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Becoming Human: Shaped by Jesus

Lent V: Shaped by new life 

John 11 and Ezekiel 37:1-14

Issues of Life and Death


You know, every time I read Ezekiel 37: 1-14, the passage that Clay and Andrew shared with us this morning, its graphic depiction of bones lying in a valley reminds me of the kind of movie or program or news segment which needs to be preceded by a statement like this:
The following scripture contains mature subject matter.  It may contain scenes of violence; or rather it may contain scenes that are disturbing for some of our viewers.  Viewer discretion is advised.  Or should I say, Listener discretion is advised.

YHWH, asks Ezekiel to walk up and down among piles of dry bones in a valley.  For me images of the human (or inhuman) destruction and devastation of war come to mind.  Most prevalent in the image bank in my brain are images of the Jewish Holocaust.
Amid this horror, the horror and specter of death, and amid the despair it so easily conjures, God asks Ezekiel a question.
Mortal, Can these bones live?
Does Ezekiel answer the question?

He responds, “Only you know that, Sovereign God.”

This story and the story of Lazarus’ death and resurrection to life address for us the perennial questions and issues of life and death, of despair and hope.

My very first encounter with issues of life and death, the kind of encounter that is seared into my memory, came to me somewhere around the age of 8.  I can only remember how old I might have been because of the vantage point with which the pictures in my mind come to me.  I know that I had to quite literally look up to my father and he is not a tall man.
As most of you know I grew up on a dairy farm, but in typical fashion for subsistence farming, we not only raised cattle for milk production we raised chickens for their eggs and raised a few pigs for their meat as well.  One spring when the pigs (probably about three sows) had given birth to almost more piglets than I could count, I was with my father when he was setting up the heat lamps that would help to keep these little pigs warm in the cool nights in the barn.  Little pigs are really cute and my dad allowed me to hold them if I wanted.  While I was playing with the little pigs and my father had finished setting up the heat lamps, without much fanfare, he picked up one of the runts (the tiniest pigs) and with one swift motion snuffed out its life.  I was horrified.  I think I might have screamed at him, I know I must have cried. My mild mannered, never raised his voice, completely non-violent father had just killed a tiny pig.  After listening to my cries, my father explained to me that the runts would die of starvation because they would not be able to compete with the other bigger piglets for food and so this way was better.  I could not be consoled, so my very wise father said – “okay, then you may try to keep them alive (there were a couple of other little pigs he was worried about).”  In that moment I became a very young adoptive mother of two little pigs.  Dad helped me put together a formula of milk for them, we got bottles, and then Dad explained that they needed to be fed every couple of hours – even through the night. I left them with their mother and siblings hoping they would survive there, but was also determined to do my part. I remember being a pretty frightened little girl crossing the barnyard in the middle of the night doing what I could to keep these piglets alive.  As might have been predicted, by my father anyway, the little pigs died.
Neither my father nor I had any real power over life or death – only the manner in which death took place.
And I don’t tell this story in order to debate the question about which one of us was right.  I tell this story in order to share with you my first experience of the reality of death and what could or couldn’t be done about it.  It was an unforgettable and sobering experience.
To be human or animal is to be born and to live and to die and there are many parts of the journey between birth and death and certainly the reality of death over which we have little or no control.
As we contemplate what it means to be human during Lent – part of what it means to be human is to know that we will die.  Contemplating our mortality is part of what an Ash Wednesday service at the beginning of Lent is all about.  

From dust we were created and to dust we shall return.  
“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” are the words that often accompany the ritual of burying a body.

When Jesus finally gets to the tomb, in the story of Lazarus, and tells Mary and Martha and the gathered mourners to role away the stone from the mouth of the tomb, Martha says to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days.”

Death stinks.  And when we contemplate mass death as in the valley of dry bones, it is also a horror.

In the face of death we grieve and we are occasionally inconsolable.  

Jesus also wept.
He loved Mary and Martha and he loved Lazarus and the friendship and life they had shared together. 
In the face of death we weep.  In the face of death we feel helpless and powerless and occasionally we are tempted to despair.

