Making a Beginning (or the "Both-And" of Worship): A Sermon on Ezra 3:8-13

November 24, 2024

This term, in the Wycliffe Hall Communion services, we are preaching our way through Ezra. After a rather brilliant sermon on the VERY length lists and genealogies in Ezra 1-2 and a thoughtful reflection on the festival of booths celebrated in Ezra 3:1-7, I was up to preach on the second half of that chapter, vv.8-13. The full text of the sermon is below the video.

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Making a Beginning

In 2017 my husband and I bought our first home together. It’s actually the home that we sold just a few weeks ago. But back when we bought it, we could see that despite the scratched and worn floorboards, the peeling paint, the old and dated kitchen—all those years where it had been a rental house—there was yet a huge amount of potential lying beneath the surface. And so fairly early on after we’d bought it, I took on the rather ridiculous task of removing 70 years’ worth of paint from all of the windows, the doors and the door frames. If I knew then what I know now about how much work was going to be involved, I might have passed, but I didn’t. We pressed ahead to restore the house to its original glory.

Over the course of two and a half years I spent weekend after weekend playing with different types of paint stripper and I got to discover the various tools that assist in removing the multiple layers of paint that had accrued over the decades. Eventually the paint was gone, but some residue remained: it was by no means finished. We needed somebody to come in and to sand everything down and finish the job. And I realized the task ahead far exceeded my skill set. So we paid a team to do the work.

I still remember when they called me in to look at the first window that had been finished. Seeing the wood grain come alive in these old pine window frames in our living room took my breath away. It was amazing to see the beauty of the house restored. Yes, it was just the beginning, but with the beginning I could see the start of what was to come.

***

In our reading from Ezra 3 today, the Israelites are in the process of making a beginning that will restore a past glory. They’ve been back in the land a couple of years, they’ve begun to worship and offer sacrifices and burnt offerings. They’re celebrating their festivals. But now they’re getting to work on building the temple itself, which begins with them laying a foundation. It’s not quite clear what the text is referring to here, it could be just that they broke ground or it could be they were starting to lay down some materials. But regardless of what was it was, we know some form of beginning is taking place. The cedar wood has been imported. The Levites are overseeing the job. And they’re beginning to get a glimpse of a past glory.

But this is not just the glory of restoring a craftsman house in Texas, or a piece of antique furniture, a classic car or anything else. This is about building a new temple fit to house the glory of God himself.

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Awaiting the Glory of God

In v.11 we read that the people praised God saying: For He is good, for his steadfast love endures forever towards Israel. (v.11)

These words are said as the people celebrate what they are witnessing. And the priests are vested. They and the Levites have musical instruments in hand. They’re singing with call and response (probably with a little more than gusto when we pray the psalms antiphonally in chapel!).

For He is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever.

What’s interesting is that it’s these same words are used at the dedication of another temple. Solomon’s temple. In Chronicles, these are words are associated with the glory of God being seen: presence being manifest in the midst of the people.

We see it in 2 Chronicles 5, just as the temple is finished. The priests and the Levites have raised a shout. Instruments are being played. They’re praising God, declaring this refrain “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.” And then, the temple was filled with a cloud. The glory of the Lord appeared among them. And it was so over-whelming, the priests could not even find their feet.

A similar thing happens again two chapters later, after Solomon’s prayer of dedication. Solomon finishes up praying, and then fire comes, rushing down from heaven, consuming the burnt-offering and sacrifices laid at the altar. On sight of this divine deluge of fire from heaven, the people of Israel fall prostrate, face-down on the ground. And they give thanks to God declaring “For he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.”

Here in Ezra 3, this time with the second temple, there is music, there is singing and celebration that they were restoring the temple, not for its own glory, but in order to house the glory of God. Yet they are not there yet. They’ve seen something of God’s faithfulness in bringing them this far, but they are just making a beginning.

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The Both-And of Worship

Our passage today is just 6 verses long. It is not a long text. The book quickly moves on: the next chapter takes us into the challenges the people face in building the temple. But what I find so significant is that within this beginning the people are making, there is space in their worship for quite different responses.

