Ezra never saw it coming. He had returned to Jerusalem full of hope, eager to restore worship and renew God’s law. The temple stood, the exiles were coming home, and the future seemed bright. His ministry had momentum. But then came the news—a gut-wrenching blow that knocked the wind out of him.

“The people of Israel, and the priests, and the Levites, have not separated themselves from the people of the lands…they have taken of their daughters for themselves, and for their sons” (Ezra 9:1-2).

Had they forgotten so soon? Their fathers’ sins had led them into exile, and now they were stepping onto the same slippery path. Not overnight, but little by little—casual ties, small compromises. It wasn’t a sudden collapse but a slow erosion.

Maybe Ezra had been so busy rebuilding the temple that he had missed the cracks forming in the people’s hearts. He had poured himself into the mission—teaching, leading, restoring—but somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of their spiritual drift. Ministry isn’t just about constructing buildings or growing attendance. It’s about shepherding souls. We are not CEOs running an organization—we are shepherds tending a flock. And shepherds must know where their sheep are wandering.

The same danger lurks today. It’s easy to focus on vision statements, programs, and polished strategies while missing the quiet drift of the people we serve. We celebrate growth but overlook the slow erosion of holiness. We measure success in numbers but fail to notice hearts growing cold. And then, reality breaks through—and it can be devastating.

Ezra wasn’t just mourning broken rules. He was mourning broken hearts. This wasn’t about race; it was about worship. God’s command wasn’t about ethnic purity but spiritual fidelity. Foreign marriages had a history of leading Israel’s hearts away from God. And now, after all they had suffered, they were drifting again.

Ezra didn’t lash out in frustration. He didn’t issue decrees or call an emergency meeting. He sat down—stunned, appalled, crushed under the weight of it all. He tore his garments, pulled at his hair, and let the sorrow sink deep into his bones.

Because sin doesn’t crash in like a tidal wave. It seeps in like a slow leak. It whispers instead of shouts. And before long, holiness fades, swallowed by the culture around it.

Ezra’s prayer is raw, broken: “O my God, I am ashamed and blush to lift up my face to thee…our iniquities are increased over our head, and our trespass is grown up unto the heavens” (Ezra 9:6). He doesn’t shift the blame. He doesn’t excuse the people. He owns the guilt as if it were his own—because sin isn’t just personal; it’s communal. It spreads through families, churches, generations.

But right in the middle of his grief, he catches a glimpse of hope:

“And now for a little space grace hath been shewed from the LORD our God” (Ezra 9:8).

The Hebrew phrase “a little space” speaks of a brief window of mercy, a moment when God’s grace breaks through. And then Ezra clings to another image—“a nail in His holy place.”. A nail driven into a structure gives stability, holding it firm. This was God’s grace: a foothold, a secure place, a chance to stand once more.

God had not abandoned them. He had left them a remnant, given them stability, and offered them a way back. Even in failure, grace remained.

Ministry leaders, take note: it’s not enough to work for God; we must remain aware of where His people are. Ezra’s grief teaches us to take sin seriously, but his response teaches us something just as important—when conviction comes, let it drive us to our knees, not to despair but to dependence.

Sin creeps in gradually, but grace meets us suddenly. It doesn’t erase the past, but it offers a way forward.

Maybe you feel the slow drift in your own life. Maybe small compromises have taken you further than you ever intended. Maybe you carry the weight of brokenness that isn’t even your own.

There is still a little space of grace.

Come back. Kneel down. Lift your eyes.

Because even when we fail, God remains faithful.