Ezekiel 37:1-14
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You may have heard the story about two young children who visited their grandparents for the summer. Johnny was given his first slingshot. He practiced shooting in the woods, but missed everything he aimed at. As he returned to Grandma's back yard, however, he spied her pet duck. It wasn't the only duck she kept, but it was her favorite. On an impulse he took aim and let it fly. This time he didn't miss. His stone struck and killed the duck. The boy panicked. He didn't mean to hurt the bird -- he was even sure he'd miss! But he had killed it.
His panic grew to desperation and he hid the duck in the woodpile, only to look up to see that his sister Sally had seen it all. She said nothing to her grandparents. But after lunch that day, when Grandma said, "Sally, let's wash the dishes," Sally said, "Johnny told me he wanted to help in the kitchen today. Didn't you Johnny?" So Johnny did the dishes.
Later Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go fishing. Grandma said, "I'm sorry, but I need Sally to help make supper." Sally smiled and said, "That's all taken care of, Johnny wants to do it." When Johnny was about to protest she whispered, "Remember the duck." So Johnny stayed while Sally went fishing. It went on like this for several days with Johnny doing both his chores & Sally's until he could stand it no longer. He confessed to Grandma that he'd killed the duck.
She said, "I know Johnny." She gave him a big hug & added, "I was standing at the window & saw the whole thing. But because I love you, I forgave you. I just wondered how long you’d let Sally make a slave of you."
Is there a duck in your life? Do you have in your life some secret memory, some hidden shame, or some mistake you haven’t been able to forgive yourself for? Does that memory, shame or mistake still enslave you by making you hang on to the past when you know that life is to be found by letting go of them? My experience as a pastor tells me that many of us find ourselves in that situation. In fact, it’s not just individuals who feel this way. Entire families, churches, and even societies can be stuck in the past because we have convinced ourselves that the bones from past battles are better off left decomposing, rather than give them proper burial. To the extent you see yourself caught up in that dynamic there is good news for you in the words God sent Ezekiel to proclaim to exiles in Babylon.
In 586 BCE Jerusalem was invaded, its temple destroyed, and an entire generation of Israel was forcibly removed from its homeland. When the promising young Hebrews were dragged into exile in Babylon, they were not kept in prisons or concentration camps. We are told that they were free to marry, build homes, plant crops and exchange goods. Some became quite wealthy. They were also free to assemble, elect leaders and worship. But the Hebrews never got over the destruction of their holy city and temple in Zion. They weren’t where they wanted to be, or where they were supposed to be. So they lived with a sadness that ran down to their bones. They refused to "sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land."
Eventually, they got so used to the sadness that even after they were encouraged to return to Jerusalem most of them didn’t want to go. The old dreams of restoration were buried under so many piles of coping devices that they had no more power to motivate. So one day the Spirit of God swept the prophet Ezekiel off his feet & set him down in a valley filled with dry bones. The image of the valley of dry bones may well have come from an actual battle site of undetermined location. The fact that these bones were still there is significant, because bones had a special meaning in ancient Hebrew thought. The Hebrew word hetsem, repeated eight times in this passage, derives from a root meaning "to be powerful". Bones indicate stability and firmness. When bones were strong & firm, then the soul was also strong. Because bones were related like this to the soul in Hebrew culture, careful attention was given to the burial of bones. The fact that these were dry bones indicates that they had lain exposed long after death. The image accentuates the spiritual tragedy which had befallen Israel.
Then God asked Ezekiel, "Mortal, can these bones live?" Looking around at all the skeletons Ezekiel thought hard and said, "Ah, Lord, you know." Then God told him to start preaching to the bones, saying: "O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you & you shall live . . . And you shall know that I am the Lord."
Craig Barnes reminds us of how foolish Ezekiel must have felt standing in the middle of a pile of dead bones, telling them not to give up hope. If I was Ezekiel, I might have suggested that God first bring the bones back to life, and then I’ll do a little preaching. I’d say, "See what God can do?" I want the guarantee before I commit to a path. But that is not God’s way. God calls us to believe without seeing because God’s words always make room for hope. And hope is what brings us back to life when it rises up from our bones, and chooses to believe in spite of how things appear.
But hope is not a popular option among adults who have grown comfortable in their situation. Ezekiel’s vision was so powerful and imaginative – and so unlikely – that in strict Jewish circles, young people were not permitted to read it alone (Rev. John Shearman). Parents who had resigned themselves to the death of the dream that their own lives might once again become meaningful didn’t want their idealistic young people to get any ideas that they could change things. They might throw away their best opportunities for success in the real world. Often the adult part of us gives the same message to our inner child who still dares to dream of a more meaningful life. We deaden our longing for God by making our lives more comfortable.