Yes, there’s the rejoicing and rowdy celebration taking place.

But there are also people who are don’t feel so upbeat. People who are weeping. People who are feeling some pretty deep grief and loss. These are the folk that were old enough to have seen the first temple—who remembered what life was like before the exile and Babylonian captivity.

Why were they grieving?

Maybe it was disappointment that somehow they already knew the second temple would never be as grand as the first one
Perhaps it was the finality that despite the new and good things taking place, it meant the old things—the former good, the former glory—truly was over.
Maybe it was a culmination of their sorrows. The tragedy upon tragedy they’d experienced from the time of Solomon’s temple, seeing it destroyed and being taken into captivity in a foreign land.

We don’t know exactly.

But what we do know, and what I think is pretty remarkable about this passage is that gives us a glimpse of worship taking place that can be “both—and”. It can celebrate all that is good and mourn the losses. It doesn’t shy away either from successes and God’s provision nor from deep scars and aches and pain carried by God’s people.

“Both—and.”

I think there is a challenging lesson for us to sit with in this text, because sometimes worship can seem to presuppose what we should feel. Sometimes, those of us who put together a service can choose songs or readings or prayers that skew the reality of life and make it feel a bit like it’s “either-or.”

***

I remember when I was in my mid-twenties and a dear friend of mine died of cancer, just past his 30^th birthday. It was a particular painful season for me, not just because of the loss of my friend, but also that he was the third of three people I knew and loved who had died far, far too soon.

I share this because it made participating in the worship in church quite difficult. Because unlike here in Ezra 3, or the breadth of the Psalms which capture the breadth of human experience, there was little space for sadness. The songs were pretty relentlessly upbeat, they all focused on the good of the gospel. But there was little space for bringing into worship our experience of the messy and broken world that God in Christ is redeeming.

I wonder if we as Christians can sometimes be in too much of a rush to the end of the story. Like skipping ahead and reading the last chapter of the book, we miss the how it all comes about. We forget that resurrection and life is only possible through death. We forget that what it is to live and die in a messy and broken world was fully faced and experienced by God’s own Son.

***

In these 6 verses, Ezra 3 gives us a picture of worship in which there is joy and sadness without differentiation. Literally! The noise was such a jumble, it was impossible to tell them apart.

Perhaps they knew that neither joy nor sorrow can truly exist without the other. That joy only finds its feet when we’ve faced our griefs. That the promise of joy is what emboldens to press onwards, even when grief and pain are real.

God’s people were making a beginning in building a new temple that might one day house the glory of God. And their celebration and worship was able to house where that brought about joy and sorrow.

***

The End of the Story

The book of Ezra and Nehemiah actually form one, longer book. And towards the end of Nehemiah, in chapter 12, we find the end of the story. The temple is finished and the city wall has been built and dedicated. The people again sang and rejoice loudly. Like in Ezra 3:13 where the cacophony of feeling was heard from distance, Nehemiah 12:43 concludes by saying “The joy of Jerusalem was heard far away.”

But what is different is that here, at the end of the book, the only sound heard was joy. There was no longer any mourning. For whatever reason, it was all rejoicing. No tears.

As Christians we know the end of our story will be likewise. The vision of Revelation 21 is of a new heaven and a new earth. A new Jerusalem in which God will dwell with his people. And he will wipe away every tear from their eyes. No more grief or sorrow or pain. All joy. But we are not there yet—so let’s not be in a rush to get ahead of ourselves as if the kingdom of God all depended on us and is not the work of God himself.

Life in the now and the not yet, is always in the process of making a beginning. We are among those who are the first fruits of what is to come. We are among those waiting for the fulness of God’s glory to arrive. The whole of creation is longing for that day. So in our worship, as in the rest of our lives, may we embrace the honesty of human experience found here in Ezra 3. The both-and:

Let us be unafraid to rejoice in what we know of God. What we have seen of his restoration already. When lives are restored. The lost found. The sick healed. The sinner forgiven.

