Dry Bones

Dem bones, dem bones dem dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord. One of the recommended books when I was a theology student was “Can these dry bones live?” by the theologian and Methodist minister Frances Young. She was asking whether, and suggesting how, the dry bones of the word of God in scripture could be made to live again. How shall today’s Church preach the word of God in a way that will make sense and convert hearts: that was her theme.

But Frances Young took the dry bones image from the Old Testament, as this was one of the visions that came to the prophet Ezekiel. This vision was an assurance to him from God that however hopeless things might seem, all was not lost. God would save and restore his people. Things did seem hopeless; the kingdom of Israel was lost, the temple lay in ruins. The people had been taken from their homeland to be hardly better than slaves, slaves in a foreign land. It was as though they were dead; and yet God would restore them, he would bring them back to their own land.

This would happen, but only when the people had come to their senses, only when they’d come back to the Lord. They needed to lose their apathy and timidity, they needed to et back their confidence in the Lord’s power to heal and save. Though all their hopes were like dry bones on the desert sand, they were still the Lord’s people. Ezekiel’s hopeful message was of God longing for his people to turn back to him, longing for them once again to seek his righteousness and justice, longing to give them back a life and identity and homeland they had lost.

Can these dry bones live? Ezekiel’s vision was just that: a vision, a dream. But let’s turn to our long Gospel reading, for it tells of the raising of an actual dead man, Lazarus, brother to Mary and Martha, friend to Jesus. Jesus wept at his tomb of Lazarus, and the crowd was moved by the obvious distress they saw in him. ‘He must have really loved him,’ they said. They were there to mourn, and they will have expected Jesus and his disciples to do the same. After all, they’d arrived too late to do anything else. Lazarus had been dead already for four days.

Jesus had delayed his coming. Lazarus is four days dead: long enough for death to be assured, and for the spirit to have moved on, to be no longer close to the body. No wonder Jesus wept. But having wept for his friend, he didn’t do what might have been expected. He didn’t give in to regret or despair; he didn’t join in with the mourners. This death was not a defeat but an opportunity, or so he told his disciples. In the love of God all is never lost, and Jesus is (as he declares) the way, and the truth, and the life.

That’s a promise and assurance that lies at the heart of all we do and believe as Christians. Jesus says: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No-one comes to the Father except through me.” Our faith and fellowship depend on these words. Ezekiel the prophet was given a vision of life. Paul the apostle preaches about life as God’s promise to those who live by faith. But life is made real in Jesus Christ. In him we find the truth, scripture is fulfilled in him, faith is rewarded in him. However hopeless our cause and condition may seem to be, our destiny is not dead bones but spirit, and freedom, and life.

So to live in Jesus means to never give up hope; to live in Jesus means always to expect the unexpected. Look at our empty pews this morning. People say that the church is in terminal decline, and we can certainly get to feel that way. Well, Lazarus had been in terminal decline, and those who came to mourn knew they were mourning a dead man. And they were, until Jesus got involved.

Let me suggest that what fundamentally matters is not the numbers we get in church, nor our status and wealth nor influence. These things are of some importance of course, but before everything else what truly matters is this: is Jesus on the scene? Is he at the heart of what we do? Is our church, small or large, alive in him? Alive in worship, alive in fellowship, alive in service? Is the love of God flowing here? Scripture says: seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him when he is near. The promise we find in prophets like Ezekiel, the promise we read in the letters of Paul, the promise confirmed in our Lord Jesus Christ is that when we do this in faith, God is with us, his Spirit transforms our fellowship and service.

Jesus leads Lazarus out of the tomb, and the Lazarus he brings out is still wrapped in his grave clothes. He is still mortal and fallible, he is still sinful and earth-bound. The Church, however Spirit-filled, however godly in intention, remains human, fallible, fragile and incomplete.  It doesn’t matter how much we love our church, and with what care we look after it, church alone can never bring salvation. On their own its liturgies and traditions are just so many dry bones; only Jesus can give life to the dry bones of our churches.

So our Passiontide challenge, as we turn towards the cross, is surely this: to commit ourselves afresh to Jesus as our way, our truth, and our life. To put him right at the heart of all we are and all we do - here in this safe and holy place, and also out there in our daily living as his Church dispersed into the world. For a Church with this faith will be light to the world and love to the loveless, in the name of Jesus who alone is life that is more than life, and love that is love for ever.

So can these dry bones live?  Yes, and they will: if we are living not for ourselves but for our Lord, knowing and confessing our own weakness, sinfulness and mortality, and open to the inbreathing power of his Spirit of peace and love.