3/29/20 “Can These Bones Live?” by Nancy E. Petty

Scripture: Ezekiel 37:1-14

Pictures and images often say what our words cannot express. Someone once said that photography is not for looking, it is for feeling. It is true. Pictures and images expose a wide spectrum of human emotions that are far too deep for words. A single picture can put us in touch with our deepest fear or our greatest love. Pictures and images are imprinted on our minds and in our souls in ways that words just aren’t. And every generation carries within them images that shape their lives and worldview, especially images during times of tragedy and death.

I promise this sermon is not going to end in darkness, but for just a moment, think with me of the significant pictures and images of death that have shaped America. Husbands, and sons, and eventually daughters, marching off to war—many never to return home. An American president assassinated on national TV. The images of the civil rights movement and the brutality of police and police dogs attaching people of color. Lynching’s and cross burnings. Oil spills causing devastation in our oceans and wildlife; pipe lines running through sacred and ancient burial grounds. Planes crashing into tall buildings. A father and his daughter clinging to one another lying face down in the Rio Grande trying to reach safety. Unarmed brown and black men lying face down in our streets shot dead. And now, this image of a grey ball with red triangle florets protruding from it—an image of isolation, destruction and death that will forever be imprinted on the world’s soul.

In this time of death, when people we love, and our safe and known routines and convenient structures are dying before our eyes, we already know something about death. We have stood by the bedside as our loved ones took their last breath. We have felt the sting of death as our dreams for ourselves and institutions have faded into a distance past. We know all too keenly that the ideals and morals that some of us thought guided our nation—things like compassion for the tired and poor and the right of every person to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness—have been discarded into the graveyard of greed and power, racism and inequality. Whether with persons or structures or worldviews, we already knew something about death. No matter how hard we have tried to sanitize it, hide it, or ignore it in our culture, our minds—consciously and unconsciously—bear the powerful and profound images of death. We don’t need words to speak of this truth. We have the pictures and images inside of us.

It seems that the prophet Ezekiel also knew something about death. His story and his vision give witness to this fact. It is a familiar story, even to the non-religious. Chances are you sang about Ezekiel’s vision in school before you heard about it at Sunday school. Ezekiel’s vision became an educational tool to teach young kids about the human anatomy. You know the song. Dem Bones, dem bones, them dry bones…the foot bone connected to the ankle bone, the ankle bone one connected to the leg bone, the leg connected to the knee bone..oh hear the word of the Lord. Those of us who grew up in the church, especially as children, have never forgotten this image. It’s the image that has caught our attention: this picture of a valley full of dry, lifeless bones. Indeed, it is an image and a story from our faith that is a vivid reminder of death. But it is also a story that reminds us of another, even more powerful, set of images; that powerful image of life rising up out of death.

This vision that Ezekiel had of the valley of dry bones dates to the period of Israel’s history known as the Babylonian exile. The strong armies of Babylon had invaded Jerusalem and its temple and deported many of the Judean leaders and others to Babylon. Young Ezekiel was one of those deported. For those deportees forced to live in exile, the future seemed like a black hole into which the people were destined to disappear. A century-and-a-half earlier, many citizens of Judah’s sister country, Israel, had been similarly deported, had lost their identity, and had faded into the shadows of history—the so-called lost tribes of Israel. Ezekiel knew that history and all the pictures and images that described it to him. He knew something of time in history when the prominent images of the day were of isolation and death. But his vision of a valley full of dry bones was not simply another historical moment, it was an image, a picture of a great spiritual awakening.

Spiritually and theologically, the prophet’s vision served as both a communal lament and a prophetic message of deliverance. First the people lamented. They cried out, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” Like Ezekiel’s people, we too, know something in these days about lamenting—pouring out our pain and fear and anxiety in song and prayer. I hear them daily, the laments. They are all over social media. How long will we have to hide in our homes from this invisible enemy? Where will it strike next? And whom? And what if…? Our souls are weary from the strain of the life-alternating unknowns. From fear-filled hearts and anxious minds, we plead with You, God of compassion and grace. On all who are unable to earn an income because their jobs have been suspended, Lord have mercy. On those who have the virus, Lord have mercy. On those who have died from the virus and for their families, Lord have mercy. We are learning in this time, more deeply maybe than ever before, how to lament. Just this week, we looked upon that profound and haunting image of the Pope, standing all alone, lamenting in that vast sacred arena of St. Peter’s square where thousands upon thousands of people usually gather to hear his message. It is an image that will stay with me for years to come.

So the question comes, in the midst of this death and lamenting, “Can these bones live?” In Ezekiel’s vision, God asks, “Can these dried up, lifeless bones live again?” Ezekiel wasn’t too quick to answer. He passed the baton back to God. “God, you know.” Then God said to Ezekiel, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones hear the word of the Lord.” So the prophet did what God asked and in this vision something unimaginable happened. You don’t need the words, you know the image, the picture is already in your mind. The noise that came first, the rattling of the bones. The dry bones coming together, bone to bone. Then sinews and flesh appear in the image. Dry bones making noise, rattling around on the ground. But no life. In E’s vision there was no life in the bones. But then Ezekiel heard: “Prophesy to the breath 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, a vast multitude.” Oh, there it is. That’s the image we long for, the image of hope: Life rising up out of dry, lifeless bones. The prophetic message of deliverance. 

In this historical moment as we look across the entire landscape of the known world, our valley of dry bones is that image of a grey ball with red triangle florets protruding from it. And to the question, “Can our world live again?” my answer, my hope comes with a word of caution. If we simply want things to go back to the way they were—a world making noise and rattling around with lifeless people and structures and worldviews – then I think we will be like those bones that came back together mechanically, structurally, but with no breath and no life, and that gives me less hope for the future of our world whenever we begin to emerge from this pandemic. However, if we are willing to prophesy to the breath of life, then I am filled with hope.