But let us be equally unafraid to give voice—and space—to our grief. Where good things of the past that have been lost in the ravages of human violence and tragedy. Where we’ve experienced the damage and destruction of sin—ours or others. Where we have come face-to-face with the fallout of the messy and broken world in which we live.

We can both, confident that one day all will be well.

Why?

For He is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.

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Photo by Scott Blake on Unsplash

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The Wisdom of "100%" (or the Lack of It)

By Suse McBay • March 17, 2026

Are you 100% sure about that? Last December, Stephen and I headed for Prague for a few days. We were looking forward to Christmas markets, mulled wine, and shopping. Because we had booked a really early flight, we decided to stay in an airport hotel the night before. We hadn’t banked on one thing though: how to get from the bus station at Heathrow to the hotel. We could see our destination towering ahead of us as we exited the coach, but there was no reliable way to get there on foot. Much like Houston, navigating the surface roads of Heathrow is much easier for those in a car. So, we asked for directions from one of the airport staff. She pointed us over to two elevators, sat right next to each other. One had a line of at least twenty people. The other one had none. Those at the front of the queue hadn’t even pressed the button. That seemed strange and indicated that perhaps the people in line didn’t know what they were doing—or weren’t used to London airports. But why was one line so long and the other non-existent? The signs above weren’t exactly clear, but here were two lifts side-by-side, surely they went to the same place? Towards the back of the line was a middle-aged man, surrounded by luggage and family, who realised what we were trying to puzzle out. “Nah, you can’t use it. The other lift doesn’t go down. Doesn’t go to the same place,” he told us. We looked at him quizzically. “Are you sure?” we asked. “ One hundred percent , mate. One hundred percent.” The certainty with which he declared his answer was persuasive. He crowed like he was the CEO of the airport. That lift would not go where the other one was going. He repeated himself again. 100%. Only, he was wrong. We risked looking like fools. We walked to the vacant elevator, hit the button, and—lo and behold!—an elevator appeared that went to the exact same location as the other. The middle-aged man surrounded by luggage was 100%... in the wrong. Utterly and completely. *** Words, words, words, but no wisdom I don’t personally know the man who so-confidently revealed his wrongness. I’ve no idea whether his bluster was out of character from his usual self. But in the moment of our encounter, he acted every bit the ‘fool’ we find in Book of Proverbs: "A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing personal opinion." (Proverbs 18:2) There is much wisdom in Proverbs 17:28: Even fools who keep silent are considered wise; when they close their lips, they are deemed intelligent. It seems to me that we live in a world saturated with words, whether written or spoken. There’s an ever-growing number of websites, social media platforms, podcasts, and so on. Even more so now with AI. Yet for all this verbal abundance, there does not seem to be any more wisdom than there used to be. I would argue with AI, there seems to be less (or perhaps it’s simply exposing our foolishness). Part of me wonders about the virtue of writing a blog, when these are so often half-thoughts, explorations, and ideas: am I just adding to the plethora of opinions that exist on the blogosphere? Last year, I was teaching on how to plan and lead funerals with our final year ordinands. I spoke with confidence about what works and what doesn’t. What the role of the cleric is, how to work with the grieving family, how to craft the sermon, what to do afterwards etc. It felt good to be able to give real, lived experience having worked in a church for a decade. But it was only during the Q&A when I realized something. I realized my confidence was borne of a very specific context: I ministered in a large, Episcopal church in Houston, Texas. Not a small parish church, somewhere remote in England. Did the wisdom and experience I bring still have value in the Church of England, where the Church is an established one? Where those who minister do among many people who don’t dare to cross the threshold of a religious building except in such moments of life and death? Now I happen to think it does; but only with some qualification. For what I realized in that moment is that it’s not quite as readily transferable as I’d assumed. Church cultures are different. Expectations are different. How people respond and react to their local vicar is different! What works in one scenario doesn’t necessarily work in another. Consider Proverbs 26:4-5: 4 Do not answer fools according to their folly, or you will be a fool yourself. 