Ezekiel 37:1-14
Introduction
“Can these bones live?” God asks this in the middle of a valley, a narrow space, filled with a vast expanse of dry bones. The land is lifeless. Barren. No breath. Dead.
“Can these bones live?” God asks this to Ezekiel, a prophet of Israel, after the Babylonians have scorched the earth, sacked Jerusalem and kidnapped the best and brightest from among the nation of Israel. A nation given life at Mount Sinai now lay dead in a valley.
“Can these bones live?” God asks this just before one of the greatest reversal narratives of the Bible. Ezekiel’s visionary vista of desolation and destruction undergoes an astonishing transfiguration as the jumbled, lifeless bones begin to rattle and move to where they are knit together, take on flesh, and finally come to life—all as a sign of the future revival of the Jewish people, held captive in Babylon.
“Can these bones live?” God asks this to Ezekiel, who then responds, saying, “O Lord…you know.” To which God says, “Yeah, I do know…but do you?
“Can these bones live?” God asks this just before casting a vision to Ezekiel and Israel of breath and life entering where death had been.
“Can these bones live?” God is asking this of us today, and will be asking us for the months ahead. Do we know the answer? Do we even want to know?
Move 1
A lot of this might sound familiar as it was just over two years ago on March 1, 2020, the first Sunday of Lent, when I last preached from this text. I preached this text, and that sermon, on the first Sunday of Lent because Lent is a season that, like this text, paints an incredibly distinct picture of bareness, lifelessness, and death—all culminating when breath is put back into what was dead. All of this was the start of the 2020 Lenten season during which we as a church were going to intentionally examine a “spiritual imperative” (as I called it then).
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Now here’s where I am going to do something I have never ever done in a sermon before—at least not like this. I have quoted countless wise and scholarly people in my sermons, but I have never—for obvious reasons— quoted myself. It’s weird and feels incredibly haughty and ostentatious but hopefully before too long you’ll see why I’m doing this.
So then…In March of 2020, on the first Sunday of Lent, in a sermon entitled “Recreate” the incredibly wise and scholarly Rev. Jonathan Rumburg said—see it’s weird I know. But seriously… on March 1, 2020, the first Sunday of Lent, in a sermon entitled “Recreate” in talking about our text for that day and today, I said…
Lent is a holy season that takes us to an Easter celebration, but before we get to that celebration there is an imperative we are first called to address. And that imperative is the state of our spirit. In this season of Lent we are led to look at our surroundings, to truly look at where we are in this life, and discern if it is spiritually good. …we are led to look for where the bone yards are around us—be it in our own hearts, family, church, or community. …we are led to consider what God’s prophecy to “recreate”, to breathe new life into us, looks like. …we are led to ask the question: ‘Can these bones live—can life come into death?’ and then listen for God’s resounding ‘Yes!’”
All of this was to set up and lead us into what was coming to us as a church in the following months—a time of “Spiritual Renewal” also known as… my sabbatical from the church, and your sabbatical from me. Spiritual Renewal. Recreate. Sabbatical. All of it with the intent … (to now quote the Indianapolis based Lily Foundation who awarded our church the grant) …with the intent of… “…strengthening relationships, renewing a sense of call, meeting and serving the neighbor in a new way, finding joy and purpose in a simplified life, traveling to new lands and unfamiliar territories. It is also a time for creating opportunities where members of the congregation can exercise their gifts for ministry. Within it all, there become opportunities for profound discoveries that pastors and their congregations describe as ‘life-changing events’”.
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March 1, 2020, I preached that sermon and talked all about this “renewal” and “recreating” time coming that summer; what it was going to be and most importantly what it would do to put new breath into my ministry and your ministry; while casting a vision of where God would have us go, be, and do as a church. But three weeks later the vision I had was preaching to an empty sanctuary, while your vision was worship via a device, or maybe no worship at all. All of it then… and all that followed… made it incredibly hard to hear “God’s resounding ‘Yes!’” to the question, “Can these bones live?” And if we are honest—then and today—our answer to “Can these bones live?” might just be a resounding “No.”
Move 2
Just like the words from Ezekiel paint an incredibly distinct picture so do the words… 2020. The Covid-19 Pandemic. Masks. Hand washing. Hand sanitizer. Infected. Tested positive. Vaccinated. Boosted. Unvaccinated. Anti-vaxer. Anti-maskers. Zoom meetings. Home school. Work from home. Online worship.
These words paint an incredibly distinct picture we could not see in March of 2020… a picture we are trying hard to forget here in 2022 because our answer to the question “Can these bones live?” is not Ezekiel’s “Oh Lord you know.” It’s more like, “Oh Lord… I don’t wanna talk about it.”
And why don’t we want to talk about it? Might it be because we don’t want to have to tell God what we really think? Might it be because we don’t believe God will? We know God can—we just think God won’t.