Life requires breath and breathing—a physical and spiritual breathing that is not separate—the kind of deep breathing that pumps life throughout the whole body of humanity and all of creation. It leaves no one or no thing in all of creation out of breath or even short of breath. It is the kind of breath and breathing that our spiritual ancestors knew of—the breath of God, the breath of the living, creating God. The breath that the hymn writer knew of when he wrote: 

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I my love what thou dost love, and do what thou wouldst do.

Our spiritual ancestors called it the Yhwh Prayer. I learned of this Yhwh—breath—prayer from a friend who pointed me to the teaching from Richard Rohr. Rohr explained that some years ago he was at a conference between scientists and religious people. On the second day, the lecture was given by a scientist who also happened to be a Jewish Rabbi. Rohr recalls that this scientist/rabbi said to those listening, you know you Christians never understood the meaning of the commandment: Do not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain as it was translated in the King James Version. He said for some strange reason you seem to have thought it meant that you were not to cuss in God’s name. But that doesn’t come near to the meaning of the commandment. It’s not about cursing or not cursing. He went on to say: Any use of the sacred name Yhwh was in vain. To speak it was vanity. Because when you say it you think you know what you are talking about. And it is always this mystery that leaves you to fall into an abyss of wonder and awe. That commandment meant that in your lifetime you were never supposed to speak with your lips or your mouth the sacred name Yhwh. The rabbi continued: That’s why when we write it we only write the consonants. Your eye automatically fills in the appropriate vowels. Then this rabbi said, Did you know that to correctly pronounce the consonants that spell the sacred name does not allow you, if properly pronounced, to close your lips or use your tongue? In fact, do you realize the sacred name could not be spoken because it can only be breathed? In fact, it is the attempt to imitate the sound of inhalation and exhalation. Yh—wh. This breathing, breathing conscious to the sacred mystery, this is the breath of life. It is the same breath that Ezekiel called from the four winds to bring those bones back to life.

The breath, that is both physical and spiritual, that is the message of deliverance and why Ezekiel’s call to prophesy to the breath is such an important message for us to hear right now. 

Even before COVID-19, we had become accustomed in our world to taking short, shallow breaths. Breaths that we can get in 5 second sound bites. Breaths can we can get on the go while we rush to the next thing. Breaths that come in emails and text messages and Facebook posts and 2-minute read blog entries. Breaths that keep us breathless and ungrounded. Maybe it is no coincidence that our current pandemic attacks the respiratory system. Maybe this virus is revealing to us the dry bones that need to live. 

I know everybody wants to hear a hopeful word, and I think I have one today, but first, we need not to pass too quickly over the death and loss and grief of this moment. It is part of the process. That is what the vision teaches us. We first must see the dry bones. We must experience the chill in our own bones that comes from seeing the barren valley, the abandoned streets, the empty sanctuary. The dry bones, and the death they confront us with, are the very things from which new life will begin to take its new form if we risk living into new life. Grieve for what is lost, and for those left who will suffer separation from their loved ones. Bear witness. Not in fear, but in solidarity.

And with our grief, our pain, our compassion, we will need and I believe we will find a new kind of breath. A deeper and slower breath. Not the short, shallow breaths we have been living off of. But the rich, deep, life-giving breath of God. 

First, though, we have to prophesy to the bones, to call them to hear the voice of God. I think of this step of the bones reassembling as the reassembling of the systems and structures of our world. Maybe, just maybe, this pandemic is a moment to really, deeply rethink who our neighbor is! Maybe, just maybe, out of this pandemic comes a moment when we can finally achieve health care for every body in our nation! Maybe, just maybe, out of this pandemic comes a living wage so that people can prepare for tragedies. Maybe, just maybe, out of this pandemic comes a heart for the earth that will pry us away from the addictions we feed with more and more and more energy and stuff. Dear God, may it be so!

But the real work in making these dry bones live again will be to prophesy to the breath. Obviously we would never have wished for these circumstances. We pray for healing, for a vaccine, for safety for us, for our families, for our health care workers, for our neighbors. And yet. And yet. Might these very circumstances be opening our ears to hear and our eyes to see what we have sacrificed to the golden altar of progress and prosperity? Without ever consciously choosing, we have quickened our own pace, and shortened our own breath, just to keep up with the hamster in front of us. Until it all stopped! We never thought it could happen, but it did. The rat race actually stopped. And while we have plenty to worry about, we also have the choice to slow down, and to breathe. 

In the past week I have found myself talking to neighbors that I knew only in passing as we both hustled into our cars. I have found myself in the yard, just in time to see pink tulips emerge in front of our house. I have taken longer, slower paced walks. I have found myself cooking more and eating more slowly. I have found myself in silence, in the profound embrace of the divine that is everywhere and nowhere. And I have found myself breathing again.

My wish for you this week, Pullen family, is to breath. Breathe deeply, breathe intentionally, breathe consciously. Breathe with no purpose other than to breathe deeply. Breathe without the phone in your hand. Breathe without the computer in front of you. Breathe without looking at the next social media post that causes you more short, shallow fear and anxiety breaths. And with those breaths, become aware of where you feel alive in this time of death. Become aware of where you feel gratitude in this time of sorrow. Become aware of where you have opportunity in this time of deprivation. 

Each day we must choose to prophesy to the breath of God, for only then can these dry bones live. And as you take these deep breaths, think of this. Yhwh is the first word you speak when you enter this world. And it will be the last word you speak when you leave this world. God in your coming in and God in your going out. In these times, may we heed the call of Ezekiel and prophesy to the breath that gives life. May it be so! 

For the next minute, I invite us, together, to breathe the Yhwh prayer—feeling the connection that transcends physical presence.