How to Herd Cats After the Parade is Over

In Nehemiah 13, the scene changes from celebration to frustration. The wall is finished, the dedication ceremonies have been held, and the community has made public commitments about how they will live. But after some time away, Nehemiah returns to find things slipping. The temple storerooms, meant for offerings and supplies, have been cleared out to make space for a personal residence. Offerings for the Levites have been neglected, leaving them to abandon their posts and return to farming. The Sabbath is being treated like any other workday, with markets open and goods flowing in and out of the city.

The Slow Slide of Good Intentions

It’s a moment that feels familiar even outside a religious setting. A group rallies together for a cause, sets rules or guidelines to keep things running smoothly, and then—slowly—those structures erode. Sometimes it happens because no one is paying close attention. Other times, people start making small compromises that feel harmless in the moment. Before long, the system no longer looks like what was intended.

Nehemiah: The Human Reset Button

What’s interesting is how Nehemiah responds. He doesn’t simply note the changes—he acts decisively. He has the storerooms cleansed and restored for their original purpose (Nehemiah 13:9, NLT: “Then I demanded that the rooms be purified, and I brought back the articles for God’s Temple, the grain offerings, and the frankincense.”). He confronts the leaders about the neglected offerings and reinstates proper support for the Levites. He orders the city gates shut on the Sabbath to stop commerce. His approach is direct, corrective, and immediate.

It raises questions about leadership and maintenance of a shared vision. How much of a leader’s role is about setting things in motion, and how much is about regularly checking back in to make sure the direction hasn’t shifted? Is constant vigilance necessary to keep any system—whether it’s a workplace, a nonprofit, or a community organization—true to its purpose? Or is drift inevitable, requiring periodic overhauls rather than steady fine-tuning?

The Work After the Work

The text also hints at another layer: human nature’s tendency to slide back into old patterns. Even with a clear vision and a celebrated beginning, people can revert to what’s familiar if there’s no structure to support the change. In that sense, Nehemiah’s return is like a reset button, reminding everyone of their earlier commitments.

For modern readers, the specifics—temple storerooms, Levite offerings, Sabbath gates—may feel far removed. But the underlying dynamic is recognizable. Any shared project or set of values can falter without attention. Whether it’s a small team project or a large civic effort, the energy of a launch eventually gives way to the slower work of upkeep.

Nehemiah makes it clear that drift happens, and addressing it often requires both awareness and the willingness to step in.