Ezekiel 37:1-14
; John
11:1-45
As the
season of Lent comes to a close and the promise of spring lingers in the air,
we find ourselves in the wilderness of memories long ago. Throughout this
Lenten journey we have asked ourselves to delve into our past...take a look,
deal with what needs to be dealt with, and move onward into the present and
dream dreams of the future. We look around us and it isn't too difficult to see
the dry bones of past failures, relationships gone sour, and hopes dashed to
the ground with good intentions sprinkled all around the sands of time. In
seeing these bones of the past, we shudder at what could have been, what once
was and we ask the question: "Can these bones live?" .
The question startles us, and we
may even wonder where it came from. We don't answer because we don't see
anyone to answer to, but slowly, eerily we feel the urge to speak to the
bones, to tell them something. Then we pause and think to ourselves,
"This is silly.
Bones
don't hear anything." Yet, the word is clear, "prophecy to these
bones."
Many
people, including we who sit in this place of worship today, have lives
filled with bones, dry bones. These bones stand in silent mockery of life. We
want to scream and shout to them, or holler in anger, maybe cry out in
despair, or even root them on into a new life, if that is possible. But the
reality scares us and reason blocks our inner urge to prophecy. And with this
we back away and let the bones rest in dust, ever haunting us, never knowing
if our prophecy would have done any good. We are exiles in our own wasteland
soul.
But some listen to the voice and
then, when nobody is looking, they try their hand at prophecy. Amazingly
enough, the bones in their souls begin to stir and connect. The individual
can see the old lives resurrect into new relationships, the old desires turn
into new dreams, failures into lesson learned. The bones take shape and soon
stand before the person. "Ah, finally, they can walk out of my life and
leave me alone," one sighs. Yet, they remain right there in front of us,
bodies that have shape but bodies that remain immobile, lacking that one
essential ingredient that could make them come fully alive. This happens
because some are just content with the basics of faith, just seeing that they
can do this little bit of God's work. There is success here, but no spirit.
This is a problem with our world
today. Many are successful in dealing with the past. We can name our abusers,
cry out in pain, or just acknowledge that things could have been different.
Once we do so, we just forget the matter, "mistakenly thinking we have
finished the business at hand. Our bones have bodies, but they lack the
spirit of life in them.
Others, though, realize that these
old bodies are listless without the spirit of life in them. So their prophecy
continues. "Come four winds, come breath of life." they call out,
oblivious to any who may pass by in wonder. These people are not scared of
the spirit like others in our day. They are not ashamed of what might happen
if the spirit should suddenly fill their, or other
souls. They call out and watch in faith as the bones of their deserts not
only fill out in shape but also fill up with air and begin to
breathe. "There, that should do it," they think.
But the bodies of the past, though
animate and muscled, still linger in the desert of our souls. As long as they
clutter our spiritual closets, we're loaded down with excess baggage, baggage
that collects dust and bogs us down on our life's journey. "What more do
the bones of my past need," we exclaim in disgust. These bodies need
homes. Like the Israelites in Ezekiel's day, they long for their real home.
They long for the fellowship of friends, family, familiar or even new
surroundings.
As long as we keep old
relationships stashed in our cluttered souls they will always imprison their
real counterparts and keep them from having a new life. As long as we refuse
to leave the crowded house of despair, we will never experience the joy of
celebrating life with God in God's house. As long as we visit old memories in
the dank basements of our past, we will never have the joy of experiencing a
new place of fresh beginnings.
Home is
what is needed. We all need homes for our spirited bodies. Our past needs a
home. Our failures need homes, rather than a wasteland to litter. Our
memories need a home too, lest they tend to wander about like vagabonds,
taking up where they are not wanted.
Look about
you today. What do you see? Is your life filled with bones? "Prophecy to
these bones", the Scripture tells us today. "But can these bones
live?" we ask in disbelief. "Prophecy to these bones", comes the answer. "Prophecy to
these bones."
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