What hope can there be for dry bones?

Sermon on Ezekiel 37:1-14

The valley of death 2500 years ago. Full of bones, very dry bones. No one buried them. No one knows which bones belonged to whom. Forgotten lives in a valley. Nobody remembers them, it is as if they hadn’t lived. 

That’s what the prophet Ezekiel is being shown by God’s spirit in a vision. Images of sheer horror. Too real for many of the people at Ezekiel’s time. They cry in lament: “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” Our bones, our deepest, most essential self, our identity is dried up. We are helpless and hopeless.

And rightfully they cry. Their situation is desperate. The people of Israel are in exile. They lost their temples, their nation, their leadership. Thousands have died already. More are to come. And they wonder: Where is our God? Why is he not saving us quickly from this inhuman suffering? Are we cut off from God as well? Did God cut us off? “Can these bones live?”

People become more and more disconnected from each other and from God, left in the wilderness of pure individual survival. They don’t have a place to worship anymore. Where else can they seek God? 

They aren’t allowed to gather in larger groups or to take part in the social life. So, they meet in their small families. They pray and worship at home. And every home filled with prayers becomes a holy temple connected to all the other temples by prayer and faith. And every one of these temples is filled with life. With rattling kitchen utensils, with laughter and tears, with despair and hope. With kids running around, with tired parents exhausted from work and from the uncertain future. Some have a hard time breathing, the burdens are piling up, the air is getting thinner. 

In what kind of world will their kids grow up? What will the parents be able to offer them? People live under a heavy bondage of fear. That fear is real. Their lament is real: “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” We don’t recognize our cities anymore. Most shops are closed, it’s like life stands still.

The survivors have to live with everything they lost. And they keep losing things day by day. They have to deal with the new reality. It’s overwhelming, scary, frightening. God, do you hear us? Do you see your people’s despair? Do you care about the exile of the survivors in their homes and out one the street? Do you care about the loss of certainty and faith in the future? God, are you still with us?

Yes, says God. “I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.” So, Ezekiel, the prophet, preacher and pastor tells the bones and “suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone.” But there was no breath in them yet. 

People walked past each other 6 feet apart, looking down. People hoarded food, hurried home and only cared for the one’s they loved. Or only for themselves. People waited for new stories about new catastrophes and new historic announcements. 

“Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, and say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” And the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet.

People opened their doors and went out on the streets to sing together, standing far apart but close by heart. People called each other, helped each other. People became creative in staying connected and to newly connect. People started checking-in with neighbors living alone. People shared what they had with people in need. People prayed for others. Kids hang rainbows in front of their houses as signs of hope for people passing by. The bow that God set in the clouds as a sign of his covenant with every living creature of all flesh. 

They trusted in God who promised them: "I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live.” They trusted God’s promise that God’s spirit would reach out and that exile would end one day. They started seeing again that God’s spirit was breath giving. That breathing deeply connected them to their God. Even without gathering at church. Even while praying lonely prayers in many different places.

They started understanding that breathing deeply and calmly connected them to their friends and neighbors. That breathing helped them to stay sane and to look ahead. To have a vision beyond their current situation. To have hope and to trust God. 

Though, in the moment nothing changed their present difficult circumstances, the promise of God’s presence encouraged them to hang in, to survive and persist. To be ready for the future.

And there was something else they noticed: Not everyone understands the Spirit, at some level many even fear it. Because what the Spirit does, doesn’t seem to make sense. The Spirit tells us that the blessings God has given—our minds, our lands, our money—are only ours to give away. The restoration will be a communal one. God doesn’t only resuscitate the heroes, those who fought in the front lines or donated most to the poor or prayed 24/7. That might have been the secret dream of some people. That exile would deliver them from evil, including evil people. Well, that’s something God promised never to do again. Remember the bow in the clouds? 

No, God promised to bring back also the bones of those who were not very good with a sword, those of the armor-bearers and servants, those who had tried to desert the battlefield and those who tried to save only themselves, those who begged for mercy and perhaps even those who tried to join the winning side. It does not matter. If there will be a resurrection, it will be for everyone. The new world will not be a society of super-heroes. It will be the same variety of people as before, with their vulnerable bodies and their array of human foibles. 

Like a deep breath we take when we breathe in the gift of oxygen. But if we hold our breath, if we hold in the gift of oxygen without breathing it out into the world, we will pass out. We must inhale and exhale. 

Everyone does, yet not everyone feels God’s spirit in her breath. It requires some kind of relationship between me and God to connect the dots and to expect God to come as close as God does in my breath. When I inhale God’s live-giving breath, when I exhale. And then, sometimes, our exhalations may reflect the greatness of God. In the form of a song, or a speech or a letter or a phone-call that brings comfort. 

Finally, over time, exile ended. People were restored as a community of bones, bond together through God’s faithfulness. When exile ended, people had changed, shaped by their experiences. The world had changed. And God was still Israel’s God. 

The people of Israel had a future. God’s spirit never abandoned them. And with God’s spirit, anything is possible. Without it, existence is just flesh and blood. But with God's spirit, there is life – and what Jesus called fullness of life. And there is no place on earth, no when in time, and no what in situation, that can keep God's Spirit away from God's people. 

It is our job as people of God to recognize God’s Spirit and to bring hope to hopeless people these days. Just as Ezekiel did 2500 years ago. God chooses us to work the magic to stay connected with God and one another. And to reach out to friends and neighbors and invite them to join our community of faith and hope.

After all, we believe what Jesus promises Mary and Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Amen.