Yesterday was my Sabbath day.
I wore pajamas all day long.
I curled up in a chair and played video games.
I watched five episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on the DVR.
I was a sloth.
I was exhausted.
I needed to stop moving,
stop thinking,
to simply be.
But there is a fear
that when we stop moving and thinking and doing
maybe we will never want to start again.
Maybe once we stop
we cannot start again.
I got up from my chair late in the day
And my bones ached.
My muscles hurt.
Every joint felt like it was crying out.
Don’t get old, Katie,
my dad always tells me.
Don’t get old, because your body stops working.
It starts talking back.
It cries out and lets you know what aches.
It tells you that you are fragile.
You are merely bones and flesh.
You are human.
You are not invincible.
You are not wonder woman.
You cannot do it all.
Actually, maybe I need that reminder.
Maybe we need that reminder.
Maybe we need this season called Lent.
Maybe we need to call a time out.
Maybe we need to remember that life is fragile.
Life is precious.
Life is fleeting.
We come from nothing but dust and ashes.
We will return to dust and ashes.
I say those words a few dozen times a year
As I stand with families over an open grave.
As we gently return the bodies of their loved ones to the earth.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
And I find myself telling them…
Telling myself…
That in between those two bookends
We have an opportunity.
A beautiful opportunity.
To clothe ourselves with new life as well.
A life that extends beyond the valley of the shadow of death.
A life that will overcome even the grave.
Can these bones live?
That is the question on the tip of our tongue
As we watch our loved ones lowered into the earth.
Can these bones live?
The prophet Ezekiel was familiar with that question.
Can these bones live?
Can life return?
Is this really the end of it all?
He witnessed his city under siege.
He saw its walls crumble.
He saw the temple destroyed.
And then, he had to leave everything behind.
Forced against his will
To journey through the wilderness
To a strange land
A foreign land
A hostile land.
From the dust of the earth that city and temple was built.
And to dust it returned.
Ezekiel also knew…
Quite keenly he was aware
That death and dust and destruction
Were the tools of God.
He was called to name the sins of Judah
The transgressions of Jerusalem
With his very body
His bones and his flesh
He bore witness to the impending destruction.
He starved himself long before the siege.
He shaves his head long before he was taken prisoner.
He begins to experience in his very bones
The fear and trembling
That would soon be upon the people.
And part of him has to wonder…
Can these bones live?
Can this dead and lifeless people repent?
Will they see the light?
Are they able to change their ways?
Will it be too late?
Babylon arrives.
The city is destroyed.
The people are sent away.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
When I find myself on my knees
Laid low in humility
Brought to nothing
I remember I am dust and ashes
I am the stuff of the earth
And in that moment
Sometimes there is a quiet acceptance.
I am dust and ashes.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I have reaped what I have sown.
But somewhere in me there something else…
a spark.
something that dares
that yearns
Can these bones live?
Can we begin again?
Even if it way too late…
Is it ever too late?
After all,
We began as dust.
And as dust,
You, God,
You breathed life into us.
That spark I feel.
That yearning.
That calling.
That desire to live
To truly live and love and move and serve.
To do it right.
To do it well.
That is Your presence in me.
Your breath in us.
Stirring… calling… pushing.
The city was in shambles.
The people were scattered.
And there was this divine spark
Speaking in Ezekiel’s soul.
Stirring… calling… pushing…
And that spirit led him out of himself
Out of captivity
Out of complacency
Can these bones live?
It was a question Ezekiel wasn’t sure if he dared to utter.
It was a question that he longed to speak aloud but couldn’t.
It was a question of hope.
And hope was now a stranger to him.
So God asked the question instead.
Can these bones live?
Can your bones live?
Do you believe that I can breathe life into you again?
Are you willing to risk that it is not too late?
Ezekiel isn’t sure.
Lord God, only you know…
Only God can do it…
If it could be done.
And God calls him to stand.
God calls him to speak.
God calls him.
And he answers.
Out of dust and ashes.
Out of hopelessness.
Out of grief.
Out.
Ezekiel speaks.
And the bones start to shake.
The earth starts to quake.
Everything is at once falling apart and coming together.
A great transformation.
Everything changing.
Everything becoming.
Bones.
Flesh.
Sinew.
Skin.
And then there was breath.
God’s breath.
The Holy Spirit rushing like the wind.
Filling those bodies.
Standing them up.
Calling them back to life.
We are ashes.
We are dust.
We are bones.
We are sinful people, brought low by our deeds.
And yet…
There is that spark…
that breath…
that glimmer of God…
Telling us it is not too late.
It is not too late to stand.
It is not too late to live.
It is not too late to love.
It is not too late to repent.
It is not to late to act.
On my own, I can’t do it.
I will burn out.
I will falter and make mistakes.
On my own I’m not strong enough.
I am dust and ashes.
But… and… I am more than dust and ashes.
Because I am also the Lord’s.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are filled with the Spirit.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are part of the body of Christ.
When I stop, for just a moment.
When I let my bones and flesh rest.
It is then that I remember
God is with me.
God is in me.
God is in us.
Can these bones live? God asks.
Can this scattered and broken people live?
Can this church live?
Only you know, Lord.
So, come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Breath of God.
Come and knit us back together.
Come and fill us with your life.
Help us to stand.
Raise us up.
Send us out.
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