The irony that has intensified in modern times is that even though life ceases to be meaningful we still seek to avoid death at all costs. The late British novelist Susan Ertz observed, “Millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon.” Ernest Becker taught us that the fear of dying is the mainspring of all human activity from our smallest efforts at survival to our loftiest cultural achievements. One writer gets even more specific: “we exercise, pay for medical plans, support cancer research, enforce seat belt laws & work in countless other ways to stave off dying… We reduce God to the role of personal bodyguard one day and house doctor the next. When God falls short at these responsibilities and someone dies too soon, we complain, sue or even fire this failed guardian.” (Frederic Niedner – Valparaiso)
Walter Breuggemann reminds us that the poor are great at hoping, while the middle and upper classes who are coping well in exile have such a hard time with hope. Those of us who are part of the latter group think we are doing well enough. Our only worry is that we will lose ground tomorrow. But when we turn against tomorrow, we turn our back on hope. That’s when the human spirit begins to wither away.
The poor recognize the valley of dry bones. Some of them live in places like Darfur where the bones can still be seen in their burned out villages. In our own land we still find the burial grounds of slaves and Native Americans. A modern Ezekiel might walk down streets in many neighborhoods, looking at foreclosure properties. The prophet might be transported by bus to the furthest corners of our state, where prisons keep getting built to assure that some folks’ bones are out of sight and far from home.
Ezekiel was writing to the faithful of his day who belonged to religious/government institutions that have always been good at developing death-dealing beliefs and policies. He was inviting them to rise up from those graves and receive the spirit God wanted to put in them. Today I wonder if Ezekiel is calling us to rise up from the grave of a dying denomination that is becoming more like the church of the Inquisition than the church reformed and always reforming. I also wonder what it means to hear Ezekiel as citizens of a nation whose government has been undermining our nation’s core values from within in order to protect those very values from threats from outside.
In a dark valley of death, with Israel lost in deep exile, God commands Ezekiel to speak words in the face of death. Ezekiel’s words offer a new creation story as they echo Genesis 2 – words we read on Ash Wednesday at the beginning of Lent – when God spoke life into being & blew breath, or spirit, into human lungs. When Ezekiel prophesies to the dead bones, he speaks words that are given to him; his breath & spittle cascaded over the valley of death, reconstituting the life and faith of Israel out of chaos through words.
In recent years I have learned through personal experience that spoken words have vibrations, which give them a power that goes beyond their meaning. The act of speaking them creates change and awakens life. Isn’t it true that our lives turn on a few words spoken at the right moment in the right circumstance: “I’m sorry,” “I love you,” “She has cancer,” “It’s a girl,” “May I come home?”
Words of faith have power when they are truly connected to life. Walk into a nursing home and say “eternal life.” Utter words of regret and forgiveness to two people in a failing marriage. Clasp hands with those in the hospital room and say the Lord’s Prayer. Touch the casket & speak the language of committal. Sing Amazing Grace at the cemetery. Wrap a child in your arms & say, “I love you.” Call an estranged friend, read scripture, preach a sermon & watch the bones of the body of Christ come together.
Ezekiel’s words made dry bones “shake, rattle and roll.” Maybe God talk always makes people squirm. God talk can lead to change, and change is frightening. I read a beautifully written editorial in the New York Times last Sunday about religion and change. Dana Jennings wrote, “Most people would rather gab about their Hummer, or their daughter’s drug problem, or ‘American Idol’ — anything but religion. If you start talking about God as one who’s started nibbling at eternity — like some lowly but holy mouse — there’s no lack of ‘educated’ folks who’ll look at you as if you’re cross-eyed and dangerous. But religions if nothing else are metaphors for how we choose to lead our lives, how we choose to defy the empty cultural whirlwind… We need words. But we must be careful here. We are adrift in galaxies of mere information, distracted by the relentless drone of the e-hive. When we’re honest we admit that we ache for the oxygen of understanding, which is always in short supply.” (Dana Jennings, NY Times, 030208)
Why does the church keep pouring out its little cup of water into the West Bank, Sudan and other desperate places of the world where hope has run dry? Why do we keep visiting the shut-ins and those in hospitals when we have no miracle drug to take away their pain? Why do we commit ourselves to the political process when there is so much cynicism and a malaise of despair in politics today? Why? Because God is not finished.
Ezekiel was urging the devastated nation of Israel to look beyond the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of their temple to a future that vindicates God’s justice and promises the restoration of Israel by God’s initiative: "Thus says the Lord, I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live!" You who gave up hope, who gave up dreaming, who have settled for a comfortably routine life of work, bills and dirty laundry; you who think your best years are behind you; you who think God has forgotten all about your little life: as we stand with Ezekiel we say to each other and to the world, ‘Arise! Arise from the heap of discarded dreams. Arise to discover that the Holy Spirit is breathing life back into you. Arise to live with magnificent hope! Because the world is dying for you to believe God is not done. (Craig Barnes)
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