Breath and dry bones
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
March 26, 2023—Lent 5A
Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45
On this last Sunday before the drama of Holy Week begins, we already stand squarely on the ground of brokenness, grief, death and despair. The Passion, after all, does not take place in a vacuum; it is not simply the heroic story of a suffering God. It is rooted here at the tomb of someone’s brother, in a story soaked with tears and anger. And it rises from a field of bones, the remains of a people who can scarcely believe that they might ever live again.
“If you had been here, my brother would not have died” … “Son of Man, can these bones live?” These voices are ripped from our souls, from the pain and loss of our lives that could not possibly abide some pretty story about resurrection that would put the lie to our experience. There ARE dry bones. There are stinking corpses. There is anger and despair and pain, and any story about redemption had better acknowledge that, right here and now!
There is. There are stories of pain in this room with us right now. Fresh pain, only a few days from the tomb, and old bones, cracking underfoot. They are real. They matter. And every last one of them is waiting for God to come along to draw them out from death, breathing new life.
Because the answer is yes: these bones CAN live. Even Ezekiel’s bones, that are the bones of a people slaughtered by invaders … bones that are the bones of a people crushed by the despair of exile … they can stagger back to their feet. They can be brought back to life and hope and promise.
Of course, it won’t be pretty. Even at the climax of the story, it’s still just a crowd of barely animated skeletons (or, on the part of Lazarus, a very dubious dinner guest, still dressed in rags from the tomb). Remember, this is the real stuff, not the fairy tale. As Margaret Odell from Working Preacher puts it, “Resurrection is not … the perfect promise of a newborn baby, but … life forged from death; even the risen Jesus still bore his scars.”[1]
It’s the kind of miracle that still has the creak of old bones to it. A miracle with no aura of airbrushed perfection.
And maybe it could just about happen, if you allow God to do the part that you cannot do: let Him pull you to your feet, let Her call you out of the tomb. After all, you can’t do it. You’ve tried, I know. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve tried to will yourself back to life; tried to make yourself forgive, or move on, or get started, or stop hurting. You’ve tried, and you can’t. You’re sinking in despair. You’re afraid you might actually be dead.
It’s okay.
Stop struggling, and hear the voice of God that promises you will live again. Maybe not today (sometimes exile is long), but for sure. Put yourself in the hands of God, and you will be knit back together. You can’t do it, but God can. God can reassemble your pieces in some new form.
That’s step 1: You, almost looking and feeling human again. This is, in itself, a miracle. But in both of our stories today, it’s clear that you need something more.
In the story of Lazarus, it is the assistance of the community, who gather around him and unbind him, freeing him from the fetters of death that still hang from his body and soul. Jesus calls him out of the tomb, but his friends and family have a role to play in truly bringing him back to life.
We know this. We have lived this, or we are living this, or we will live this at some point in the future: we need each other. We need people to hold our shattered pieces together … to be patient and gentle and strong … to bring us water and soup and maybe bourbon … to care for us as we learn to walk around among the living again. The community—us, you and me—has a crucial part to play in the miracle of raising someone from the dead!
Ezekiel comes at it from a slightly different angle. Here, the physical bones are brought back together, and flesh and sinew laid upon them. They are then bound together with skin, and yet still they do not live. It is only when they are filled with the breath of God, the spirit of God, the life-giving wind and power of God, that they truly come to life.
So here’s the thing: you might feel as though you are a lifeless pile of dried up bones. In fact, you might well be that, if left to your own devices. But the power of God is only a breath away.[2]
It always is, no matter what state we are in. We don’t have to be dead, or mostly dead, to have the spirit of God blow through our lives to revive us. It’s always there. We just need to remember. We just need to be reminded:
The Spirit of God, the power, the ruach of God that moved over the surface of the waters at Creation: that Spirit is moving over the surface of your life, right now. The breath of God that breathed life into those first creatures of mud and flesh and bone: that breath still flows around and through your body. You are filled with the spirit of God; you are breathing the spirit of God. It is the energy that gives life to the universe, and it’s in you: from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and fingertips. Breathe it in, feel it move through you. In and out. The breath of God. The breath of God. The breath of God.
Do it for a minute. Get comfortable. Put your feet flat on the floor, and sit up as straight as your body allows. This helps your spinal column (the core of your nervous system, center of all of the body’s physical and spiritual systems) get in alignment.
Now, remember all that Jesus ever promised about the way that we can live in God and God will live in us. Remember that God can breathe God’s power and love into and through us. Remember that God’s breath is spirit and life; that it renews you, and through you, it will renew the world. And then, breathe. (minute of breathing)
Prophesy to the breath. Remember the breath. It is always there, to remind you of the presence of God. To place you, gently, into the hands of God, who will bring you back to life. Breathe in, breathe out the breath of God, and live. May it be so, Amen.
[1] Margaret Odell, blog post for Lent 5A, 2014, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2070
[2] ibid