Life Breath
Pentecost
Ezekiel 37:1-14 and Acts 2:1-21
God took the prophet Ezekiel to a valley. And the valley was filled with bones, so many bones that they carpeted the floor of the valley. Ezekiel walked with God through the valley in and among the bones.
What was this valley of bones? Who were these people all dying together in this place? What were the lives that were living in this valley now slaughtered and lying their so long, without burial that they were all dried out? Why did God have time to take Ezekiel there to walk among these bones but didn't have time to walk in that place before the skeletons arrived? Why didn't God walk through that valley with Ezekiel while breath was still in those bodies and the valley was filled with life? Why couldn't that have been the lesson? Why did the lesson have to wait until the bones were here...lots of bones lying around forgotten, unattended, wasted.
And, that's how we want miracles to work isn't it? When we see death, when we encounter death too early, when we are forced into a corner waiting, without control, we wonder why God hasn't intervened and why we haven't gotten our miracles. Here when we can see the valley of bones. But, the truth is, that God has been with us the whole time, calling, pulling, questioning, inviting, and we often will not make even the smallest space for the possibility of a miracle, the smallest space for the possibility of God speaking until we are surrounded by bones.
Lots of things make us feel like brittle dry bones: illness, broken hearts, cheating or being cheated, anger, sadness, grief, loss. And, creating even a little space in the midst of these kind of brittle bones, at times seems impossible. It seems impossible to think in the midst of dying that there is room for God to do a new thing. It seems impossible to think from the pits of depression that there is room for God to do a new thing. It seems impossible from the bitterness of divorce that there is room for God to do a new thing. But the crazy thing is, that once we find the willpower, the conviction, the determination to make the smallest of spaces within us hope returns that something else just might be possible.
Waiting on God is so difficult. It's so difficult to wait on God when we're freeing ourselves from addiction, adopting babies, waiting for word to come through on a job or a house or a school, it's hard to trust the slow unfolding of God's action. God's time is different than our time. And, in God's time we are oftentimes waiting for the unfolding of the big picture. But, we must settle for each small piece. When we are waiting, we put one foot in front of the other every morning and every evening. Waiting teaches us patience.
Many chapters of our lives require long commitments. Whole chapters require waiting that goes on for years. When we begin classes to work towards a degree it takes hours of classes, studying, testing, and passing exams. It takes years of balancing work, family, and studying before the degree is earned.
When someone is taking care of an ailing person, it's a huge project in patience. There are doctor visits, daily hygiene, medications, insurance companies, and laundry. It may mean changing your work schedule from full time to part time. It may mean moving to a different part of the country. And, these changes can go on for years, sometimes decades. It requires long term perspective and years of patience.
When we physically begin to notice something is wrong with us. When we go to the doctor and aren't heard. When we try and try and can't find anyone to listen and you feel debilitated and unimportant it is so difficult to find the space, that small space, to allow God in granting hope and patience. It is so difficult to wait when we don't have the answers. It is so difficult when we don't know what's ahead. It is so difficult when we are nudged into new perspectives. But when we lean into that unknowing when we let go of the false promise of our culture's quick fix we allow ourselves to grow in patience. We can trust beyond the moment.
Over and over again we are bewildered in our lives about God's timing. Like when we stand with God looking at the valley of bones. When we stand with God feeling our own flesh falling away exposing our bone to the heat of the day, we wonder how long God, how long can we be in this valley of death. We despair at the “no” we hear. We grieve that God is not hearing our prayers. We think God has forgotten us and our well-laid plans. And yet, in the fullness of time, it appears that frequently we have had the opportunity to grow and bloom.
God took Ezekiel to the valley of death. Maybe the war zone of Liberia. Maybe the AIDS hospice in Africa. Maybe the front lines in Iraq. Maybe the refugee camps in Darfur. Maybe the soup kitchen, the drug flop house, the business district. God took Ezekiel to the valley of death. And they walked together through the bones. They walked together and looked at these bones, where people could be seen no more, only bones. Nameless, faceless, storyless people who had wasted away to bone. They walked, and looked and took it all in. And, Ezekiel made a little bit of space with God for a new process to begin.
And, this process, this process of God coming to speak to Ezekiel was all in God's time. Ezekiel didn't have any input about this happening at this time or this place. Ezekiel was not asked to submit a resume, credentials, or vitae, solely asked to open that space for God to be present within. God asked Ezekiel to open a space that God might do a new thing. Ezekiel hoped for this valley of death, but it was all out of his control.
I think the only thing we hate more than waiting is loss of control. The best place to check this out is the airport. We make plans to take a trip. We book tickets on airplanes which will carry us to our destinations at a certain time from one place to another. We make plans around these flight schedules and arrangements for transport to and from the airport, we make reservations or ask people to come and pick us up. And, all it takes is bad weather, a faulty taillight, and the schedule is blown. You're stuck on a plane in very small quarters and might even have to make an emergency landing in another city all together. But, when this happens, even after hours on a plane when you've spoken to no one except the flight attendant for soda or snacks, all of a sudden we find one another. People let go of their own agenda and begin talking about where they're trying to go, who is waiting for them. We begin to make space to share pieces of our stories finding one another.
When God took Ezekiel to the valley of death and stood in the midst of bones, God saw the possibility of new life. God saw the faces, names and stories of people who could begin again and transform this death-dealing valley into a thriving community of hope. And piece by piece, step by step those bones came together and took shape. And once they had shape, flesh, body Ezekiel prophesied that God commanded the breath to come for the four winds to breathe upon the slain, that they may live. And breath came into them and they lived. It was out of Ezekiel's hands, it was space completely open to God's resurrection breath.
When we lose control of things, it opens up a space within us for resilience. It reminds me of our sisters and brothers we have been getting to know from Somalia and Liberia. It reminds me that we have people in our midst who have lost their homes, their churches, their neighborhood, their loved ones, their villages and their countries. Imagine being plunked down in the middle of Liberia with no money, no friends, and no understanding of how the culture works. Imagine you have 6 months to learn the language and everything you need to support your family. Of course, it's not a fair comparison for those of us who have welcomed our new friends here because we have had much exposure to education beyond our neighborhood, we know what banks are, how to drive a car and most of us have not been tortured or seen family members killed within the last few months. These sisters and brothers have a great deal to teach us about resilience. Often uprooted from all that offers routine and comfort and delight, refugees know what it is to endure the dismantling of everything that is familiar and to wait many months, or years for a new place to feel like home.
When we are forced to wait—either through hard losses or through much-anticipated transitions—we too, experience the dismantling of all that is familiar. While we wait, we often find ourselves out of control. In fact, loss of control is a hallmark of waiting. It can be terrifying; it can unhinge us as we lose sight of everything that is tidy and predictable.
But, very gradually, it becomes a little more bearable. First, we understand that we are not alone and that we can ask for help. Second, we sit and come to grips with all that we have lost. Finally, we name and claim all that we have navigated and survived—and we celebrate our resilience.
Pentecost is the season of resilience. God has been unfolding a vision for over 2000 years that we might all gather here this ancient season to begin again. To remind ourselves that God's Spirit is ready to fill us up as if we're drunk on wine, even at 10:30 in the morning, if we can just find a little bit of space for the possibility of God moving into our lives--opening that Pentecostal space. Opening that Pentecostal space allows God to breathe new life into our dry bones creating new life and transforming our valleys of death into resurrected lives. Lives resilient to adversity and filled with hope. This season of Pentecost let's pray for a little bit of space. Let us pray.