“We assume the responsibility for carrying out the commands…”
Nehemiah 10:32a (NIV)

Among some of the historical family ephemera in my personal archives is a marriage certificate for my great-grandparents. The certificate is for their second wedding. They were married, then got divorced, and then got remarried. Ironically, I think I have the second marriage certificate for our daughter, as well. It’s funny how history repeats itself.

Some relationships are like that. They work, and then they don’t, and then the parties work through their differences and return to covenant. They recommit.

In today’s chapter, Nehemiah and the returned Hebrew exiles in Jerusalem return to their covenant with God. It’s a covenant that God refers to as a marriage on numerous occasions. In essence, the document that they sign and seal is a new marriage certificate. In yesterday’s chapter they confessed that they had broken faith and walked away from the marriage. Now, they are getting remarried.

In this marriage certificate, Nehemiah lists a number of things to which they are committing to make the relationship work. They agree to live according to the principles God laid out in the Law of Moses, to keep the sabbath, to be generous, and to be faithful to the system of worship God prescribed.

Nehemiah 10 invites me to ask not just “What do I believe?” but “What am I willing to commit to — publicly, practically, persistently?” The ink on Nehemiah’s covenant scroll reminds me that faith needs form the way that saying “I do” at the wedding needs daily relational acts that put flesh on the commitment. Promises whispered in private take root when I bind them to community, to habit, to rhythm.

I’m reminded in the quiet this morning that my relationship with God is a marriage, and each new day is like my own “signing day.” It’s a daily covenant renewal of the soul:

• To rest when the world demands endless work.
• To give generously when culture teaches us to hoarding.
• To honor sacred time and sacred space.
• To live and love distinctively, not for separation’s sake, but so that light may be visible in the dark.

Nehemiah and the Hebrews’ story is really a love story between God and a people saying again: “We’re still yours.” And that’s a sentiment I whisper in my actions each day to both God and Wendy.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.