
Churches die when the people in the pews refuse to pour into the next generation. This isn't babysitting — it's an opportunity to form young hearts and minds into the image of God, to teach them to know and love him.
Let's raise up a generation who doesn't care what the world thinks, who knows their life is dedicated to God. Let's raise up the greatest doctors, engineers, athletes, teachers, and creatives — a generation that brings revival because someone poured into them and showed them they were more.
You may be thinking, "That's big. Where do I even begin?" Notice how Nehemiah keeps repeating a phrase: "opposite his house," "in front of his home," "across from his own house." Nobody negotiates their assignment. Nobody says, "I want to build at this gate, not that one." They simply jump in and rebuild the wall nearest to where they live.
God rebuilds through people who faithfully start with what's in front of them.
Remember Choose Your Own Adventure books? We want to live life that way — choosing our own purpose, deciding how our story goes. But God says, "I've already written an amazing script for you."
"For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." (Ephesians 2:10)
Don't get hung up on needing it to be spectacular or epic. Paul writes:
"Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and work with your hands... so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders, and so that you will not be dependent on anyone."
So many of us are asking God for a different adventure — "I know you're sending me this way, but I don't think so, I want to do this instead." And God says, "No, this is what you were created for." When we try to rewrite our story, we miss the beauty of the heavenly script that is our life.
Living on mission starts right where you are, here and now. The most impactful work is the work right in front of us. So ask: where do you encounter brokenness in your daily life?
For me, other than my kids, it's my barbershop. Same crew every time — Javi does great work, Salsa's in the chair next to him, Wendy's over there. I'm usually the quiet guy. But I hear them talking about their hurt and pain, what they're going through. God says, "You're here. You're in the chair. You're not going anywhere. Why don't you start building?" It doesn't have to be spectacular — you don't have to preach a sermon from the barber chair. Just care. Offer to pray. Invite.
God is asking us the same question he asked long before Nehemiah, in Ezekiel 22:
"I looked for someone who might rebuild the wall of righteousness that guards the land. I searched for someone to stand in the gap in the wall so I wouldn't have to destroy the land, but I found no one."
Will you help rebuild the wall? Or will you sit back and watch it crumble?
I'm so glad that even when no one was willing to rebuild the wall, Jesus refused to sit back and watch us crumble. Just as the Babylonians broke down the walls of Jerusalem, sin had broken down humanity. But Jesus entered the rubble. He entered the mess. He took up a cross, shouldered our sin and brokenness, and paid the price we couldn't pay.
But Jesus doesn't just die for us — he invites us to join him in rebuilding the world around us, to enter the rubble and mess of those around us, reaching them with a message of hope and love so they can encounter a God who loves them and wants to radically change their lives. Then they have the opportunity to connect with the church, a family that will always be there for them.
Why us? God doesn't need us — he could do this on his own. But his goal isn't just to rebuild walls; it's to rebuild people — his sons and daughters who've wandered away but whom he loves dearly.
Every time we walk into someone's rubble and help clear away the stones of hurt and pain, it shapes us. We become a little more like Jesus — understanding a little more of his love, grace, and mercy. And in that same moment, God is repairing and healing something inside of us.
Peter writes in 1 Peter 2:
"As you come to him, the living stone — rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him — you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."
God is inviting you into rebuilding what has been broken. If you say yes, he promises to walk with you — not only helping you rebuild your world and community, but rebuilding you, from the inside out.
The question we all have to answer today is this: will we accept the invitation? Will we add our name to the credits? Or will we sit back and watch the walls around us continue to crumble?
