The 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. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, “Mortal, can these bones live?” (Ezekiel 37:1-3a)
As I prepared for several final speaking engagements as co-moderator of the 225th General Assembly, I was invited to consider the question presented to the prophet Ezekiel as he is transported to the valley of dry bones – “can these bones live?” I found myself thinking about the image of scattered bones that once carried life and movement. I considered the lives they represented – the hopes that now appeared lifeless with no connection. I realize that in many ways, this is the question for our contemporary church as we wrestle with our identity for a time such as this. From the ancient land of Babylon, the Ezekiel question echoes across centuries and cultures, to us today – People of Faith – Mortals – Can these bones live?
Obviously the bones could represent many things – spiritually and/or physically. That’s what makes for interesting sermons. But I wonder if the dry scattered bones represent the current malaise impacting much of the mainline denominations across our country. On the one hand, we want to boldly lean into the unknown wilderness season before us, trusting that God is with us. On the other hand, we are tempted to hold on white-knuckled to programs and a way of being church that is no longer sustainable, relevant or perhaps even no longer faithful.
Could it be that we are contemporary embodiments of Ezekiel – challenged by God to see beyond the death and despair that is prevalent in our world? Could it be that we are being reminded that we are not to surrender to the narrative of scarcity and lifelessness that tempts us as a people of faith to believe we are not enough – holding on to the laments that have us believing what we have and who we are is not enough.
To be clear, Ezekiel had a lot to despair about. He was part of the Babylonian-imposed diaspora – a people forced to leave all they loved behind as prisoners of the Babylonian empire. They were a people whose identity had been compromised or diluted by the realities and values of the new world around them. They were a people who wondered if they had been abandoned by their God. They were a people who were likely exhausted by the challenges imposed on them from outside and within. And who could blame them – it is hard to claim hope when that hope is defined by other forces.
Like Ezekiel, we too find ourselves in the midst of a world in despair – a world where war and violence; questionable truths; hyperbole; the language of hate flood our senses, overwhelming us in ways that do not allow us to see the resurrection possibilities around us. In many ways we too find ourselves displaced – living in this world with values of the Gospel that directly clash with prevalent and popular thoughts on power and a nationalism that breeds separation.
And yet, there is hope found in this valley of dry bones. Ezekiel reminds us to reclaim our theological imaginations. As we join him on the edge of that valley, we are reminded that there is a force far bigger that any of us. We are reminded that the God of creation can and will bring forth new life in the deepest places of despair. And we are challenged to believe that by calling upon that powerful spirit from the four corners of the earth, we can be participants in God’s transforming power – as individuals and as communities of faith.
As we lean into the summer season, may we use this time to reflect and reclaim that profound belief that together with one another and with God, we can experience new life. Mortals can these bones life? And “…suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone…”
