The Fifth Sunday of Lent, 26 March 2023
Austwick, Clapham, Keasden
He said to me, 'Mortal, can these bones live?' I answered, 'O Lord God, you know.’
How astonishing, Ezekiel's wonderful vision of the valley of the dry bones, dead in the desert, the flesh of God slowly covering them, the breath of God slowly entering them, the Spirit of God bringing them springing and dancing to bold new life: an army reborn, a glorious vision of God’s people reborn. It's a remarkable passage of scripture, carrying at the heart of it this wonderfully suggestive question: can these bones live? What power that question holds for our world today.
Imagine for a moment that you can see God compassionately viewing all the peoples in our world withered by want of life’s essentials, food, shelter, support; and listen closely, as you hear God asking you, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’
Imagine that you're watching God looking with concern on all those reduced to cowering shadows of who they are created to be, by war, disaster, violence and abuse; and open your ears to the question God puts to you, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’
In your mind's eye witness God kind-heartedly seeing all those who are grievously shrivelled by the lack of anybody’s love or respect, or any sense of belonging; and listen to God addressing you, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’ [2]
Can God breathe new life into a devastated people? It's a question which connects the struggling societies of today with Ezekiel's people, the Israelites deported to Babylon in the year 597BC. That year the Babylonians took Israel's land, which had been God's gift to them; they smashed Israel's temple, the sign of God's presence with them; and they exiled Israel's king, Zedekiah, and executed his sons, ending the monarchy which traced its line all the way back to David, and trashing the promise that there would always be a king of his line on Israel's throne. ‘The fall and destruction of Jerusalem was a catastrophe for Israel for, in that experience, they lost those things which were the basis of their religion and their existence as a people.’ [3]
It was a sort of communal death for them, cut off completely from all which had defined them and sustained them; they were a people whose bones had dried up. Can these bones live? - no wonder that question was in Ezekiel's mind, as he considered the wilderness his people were in, and as he, with them, yearned for the dry bones to live again.
But the remarkable thing about the question Can these bones live? is that it’s not a question which Ezekiel asked God. It's a question which God asked Ezekiel. Surveying the scene of dereliction and loss in the valley of dry bones, it is God who gives voice to the question which is in Ezekiel’s heart. Can these bones live? God has seen the people's loss, heard their heart's cries, and longs to help them. He's asking Ezekiel to provide the answer.
All God needs is for Ezekiel to respond, and he can then set in motion the events which help, heal, restore, resurrect, the dry bones before them. Ezekiel seems a little lost for words at this point, maybe a little lost for faith, but eventually a brief and halting speech emerges from his mouth.
He said to me, 'Mortal, can these bones live?' I answered, 'O Lord God, you know.’
That brief exchange was all God needed to begin the work of breathing new life into the bones before them. Ezekiel’s meagre and tentative expression of faith was sufficient for God to be able to use him as the agent of this astonishing transformation.
It’s wonderful that God chose Ezekiel, an exile lamenting his people’s demise, a man who had just about enough faith to recognise that, if anyone could breathe new life into them and restore them, the Spirit of God was the one who could do it.
God choosing Ezekiel was just like God choosing Martha and Mary to trigger the course of events which led to Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Grieving their brother’s sudden death you could imagine them being consumed by the question, ‘Can these bones live?’ Both Martha and Mary told Jesus, 'Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ And responding tearfully to their loss, Jesus brought their brother back from the dead. At his command the Spirit moved. Breath re-entered his body. The bones of Lazarus took flesh, breathed, rose, and walked again.
The story of Lazarus in the tomb and the story of Ezekiel in the valley of the dry bones teach us this wondrous lesson: that in situations of devastating loss and despair God cries for us and with us; that indeed God is the first to give voice to our suffering and to ask the fundamental question necessary to initiate our renewal. We learn that if we respond by placing our faith in him, our very trust releases his Spirit to revive, resurrect, and restore.
'Mortal, can these bones live?' Do we believe that that question has currency today? Can we picture God as one who is in each moment asking that very question of people whose suffering he sees, whose pain he feels, and towards whom he yearns to release his life-giving Spirit so that they can rise up and live again?
The fundamental question that God asks of us is that we join with him in changing the world - to make it a little simpler for people to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as God intended them to do. And, by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, the poor, of the destitute - for the rights of the worthy and the unworthy poor - we can, to a certain extent, change the world. We can work with God for the oasis, the little cell of joy and peace in a harried world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever widening circle will reach around the world. There is nothing we can do but love, and so may our dear God enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbour, to love our enemy as our friend. [4]
To Martha and Mary, God healed the hurt in their hearts at the loss of their loved one, and secured a new beginning for them and Lazarus their kin. What a hopeful message this is to anyone bereaved, whose heart is so hurting, just now, that they cannot see a future for themselves.
To Ezekiel, God offered an astonishing vision of the restoration of a whole society. What a powerful message this is to the faithless, broken, angry peoples of our day, that unity, community is still possible and will come, through those who rise up to make it happen.
From Martha and Mary to all the bereaved; from the Israelites in exile to all of today’s uprooted peoples, this is God’s pregnant promise: ‘O my people. I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live ... then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.’
Notes
[1] A rewrite of my sermon Can these bones live? preached in Devon, 2011, which in turn extracted from my earlier sermon, Ezekiel: voice of the exile, Croxteth, 2008
[2] This section is structured by my use of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. ‘Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is a motivational theory in psychology comprising a five-tier model of human needs, often depicted as hierarchical levels within a pyramid. From the bottom of the hierarchy upwards, the needs are: physiological (food and clothing), safety (job security), love and belonging needs (friendship), esteem, and self-actualization.’ Saul Mcleod, Maslow’s Hierarchy Of Needs Theory. Simply Psychology, updated10 March 2023.
[3] Charles R. Biggs, Book of Ezekiel; Epworth Commentary, xii.
[4] My paraphrase of Dorothy Day, Love is the Measure. Originally published in The Catholic Worker, June 1946, reproduced in The Catholic Worker, 5 February, 2022.
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