Dear friends,
I hadn’t realized, or had forgotten somewhere along the way, that there is an alternate First Reading for the Day of Pentecost. This year, I needed that reading from Ezekiel, and I pray that it will inspire you as well.
You may view today’s worship service in its entirety here:
You may listen to today’s sermon here. It’s in two parts, because apparently I got a bit carried away by the Spirit!
Today’s sermon is based on Ezekiel 37:1-14.
1The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. 3He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” 4Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. 5Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. 6I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the Lord.”
7So I prophesied as I had been commanded; and as I prophesied, suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. 8I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them. 9Then he said to me, “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.” 10I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.
11Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’12Therefore prophesy, and say to them, Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people; and I will bring you back to the land of Israel. 13And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. 14I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”
Beloved of God, grace and peace to you in the name of Jesus. Amen.
It’s field trip time for the prophet, Ezekiel. God’s got something to show him, something out there.
The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord.
Out from where isn’t entirely clear. All we know is that this seeing that God is calling forth in Ezekiel requires a movement out—out and away, perhaps, from what is known and what is expected; out and away, perhaps, from Ezekiel’s own limited view and understanding; out to a new scene that will lead to a new vision.
For thirty-some chapters, the word of the Lord has been coming to Ezekiel. But now it’s the hand of the Lord that comes to bring Ezekiel out and set him down in the middle of a valley full of bones.
This field trip, it turns out, is not a pack your sack lunch and enjoy the day off from school kind of outing. Nor is it a mountaintop experience—a view from the peak, breathtaking and inspiring. This is a field trip into the trenches, where no breath remains. It’s a field trip into a valley, hemmed in on either side, and filled with bones. They couldn’t be ignored or remain unseen even if Ezekiel wanted to look away, because God is the one organizing this field trip and God leads Ezekiel all around these bones.
The prophet sees those dry bones from every angle; sees where they’re piled on top of one another, layer upon layer of defeat and hopelessness; sees where they’re scattered like driftwood on the beach, but there is no water here. Ezekiel sees the bones—all of them—and he sees that they are very dry. There is nothing resembling life here.
The death cannot be denied–the loss, the magnitude of the grief, the hopelessness, the lack. The prophet is led by God to see what is out there, beyond the safety of the classroom and the sanctuary; what is out there in a world at war with itself; what is out there in the real lives of real people—exiles—who can’t put food on the table for their children, who can’t afford their prescriptions, who can’t access mental health providers, who have come to fear life more than death. Real lives of real people who are in exile—so far away from anything resembling home, miles and miles from a settled rest, from unconditional love, from the ability to imagine a future beyond the day to day, moment by moment struggle.
God brings Ezekiel out so he can see all these bones, very dry bones, a hopeless world of bones.
Mortal, God asks, can these bones live?
I’ve shown you. I’ve led you to see. I’ve called you here. Now, you tell me. Can these bones live? Or is there no hope?
Will there be a post-pandemic church? Will there be lasting peace? Will there be bipartisan work? Will there be racial justice? Is there hope? Can these bones live?
Ezekiel doesn’t say yes. Nor does he say no. His response is the epitome of faithfulness and the only response any of us can ever make with honesty and integrity. O Lord God, you know.
What happens when we don’t pretend to know the answers to the questions that consume us? What happens when we acknowledge that only God knows the future of dry bones everywhere?
Ezekiel doesn’t say yes or no. Nor does he answer more than what is asked. He doesn’t launch into his own ideas about what might be done, how these bones might be disposed of, cleaned up, hidden out of sight to make that valley more presentable. He doesn’t rely on his own understanding; he doesn’t start describing a plan to resurrect those bones and then call on God to bless his plan.
He places his trust in God. O Lord God, you know. And God calls him to act for the sake of life.
Prophecy to these bones and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live. You shall live.
Can these bones live? Yes.
The prophet doesn’t answer the question about whether or not there is hope for these dry bones. God answers the question and empowers the prophet to speak a word of life.
As Ezekiel prophesied, as he spoke the word of God, those bones came together, breath came into them, and they lived. They stood on their feet, a vast multitude.
Nadia Bolz-Weber has launched a podcast entitled, The Confessional. She welcomes her guests to talk about those moments in their lives that they are least proud of and those stories become what Nadia describes as roadmaps to freedom from our own shame. After each person has told their story, Nadia responds with an original blessing just for them—a word of forgiveness, a word of hope, a word that sounds an awful lot to me like the word God asked Ezekiel to prophecy to those dry bones: You shall live. I will bring you up from your graves, O my people.
In an interview with Dr. Raymond Christian, a retired US Army paratrooper who was carrying terrible grief and regret for how he failed one of the soldiers in his command, this was the blessing Nadia offered: Ray, you are forgiven for being an unprepared kid in an unwinnable situation. It was your mistake but it wasn’t your fault. May you be liberated from the weight of this story. May you watch it tumble down the cliff and disappear into the soft fog of mercy which none of us deserve but all of us need.
Can these bones live? Yes, because there is a God whose answer is life, is love, is breath, is yes.
You will stand on your feet. I will put my spirit within you. You will live.
When all hope is lost, when you are cut off completely, when there is no future to be seen, when the world appears beyond repair, when you are languishing, when it has all been too much—a field trip gone amuck and revealing far more than you ever wanted to see, you will live.
This is God’s word for us on this Pentecost Day. And this is the word of God we are called to share every day.
You will live.
You are forgiven. You are blessed. You are loved with a love that will never let you go, never give up, never leave you, never forsake you.
God knows the grave is not your home.
You will live.
You will step into the confessional and share your dusty story and it will be met with grace. You will be met with grace.
On that day when you can see only dry bones everywhere, you will drive down Water Street and look to your left and see a group of veterans in uniform, standing outside the VFW, and your dusty spirit will marvel at their service and at the labor of their love.
You will arrive home after a dry, angry day and you will notice for the first time that the bush you had considered cutting down is actually a lilac. Its newly formed blooms will clear the dust from your senses and restore your hope.
You’ll sit down to a meal with your family and see through the dust to what this gathering actually is—nothing short of a miracle.
You’ll watch your graduate walk across the stage and through your dusty tears you will see a lifetime of joy in their confident smile.
You’ll follow Jesus into places you never could have imagined going; you will see the valley of dry bones that is this dusty, weary world; you will see from every angle as God leads you; and your sorrow will make way for the Spirit; and you will prophesy. You will speak the truth.
The prophet, the disciple, the follower of Jesus today, you and me—it’s not up to us to know what is possible. It’s not up to us to somehow render a verdict on whether or not what we’ve seen can be redeemed. God has rendered the verdict. God knows. So, let it be through us that the joining-together, breath-filling, life-giving, up-from-the-grave-bringing Word of God is spoken in every language, in every time, in every place.
You will live.
Amen.
Listen to The Confessional with Nadia Bolz-Weber here:
Ah Stacey, I needed this word today. Just, thank you. I’m going to smell my lilacs, give thanks for my family, reach out to a friend, weed in flower beds, love my hubby, be present, and shake off the dust & breathe thanks. Kris
Beautiful intentions, Kris. Peace…