Two
Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday March 22, 2026 – 5th Sunday in Lent
Scripture: Ezekiel 37:1-14
I have a core memory of this story from Ezekiel, from my time at the Atlantic
School of Theology. My former classmate,
David, is a drummer, and he brought a selection of hand drums and other
percussion instruments to the chapel, and as the story was read, he used them
to create a soundscape. As the dry,
desiccated bones began to shift around, and be connected one to another, the
hollow rattling of the drum made it sound as though we were there, watching it
happening alongside Ezekiel. It still
gives me goosebumps to remember how it sounded.
Now Ezekiel was a prophet from a time of exile.
The Babylonian army had laid siege to the city of Jerusalem, and
eventually both the city and the country of Judah fell. Lives were lost. Families were torn apart. Houses were destroyed. Even the temple, the home of God, was reduced
to rubble. And then all of the leaders –
anyone who was anyone in ancient Judah – was carried off to exile in
Babylon. And this was the place and the
time where Ezekiel was a prophet.
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the people in exile felt like they were old
dry bones, thrown away into the pit of a valley. Everything that had given their lives any
meaning was gone. They were grieving the loss of their homes. They were grieving the loss of their family
members and friends. They were grieving
the loss of their old, familiar routines.
They were grieving the loss of their God, for the very home of God had
been destroyed and they had been carried away into a land where foreign gods
were in charge.
When I think of this time of early exile, I think of Psalm 137:
By the rivers of Babylon –
there we sat down and there we
wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of
Zion!”
How could we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?
It is no wonder that the people felt as dried up as dust, their flesh wasted
away, their bones come out of joint, no marrow left in them. They didn’t just
feel dead and lifeless – they felt dead-dead, so that there wasn’t even a hint
of life left, and definitely no future for them.
And into this time and place of death and despair, God tells the prophet
Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones. And
with a hollow rattle, the bones begin to move.
More rattling and the bones begin to join together, joints forming where
the humerus meets the ulna and where the femur meets the tibia. More rattling, and then the rattling stops,
as muscle and skin begin to form, flesh covering the bones that were.
And then God tells the prophet Ezekiel to prophesy to the breath. And Ezekiel calls to the four corners of
creation, and the wind, the breath, the spirit the ruach of God comes
rushing in, filling the flesh-covered skeletons, and once again there is
life. The same breath of God that
brought life to the first human made of dirt has brought the dry bones back to
life.
And with this vision of new life, the people of God have been freed to dream of
a future. They are now free to imagine a
future for themselves and for their children and for their grandchildren. No longer are they marrow-less bones disposed
of in a dry valley somewhere in exile – now they are vital, vibrant, joy-filled
people filled with the breath of God.
It is such a powerful image of transformation.
I wonder what the people began to dream of, there in Babylon? Did they dream of settling in to exile, of
building homes and gardens, of weddings and new families? For all of this took place in the generations
spent in Babylon. Or did they dream even
bigger, dreaming of a time when their descendants would return to Jerusalem and
rebuild the city and the temple? Because
even though the exile would last for three generations, a time would come when
their descendants would return, and the rebuilding and restoration would
happen.
Now what about for us? How can we hear
this vision of Ezekiel and take it in to our hearts? In what places in your life to you relate to
the dried-up old bones at the start of the story?
Are you carrying grief in your heart right now – grief over the loss of a loved
one; grief over the loss of a relationship; grief over the loss of health;
grief over the loss of independence. In
what places does it feel like your life is over, and there is no hope for the
future?
But in to your personal valley of dried bones, the breath of God comes singing
in. God is a God of new beginnings and
new life; and even when it feels like there can be no future for you, the
breath of God only needs to turn the page, and a whole new chapter is waiting
there for you to explore.
And what about the state of the world?
There is so much turmoil and disruption going on right now, from wars to
inflation to homelessness to political instability on a global scale. In some places, we seem to be moving
backwards, losing progress that has been made on care for creation, on care for
immigrants and refugees, on care for our trans and queer siblings. Sometimes it feels as though we are slipping
in to chaos, and will never be able to take a deep beath again.
But in to the valley of dried bones that is the world right now, the breath of
God comes singing in. For God is a God
of new beginnings and new life; and even when it feels like there is no future
for the world that doesn’t involve further destruction and despair, the breath
of God can blow away the chaos and breathe new life and love and hope.
This winter, I’ve also been running up against despair for the future of our
church – fear that we are entering our valley of the dried bones stage of our
existence. I’ve been running up against
an inability to imagine a future for the church that is both lively and
life-giving.
But into the valley of dried bones that some see the church lying in, the
breath of God comes singing in. The
breath of God won’t blow us back to the church that was 10 years ago or 50
years ago, but will instead blow us into a future that we can dare to dream of
– a future of rainbow-coloured beauty, a future of vibrancy and love, a future
that is brought to life by the spirit-breath of God.
So Church – dearest, beloved Church – today, I hear a call to all of us from
Ezekiel, calling us to prophesy to the Breath, prophesy to the Spirit, prophesy
to the ruach. Let’s all of us
call on the life-giving Breath of God to flood into our lives, giving life to
our dry bones. Let’s all of us call on
the life-giving Breath of God to flood into the world, giving life to all of
the places of dry bones. And let’s all
of us call on the life-giving Breath of God to flood into our churches,
restoring our imaginations so that we can dream the future in to being.
For if the Breath of God can bring life back to those hollow old bones, just
think of what the Breath of God can do with all of us, who are already living!
“Life After Death”
by Willy Verhulst
on flickr
Used with Permission
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