13

I was sitting in a college coffee shop, waiting for Hope to get out of class. It was a dad-daughter date of sorts. And I had an hour on my own.

I paged through my mind, looking at projects. Nehemiah 10 was written on the top of one page, the next place we needed to go in this discussion. I thought through the chapter. I opened my eyes. Nehemiah sat on the tall chair across from me where my backpack had been.

I looked at Nehemiah. “Again with the names,” I whispered. “How many times do you have to list all these names? What are we supposed to do with them? How much time am I supposed to spend reflecting on their significance?”

We had talked before about the great review of history that the Levites did. We had talked about the commitments that the people made. And right between those two lofty and convicting discussions is a list of the people who signed the commitment.

“Don’t you sign important documents anymore?” Nehemiah asked. “When your elders published a vision statement for your church a few years ago, didn’t you all make a big deal out of signing each of your names? When there was that Declaration of Independence, didn’t people sign it? And don’t you tell stories about what it cost them to sign?

“Names matter. Your name matters to you. The commitments you make with your name matter to you. And when your story is told, doesn’t your name matter?”

I nodded. “But it feels like half this book is names. I understand your point, but when I read the Bible I want to know how to apply what I read, and I don’t know what to do with the names.”

Nehemiah smiled. He looked around at the students sitting in the coffee shop. “You are a little surprised, right now. You thought this was a story about a great work. You thought we were going to be talking about leadership or management. And I’m going to ask you to do a Bible study, just like the other learners in this room. It will be good for you.

“In that notebook, make a list of the lists of names and their locations in this book. It will be tedious. But by the end, I think you’ll understand.”

I didn’t grumble too much. But I did feel like I was back in college. I wrote out a list in my notebook.

• The people who built the wall. Nehemiah 3.
• A list of the tribes and families who returned to Jerusalem in the first wave a century before Nehemiah. Nehemiah 7:4-69. (I didn’t ask who counted the donkeys.)
• A list of the leaders and Levites who stood with Ezra and translated for Ezra. Nehemiah 8.
• The leaders, Levites and priests who signed the document. Nehemiah 10:1-27.
• The people (1 in 10) who settled in Jerusalem. Nehemiah 11.
• The priests and Levites who came in the first wave and some subsequent generations. Nehemiah 12 . (I realized this was some of the detail of the chapter 7 list, but without the donkeys.)
• The leaders, priests and Levites who led the dedication of the wall. Nehemiah 12:27-47.

“Very good,” Nehemiah said. “So, tell me what you see in those lists.”

“You list people who do the hard work, who take the big risks.”

“Good,” he said. “The building teams, the Jerusalem residents, the leaders signing on the dotted line, the first returners. It’s important to acknowledge their sacrifice. What else?”

“You list the people who have to take responsibility. Like the leaders in Chapter 11 who say that they are going to obey.”

“Exactly. There is an accountability factor that comes from publishing the names of the people who make promises. What else?”

I began to understand what the people I teach feel like when I keep pushing. “You list the lineage of the religious leaders.”

“Good. The priests and Levites must have a clear connection back to Aaron and Levi. We kept close track of these connections. Regularly recording these genealogies meant that the people could be sure that those who were teaching the Law were living in the tradition of the Law.”

I looked up at him. “Why does this matter so much to you? As I think about it, I realize that we don’t know your lineage. We know your dad’s name, and that’s it.^[1] You weren’t a Levite, were you?”

I didn’t want to sound accusatory. But he took some time to answer.

“I’m not sure that’s for you to know. What does matter is that regardless of my lineage, I did everything I could to honor God and his leaders and his worship and his people.”

We sat and drank coffee. It was cold. But it filled the silence between us. I changed the subject a little.

“I understand the lists a bit better, but I think that part of my question about how to understand them relates to the choppiness of the text. The story feels interrupted by the lists.”

It was his turn to push me a little.

“Think about that dark green filing cabinet in your office. The one with all the projects you haven’t finished? Picture the genealogy folder. Think about what’s in it. There are a couple of family trees from your Uncle Gordie. There’s a family history from some distant cousin. There are a couple letters from your mom. There are photocopies of obituaries.

“When you get around to writing a family history for your kids, the first draft will look like all of those pieces spread out on this table, with introductory comments written on Post-It notes, and hand-written pages of some of the other stories. The second draft will look like a series of typed pages. But anyone reading it will benefit from remembering that this part is from you, that part is from your uncle, the other part is from an obituary. A wise reader will read it as a collection of historical documents, not a novel where the story can be fabricated to make the story flow.”

“So you are suggesting that the choppiness is part of the historicity of the text?”

“I am. And so are all the names. You find lots of confusing lists of names in historical documents. You don’t find as much lineage in mythology.”

“Except for Tolkien.” I said. “He just loved the words and names.”

Nehemiah looked blank.

“Never mind. So this isn’t a management conversation, this is a ‘how the Bible came to be’ conversation?”

“Why does it have to be either/or? Can’t you do both in the same writing? Your daughter is coming. Let’s finish up. Here are your lessons.

1. The records matter. That’s why we kept them.
2. The threads of history matter. That’s why we trace people and families and tribes through generations.
3. The people matter. Each name on each list is a person, created and loved by God. Like me. Like you.
4. The people’s interaction with geography matters. Real people built the wall. Real people marched on the wall. Real people stood in front of the wall and explained what God said and Ezra read.”

As I finished writing down his words, Hope walked up. “Hi Daddy,” she said. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

I turned to introduce her to Nehemiah. But all we saw was a backpack on a chair.

And two empty cups.

“You drank mine, too?” she said.