Moreover, there were at my table 150 men, Jews and officials, besides those who came to us from the nations that were around us. Now what was prepared at my expense for each day was one ox and six choice sheep and birds, and every ten days all kinds of wine in abundance. Yet for all this I did not demand the food allowance of the governor, because the service was too heavy on this people. Remember for my good, O my God, all that I have done for this people. Nehemiah 5:17-19 ESV
Last time we listened in as Nehemiah shared how living on mission, completing the work assigned him, kept him from distractions. Today we see him recounting the ways he served the folks he sought to lead.
Nehemiah begins with his table (shulchan – table, by implication a meal) which is one of the most intimate places to start. Who we share a meal with is very significant. It is difficult to remain enemies with someone after you have broken bread together, even for a government official entertaining Gentile nations surrounding (sabib – all around, every direction) Jerusalem. The likelihood of each person around Nehemiah’s table agreeing on politics is very, very low. But this did not stop our governor from hosting all who came (bo – abide) to Jerusalem (el – towards, adjacent, together) at his own expense.
How about us? We may not be government officials, but most of us can probably think of those with whom we inherently disagree, whether politically, relationally, or spiritually. What is our genuine disposition toward each other in those situations? How often do we consider abiding together over a common meal and listening to each other? Are we willing to show such hospitality at our own expense – perhaps the expense of our time, our reputation with others, or our finances?
There is something so humanizing about breaking bread together, acknowledging we require sustenance to keep on. That none of us can survive without an outside source. We are needy creatures, all of us together. What if we took such intimacy and applied it to areas in which we can all grow? I believe it would make a difference, perhaps not in changing each others’ minds, but in uniting our inherently diverse hearts toward each other in our common humanity. The worst thing that could happen during our tenure here is for us to become callous toward fellow image bearers.
Nehemiah goes on to explain why he did not demand (baqash – seek, request, require) the governor’s food allowance despite such lavish hosting: the heavy burden (abodah) already hovering over the folk (am). To demand a tax to pay for political banquets on top of famine-poor families serving to rebuild the wall would not exactly promote unity and good will. Mind you, Nehemiah was totally within his rights to request this tax. But love often relinquishes rights. Sets aside what might be rightfully ours in order to put others ahead of ourselves. Lets go of demands and trusts the Author of Love to supply needs.
Nehemiah’s final memoir section in these verses intrigues me. He addresses Elohim, Creator God, to remember (zakar – call to mind, keep in remembrance) for his good (towb – beautiful) all he has accomplished (asah) for the people. He wants to be remembered for the beautiful. Don’t we all? To be remembered for the hardest seasons, worst decisions, broken choices would be horrible. Oh, praise, praise Him our Creator God doesn’t do that in Christ.
The fact that He was God with skin on, died a criminal’s death a perfectly innocent man, and came back to life – never to die again – means He can do this. He can be just in forgiving unjust people. And because He now lives inside of us, we too are remembered for the beautiful. His beauty disarming all our fears masquerading as rights. We can lay it all down, over and over if necessary, as we immerse ourselves in all His beautiful splendor.
What a duty and delight. Let’s remember His beauty.