Can
these bones live?
Texts: Ezekiel 37.1-14; Psalm
130; Romans 8.6-11; John 11.1-45
As Ellie Wiesel and his companions watched, the German guards led a
young boy to the gallows. He was well-known to them all. A
sprightly lad with a quick sense of humour. His presence had done
much for their flagging spirits of late. But now their humour was
gone altogether, and a sickness of heart gripped the whole
company. The boy had stolen a loaf of bread. He was to
executed for his trouble, and the whole population of the Auschwitz
camp was being forced to watch. As the noose was placed about the
boy's neck, Ellie heard a whispered question, 'Where is God now?'
And that, my friends, is a question that I often ask myself.
'Where is God now?' Where is God for Albanians in Kosovo, those
being raped, tortured and killed just because they are Albanians?
Where is God for the street kids of Columbia, whose parents abandon
them to hunger and disease and a culture of violence? Where is
God for the Aboriginal mother whose child was taken away without her
consent or permission, whose lament can never be stilled? Where
is God?
Ezekiel must have been asking the very same question as he looked out
over the people of Israel following their exile to Babylon. He
imagines Israel as a standing army - once glorious in battle, but now
defeated absolutely. In Ezekiel's vision, this people once chosen
by God lie dead across a whole valley. Their bones are dry and
white in the sun. Even the sounds of mourning have passed
away. There is no sound but that of emptiness, that thin whisper
which says 'Our life is dried up, our hope is lost, we are cut off from
God completely'. That note of national despair finds its echo in
the more personal story of Lazarus of Bethany. Lazarus is a man
greatly loved by his family and respected in the community.
Suddenly, in the prime of his life, he becomes ill and dies. And
note this. While Lazarus' sisters and the whole community mourn,
Jesus, the representative of God in this story, is nowhere to be
seen. He remains in another town, a long way off.
I must confess to you, my friends, that sometimes when I am in pain or
despair I feel as though God does not care. But, more often, I
wonder whether God can actually do anything about our pain.
Oftentimes, even as I go about my duties as a Minister of the church
and representative of Christ, I find myself wondering whether God may,
in fact, be impotent. Perhaps God does care, perhaps God cares a
great deal. But it may be that God can't do anything about
it. Maybe God brought the world into being, but now is helpless
to change its course. Maybe God had good intentions, but the
whole thing just got out of hand. Most of time, my friends, I
have absolutely no problem believing in the reality of God's
love. As I gaze at the image of the crucified Christ, I know in
my heart that God suffers out of love for the whole damned
creation. But frankly I wonder if God has any power to turn
things around. I wonder if Christ may still crucified, if God
may, in fact, be as dead and impotent as Nietzsche suggested.
But when I begin to think this way, when I begin to think that all is
hopeless and lifeless, that line from Ezekiel comes to mind, 'Mortal,
can these bones live?' I hear the question as a challenge to the
despairing vision of my personal perspective. And I am reminded
that my personal vision in extremely limited, that there is a supreme
arrogance in writing things off so easily. When Martha meets
Jesus on the road to Bethany, Jesus tells her that Lazarus will rise
again. Martha brushes his comment off by reciting a line from the
official doctrine of the Pharisees, 'Of course, Master, he will rise
again with all the righteous at the last day'. But Jesus
immediately challenges the limited nature of her vision. He talks
of himself as the 'resurrection and the life' and declares that any who
believe this will never be defeated by the powers of death. 'Do you
believe this?' he asks Martha. And this is Jesus' challenge to
all of us.
Do you believe that the dry bones around you, or within, can
live? Do you believe that God has the power to not only love us
but to save us? Such belief is rare, I think. And it is
rare because of the ways we are taught to see. Psychologists talk
about a condition known as learned helplessness. Most people who
believe that they can never progress beyond a despairing situation in
which they find themselves, have learned that belief from their parents
or other significant people in their lives. Children of
alcoholics, for example, learn that they can never face a difficult
challenge without the aid of a drink. But, of course, the drink
eventually robs them of the capacity to face any situation. At
another level, most of us have been taught to be passive and helpless
as members of our society. Though we live in a democracy, and we
are all proud of the freedom we have, very few of us ever exercise that
freedom by resisting government policy or setting up ways of life which
go against the flow of normal social commerce. We have all been
lulled into thinking that we are powerless to change anything. In
the face of big business and big government, what can we do? The
reality, of course, is that things can be different. It's not
government of big business or big personal hurdles which stop us.
It's what we believe. Do you know why I set aside time everyday
to read the Scriptures and pray? Not because I ought to.
Not because I am a minister. I pray because I believe in a God
who makes things different. In that sacred half-hour, I read the
stories of God in the bible, and I wait for God to show me the ways to
hope in the midst of your story and mine. In that little room, I
wait for God like the Psalmist waits for the morning. And God
comes to me. God lifts me up. God renews me in hope, and
fills me with visions for a better day.
Do you believe that these bones can live, my friends? When Jesus
had done with weeping, he showed the power of his love by commanding
the dead Lazarus to come forth from his tomb. And Lazarus came
forth. The dead man lived. This is not a story about God's
liberation at the end of time. It is not about the hope of
resurrection for all who die in the righteousness of Christ. It
is a story about here and now. It calls us to believe in a God
who brings life to the dead in the midst of our present lives, in our
present stories, here and now. Do you believe the promise of God,
my friends? Do you believe that God can come from the North and
the South, from the East and from the West, to breathe new life into
defeated bones? I do. Not smugly, and not
triumphantly. My belief is hard won, and I need the constant
discipline of prayer to retain it. But I do believe. And
you can too.
Can you imagine what could happen if you believed?
Praise be to God - Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver. As in
the beginning, so now and forever. Amen.
Garry
J. Deverell
5th Sunday of Lent