REBUILDING

I had the honor of serving as the plenary speaker for the Cumberland Presbyterian Church’s Pastors Symposium this past weekend, where the theme was both urgent and hopeful: Rebuilding. (Yes, if you’re keeping track, that meant they flew me back from Ireland to meet with them in Chattanooga, TN.) This included the delightful experience of working alongside my friend, Curt Cloninger, a Christian actor who brought dramatic illustrations to my talks.

In a season marked by a 30–40% decline in church attendance, and a similar percentage of pastors reconsidering their calling, it was refreshing to be among leaders committed to doing new work. Since the pandemic—something we may be tempted to downplay or forget—we are still recovering from a global trauma, and we must name it to heal from it.

In Nehemiah 2:17–18, we find a similar moment of reckoning and resolve

Pick a place to start

“Then I said to them, ‘You see the trouble we are in: Jerusalem lies in ruins, and its gates have been burned with fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, and we will no longer be in disgrace.’ I also told them about the gracious hand of my God on me and what the king had said to me. They replied, ‘Let us start rebuilding.’ So they began this good work.”

When trauma happens, we must acknowledge it, clarify our response, recognize our resources, and then step into rebuilding. This act of resilience is part of living.

Picture something as simple as a dog going wild in a living room prepared for guests—food platters shredded, wine glasses shattered, throw pillows ripped, carpet splattered. When our lives are turned inside out, we despair, reject help, and sob. But then, we do one thing: we pick up the one remaining pillow and put it back into place. Then we get a trash bag and begin clearing one thing at a time.

Where is life out of whack for you right now? Can you admit that you're facing a struggle—one you've gone through or are still going through? This is the moment when we do more than just plow ahead. We pause. We name the pain. Then we begin to restore. And every piece recovered, put away, and every step we take forward counts.

Life is not over. We are not alone. We say to ourselves, “I am not over,” and we begin a good work. We have resources. We have each other. And we have the promise of God: “I will never leave you or forsake you.”

There is more to us than disaster or despair. There is hope—and we make hope tangible. That’s part of what the Cumberland Presbyterians taught me this week.