5 Answer fools according to their folly, or they will be wise in their own eyes. Proverbs 26 has a seeming contradiction that speaks to the importance of context. In the situation where you’re faced with someone spouting foolishness, what should you do? Speak or not speak? Engage or not engage? The modern equivalent to v.4 might be to say to yourself “not my monkeys, not my circus” and walk away. But what about the times when it is your circus? When they are your monkeys? What about when to walk away is to leave someone blind to their mistakes and doomed to make more? What if responding might feasibly help someone see beyond their own blinkers and make a different choice? Sometimes v.4 might be the path of wisdom. Other times it’s v.5. But it’s not always apparent which is which. Overconfidence is not just dangerous for making us look like fools or giving bad advice. If we stay in our certitude, we miss the heart of the issue revealed in these two verses: we need wisdom. So where do we find it? *** Does ‘wisdom come with age’? I’ve heard it said that ‘wisdom comes with age’. Ironically enough, this line was used when I was in something of a disagreement with someone much older than me. But claiming moral high ground or superior understanding on the basis of some unalterable characteristic that you have but I don’t, is more indicative of pride than wisdom. If age does come with wisdom, there would be no conflict or disagreement within the human species as we age. If age is the sole arbiter, we should collectively do better as the wrinkles and grey hairs multiply. Yet that’s not what happens. Wisdom, sadly, is not inevitable. It can come with age because of one very simple reality: the more time you’ve had on the planet means you’ve had more opportunity to become wise. Now whether or not you’ve taken those opportunities is quite a different thing! *** Wisdom: a gift that needs seeking Proverbs has an interestingly balanced view of wisdom. It is (1) something that requires active seeking, yet also (2) something which only God can give. Proverbs 2:1-4 talks about the need to exert effort in acquisition of wisdom. It’s not something that just lands on our laps: it asks you to be open to learning and sitting with what you receive (v.1), deliberate and intentional in putting your body in a space to grow in it (v.2), and vocal in your search for it (v.3). In other words: humble, open, and hungry. This passage concludes by likening it to searching for silver or hidden treasure (v.4). Think about that for a moment: do you search for wisdom in the same way you seek out growth in income or asset? From a human wisdom point of view, seeking financial gain for our security and future as we age (and our children grow and go off to college etc) makes good sense. But what if we were to seek wisdom with the very same fervour? What if wisdom had the same significance for our spiritual security and future? What if it is important to our growth in the Christian life and readiness for what may come our way? It’s a gift that needs seeking. But Proverbs tells us it is also a gift that is given. Verse 6 reveals “ the LORD gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding .” Our seeking is not the whole picture. Longing for wisdom does not mean we get it. Wisdom is God’s domain not ours. Proverbs 8 illustrates that God’s Wisdom is not something to acquire or harvest. It is not a commodity to be doled out. It is not a consumer good. Wisdom was present when God made the world. Wisdom is a part of God’s self that chooses when to be imparted and when not to be (compare 1:28; 8:17; 9:5, 16) The very fabric of our material world is infused with the mystery of Wisdom. Insight and understanding comes from God and helps us to navigate the complexity of our lives, but this gift is just a glimpse of a much greater reality of the divine Wisdom which exists eternally. This, perhaps, brings us back to where I started. True wisdom is never found in loud proclamations of “one hundred percent!”. Why? Because the one who is wise recognises they have a lot to learn. They know that new information can shift and reframe yesterday’s certainty. Maybe the first step is to stop claiming absolute certainty—to stop the all-or-nothing thinking. Maybe we start with recognising what Paul talks about in 1 Corinthians 13: we only see in part, know in part, understand in part. And from there, we begin actively seeking that gift which only God—from His Wisdom—can give. Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn her seven pillars. 2 She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine, she has also set her table. 3 She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls from the highest places in the town, 4 "You that are simple, turn in here!" To those without sense she says, 5 "Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. 6 Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight." Proverbs 9:1-6 ****** Photo © Copyright Derek Harper and licensed for reuse under a cc-by-sa/2.0 Creative Commons Licence.

When God Goes Quiet

By Suse McBay • February 13, 2026

What do we do on days when God seems entirely absent? Some thoughts about where I see that in my life today and, looking back, recognising how much has changed.