Like children who have been asked by their parents, “Do you understand me?” we just give the answer we know we’re supposed to give, but yet deep within us we believe something different. Like Israel lost in the wilderness wandering… Like Israel scorched and sacked by an overpowering force…Like Disciples bewildered and terrified on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday… Like children who don’t know why, just what is…
We hear the question “Can these bones live?” and we answer, “Oh Lord, you know…but we don’t anymore. We used to know, but now everything has changed; we don’t know how life could be any other way than the way it is now; so no we aren’t so sure these bones can live again—not because we think you can’t, but because we have started to believe we can’t.
That’s the new incredibly distinct picture that has been painted into our minds eye. For two more than two years we have seen the scorched bareness and lifelessness creep across our world—physically and spiritually. We have seen the division, the brokenness, the reprioritization—we have felt it in our dried up bones. We’ve cried tears, but they too are dried up.
We have settled into this new normal, where the words paint an incredibly distinct picture, but if we are not careful, will paint us into a corner of judgement and brokenness. And that’s why we don’t want to talk about the question “Can these bones live?” Better to just not ask. But here’s the thing…the question has to be asked. And it has to be answered. Because if it’s not…then why are we even here?
Move 3
Can these bones live? That was the question lingering in the mind and heart of artist Cody F. Miller when he created this piece called, “Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones.” And when we look at this piece the answer to this question posed to the prophet seems painfully obvious in such a macabre setting, depicted in this mixed media collage by Miller. And the obvious answer is that in a place of skulls heaped on skulls—no these bones can’t live. But when we go deeper into the piece we see how Miller builds up his composition from drawings and patterns made from magazine clippings, and depicts the moment of divine empowerment coming with wind and fire like the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.
And in a pose that “plays off the graveyard soliloquy scene in Shakespeare’s Hamlet”—according to an actual wise scholar, and writer for the Christian Century, John Kohan—who then further says, “The prophet delivers God’s call to new life to just one of the many dead in this charnel heap, suggesting that collective renewal begins with transformed individuals.”
Miller tells about his art and specifically this piece when he says, “My pieces are about hope. Not necessarily in a bright way, but in a way that reveals the hidden fingerprint of God, letting us know, ‘I have been here all along.’” It’s that truth, yoked with God’s vision of future revival, that can help us find reason and energy and hope to answer this question we don’t want to talk about.
Conclusion
Maybe you are as tired of hearing about this “sabbatical” as much as I am. I doubt it though. This whole effort has been languishing since early 2019. And while I don’t intend to speak despairingly, or sound ungrateful, it has been a long and difficult road to traverse.
And now with it just three weeks away I have to admit… things have changed to the point that like the initial viewing of this piece, the answer to the question “Can these bones live?” seems to be… “No.”
Which is why this text…this question from God to Ezekiel… this perceived picture of what is juxtaposed with what God knows… this idea that the same spirit that put flesh upon dry bones and breath into lifelessness is the same spirit that surrounds us when we chose to perceive it… this idea that even the most beaten down of people can rise up by God’s word…this idea that in our doubt about God, God says, “I have been here all along…” well, it can lead a person to change their perspective, their doubt, their belief, their priorities, their vision of an incredibly distinct picture.
We know the answer to God’s question “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel tells us, “Oh God…you know.” But what is our answer to God’s question “Can these bones live?” Do we know? Do we even want to know? Do we see a sign of future revival? Or do we just see what is and what we think will always be?
“Can these bones live?” This question is no longer a question of God—for God has already answered it. This question is now a question for us. How are we going to answer it? Amen.
Pastoral Prayer, May 1, 2022
Holy God, we know the answer to your question. We know you are able, that you can, that you have and will again breathe new life into lifelessness and bring forth a revival of transformation.
We know you are here with us, telling us again these bones can live, that what was dead can be given new life.
We know you are still at work and your work is always for good.
We know what you are able to do—for we were reminded again of your almighty power that can overcome death just a couple of weeks ago when we shouted He is risen, risen indeed.
We know Lord…but do we believe?
We know Lord…but do we live?
We know Lord… but do we trust you will again—this time in us and in this world where so often all we can see are the dry lifeless bones all around us—among them our own.
We know Lord what you can do…but apathy, listlessness, bitterness, division, judgement, busyness, distain for some, tribal-ness with others—they keep us seeing only a distinct picture that does not include your ways or your plans or your work.
So we pray Holy God…make us ready for the new breath you bring. Make us ready to make authentic change happen in our lives by guiding us to live authentically Christ-like lives.
Just as in Ezekiel’s prophecy for Israel, where there was a deep, deep need for recreation, we admit our need for deep restoration. But we must be reminded again and again that such restoration has to be accompanied by our openness to do and see differently the vision cast before us.
So cause your breath to enter our dry bones that we might be recreated into the church you call us to be in a world that turns away from you, but is in desperate need of all the life you have to give.
Hear now the prayers of our hearts as we offer them in this time of Holy Silence.
All this we pray in the name of Christ Jesus, who taught us to pray, saying, “Our…”