What is the nature of the question here?  What is the nature of this temptation to despair?  On one level the profound grief, pain and loss associated with the death of someone we love is understandable.  The loss of someone we love is one of the most painful parts of being human.  The loss of someone we have loved and its associated pain is often indescribable.
But the question that goes deep when we contemplate death, in particular our own death or mortality, the question that has the potential to tempt us to despair is the one that wonders, “Is death the end?” It is the question around which there has been no end to philosophical, religious and even scientific speculation for millennium. 
    In the development of Hebrew thought – for a long time, death or Sheol was thought to mark the end of life and there was nothing else.  In the time of Ezekiel, 590 through 570 before the common era, no systematic belief in resurrection existed even though different scriptures give some evidence of a belief in God’s power to triumph over death, for example some stories in the book of Kings where Elijah and Elisha pray for restoration of life for individuals.  And in II Kings 13:20-21 there is an interesting story about the miraculous power of Elisha’s bones. 
    So Elisha died and they buried him. Now bands of Moabites used to invade the land in the spring of the year.  And as a man was being buried, lo a marauding band was seen and the man was cast into the grave of Elisha; and as soon as the man touched the bones of Elisha, he revived, and stood on his feet.  (The stories you may not have known were there.) In Deuteronomy 32:39 we can read, “Now see for yourself that I am that God!  There is no god besides me.  I put to death and I bring to life; I wound and I will heal, and no one can deliver out of my hand.”  Therefore in Hebrew thought death has never been an insurmountable obstacle to the life-bestowing power of God.  When it comes to beliefs about life after death, by the early first century of the Common Era both Judaism and Christianity inherit an uneasy combination of two quite different forms of belief – the corporeal or bodily resurrection of the dead and the immortality of the soul as the indestructible core of personality.
    In our current time and place where we struggle with the dualism inherent in the idea of the immortality of the soul, the question has evolved into a question normally posed as a question that hovers between scientific and religious ways of knowing.  Because there is no material or scientific proof of life after death, does that mean that when our hearts and brains cease to exist then the self ceases to exist?  The British writer, Julian Barnes, struggles with this question, in his 2008 book, Nothing to be frightened of.  Barnes, an atheist, who honestly struggles with his own worldview invites us to put the emphasis on the word Nothing in the title of his book.  Nothing to be frightened of.  He says, “People say of death, ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of.’  They say it quickly, casually.  Now let’s say it again slowly with re-emphasis.  There’s NOTHING to be frightened of.”  Today’s existential fear is fear and rightly so of nothingness.  This fear of nothingness can lead to despair.

In the face of this temptation to despair, God asks the perennial human question of Ezekiel when God says, “Mortal, can these bones live?”
And Ezekiel says,  “Only you know that, Sovereign YHWH.”  

“Phew! Good answer,” we might say.   “Only God knows, of course.”  
And you might justifiably respond, “But that’s the easy way out to say that only God knows.” 

And God says to Ezekiel,  “Prophesy to these bones, [ah, Ezekiel is not off the hook, God’s hand is on Ezekiel, God’s Spirit guides Ezekiel and he’s required to prophesy] and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of YHWH!  Sovereign YHWH says to these bones:  I am going to breathe life into you.  I will fasten sinews on you, clothe you with flesh, cover you with skin, and give you breath.  And you will live; and you will know that I am the LORD.

And in the Lazarus story, Jesus looks up to heaven and says, “Father, I thank you for having heard me.  I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.”  When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth.  Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.
Believe.  There’s that word, believe again, the one that occurs in this gospel 84 times.
And they believed because they saw what he did and later Jesus commends those who believe when they have not seen the things that the disciples saw.
    In my study of the scriptures this week, and their invitation to contemplate issues of death and life these are the things that became clear to me.
Contemplation of death or one’s mortality is not for the faint of heart.  Viewer discretion is advised.
Mortal, Can these bones live?  Is there hope?
God knows the answer and when God acts to bring to life that which was dead – then we too shall know the answer.
And anyone who has received a tast
e of this new life, like Ezekiel upon whom the hand of God rested will find within themselves an insatiable need or desire to preach or share this hope.
    The early believers and believers until now have preached this hope and called it resurrection.  They have preached the good news that death does not have the last word, that God raised Christ from the dead as the first fruits of those who will be raised.  And from the very beginning, there have always been doubts about this good news.  But we could ask what did those earlier believers have to gain from preaching resurrection. I read an author this week who says, “let’s see, the only thing the early believers stood to gain by preaching the resurrection was political persecution, intellectual scorn, economic hardship and social marginalization.”
I conclude with a poem.
G.K. Chesterton (1874–1936)
The Convert
After one moment when I bowed my head

And the whole world turned over and came upright,

And I came out where the old road shone white,

I walked the ways and heard what all men said,

Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,

Being not unlovable but strange and light;

Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite

But softly, as men smile about the dead.

The sages have a hundred maps to give

That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,

They rattle reason out through many a sieve

That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:

And all these things are less than dust to me

Because my name is Lazarus and I live.