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SERMON
Slowly, painfully he stumbles up the long, dusty road. All around him
are crowds of fearful faces, and the surreal sounds of defeat; the harsh
calls of the jeering soldiers, the shuffling of feet, the fearful
whisper of a mother quieting her terrified children. Smoke from the
burning city, from the burning temple, chokes the air. He pauses to
brush some ash off of his sleeve and looks down at his priestly
garments, now stained and ruined. "This cannot be happening," he thinks
to himself.
A gruff voice sounds behind him. He can't understand the language, but
the butt end of the soldier's spear makes interpretation unnecessary.
His feet start moving once again. Now and then, people fall by the side
of the road. Sometimes they claw their way back to their feet and
shuffle on, but often they do not. Ezekiel, once a priest in the Temple
of Yahweh, is now just another staggering, stunned exile. He cannot help
but wonder; will he too end up lying by the side of the road; his
bleached bones gazing forever at an empty sky?
With each step he leaves farther behind him everything that he holds
dear: the Temple, where he lived and worked and worshipped was now a
smoldering ruin. The Holy city, his home, was rubble. The very Promised
Land, the land flowing with milk and honey, the reminder of his identity
as one of God's chosen people, was now overrun by the armies of Babylon.
And of course, he leaves behind so many unseen things. Dignity, pride,
hope, faith. These too seem farther and farther away, as with each
laborious step he passes into the wilderness towards Babylon, towards
slavery, towards exile. He could feel the pain of that loss in his very
bones. Is there any possible explanation to a situation like this? Is
there any way to make sense of such horror? Can these bones live?
Of course, our modern sensibilities rebel at the thought of what was
being done to Jerusalem. The city burned and looted, land and property
seized, the people driven out like cattle to be marched a long, cruel
road across the desert (700 miles in all) to a foreign place, while
other nations sat by and watched, and waited for their own opportunity.
These kinds of occurrences seem to belong to a primitive, brutal,
uncivilized past.
April 24, 1915, it is the dawn of the modern era. In the Ottoman empire,
the Armenian Christian leaders are being gathered together. They are
taken to the city square, and, without explanation, they are shot. It is
just the beginning of a systematic cleansing by the new people in power.
Able bodied Armenian men are either killed outright or worked to death
in camps. All the others, the young and old alike, are rounded up and
exterminated or marched away across the desert. Some will survive and go
into exile, more will not. In all, one and a half million people will
die in death camps and on marches. Modernity, rather than being a
barrier to the atrocity, makes it all the more possible as technological
advances, like the telegraph and the railway system, are used to
coordinate and carry out the violence. The world stands by and watches,
but does little. Can these bones live?
The world's inaction is noted. Thirty years later, the new German
Chancelor, Adolph Hitler, takes the world's seeming apathy into account
as he lays his own plans. In a message to his generals, he justifies his
preparations to attack Poland and to begin his program of systematic
killings by saying, "Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of
the Armenians?" If the world stood by and did nothing then, he explains,
why should it be any different now? And so, the seeds of inaction and
apathy bear a terrible fruit. Death leads to more death, and 12 million
more human beings are snuffed out. Can these bones live?
The world looks on at such dark points in history with horror and cries
out with a resounding voice, "Never again!" We condemn the violence and
the hatred, and we pass resolutions, and we say "Let us work together."
But today, on the very week that the world marked the 60th anniversary
of the liberation of Auschwitz, today… the cancer of anti-Semitism
continues to grow world-wide. And yes, world-wide includes the United
States. Anti-Semitism, racism, sexism, classism, really… pick your
"ism"… these things continue to be a real part of our society and our
world. Can these bones live?
And today, this very day, there are close to 18 million people
who are refugees in foreign lands or are "Internally Displaced" within
their own nation states; 18 million people driven from their homes. Some
of these, yes, are due to natural disasters. But more often, they are
driven out by war, and violence and hatred. Cambodia, Vietnam, Rwanda,
Somalia, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Angola, Liberia,
Bosnia, Croatia, Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq… and more… places across
this globe that are torn apart, and people that are hurting because of
it. (That is, by the way, a December figure, it doesn't take into
account the effects of the Tsunami.)
Aggression and violence, conflict and strife, pain and loss; these
things seem to be embedded within humanity, regardless of culture or
nationality or ethnicity or even religion. Is there a solution? Is this
long road leading anywhere? Can these bones live?
And then, of course, there is that other long road; that very personal
road into the wilderness. For some it is the death of a loved one that
starts their feet down the road. For others it is the hard climb of
addiction recovery; or the slow, relentless march of a cancer or of a
disease or of a condition; or the heartbreak and loss of broken and
breaking relationships; or the inevitable, gradual pull of time upon
health and memory and those simple freedoms that we take for granted
each day; or the long and lonely road of depression. These too are
realities of human existence. We are frail and fragile creatures.
I am not, by any means saying that things are all dark and hopeless, or
that there is no joy to be found in this world. Of course there is! Our
days are filled with very real blessings. We couldn't survive without
them. But we cannot, all the time, overlook or ignore the fact that
death and suffering and sin are real in our lives and in the lives of
all in this world. If we take just a brief, honest look at the human
condition, at some point the questions must ring in our head, "Is this
long road LEADING anywhere? Can these broken, dried up, lifeless old
bones live?"
You know, I find it interesting that it is God who asks Ezekiel this
question rather than the other way around. It seems that most of the
time, when we are faced with questions of suffering and pain, it is we
who are asking God "Can't you do anything?" But it is God who comes to
this former priest, as he sits by the river in Babylon, and calls him
again upon the road of ministry. It is God who sends Ezekiel back to
speak to his wayward, broken people. It is God who asks Ezekiel, and
through Ezekiel us, that poignant question: "Can these bones live?"
What is Ezekiel to say? What are we to say?
Well, of course Ezekiel DOESN'T say "no." He certainly could have,
though! He very easily could have answered no. God has just taken him on
a completely thorough tour of the valley. Walking back and forth and up
and down in that dry, dusty, dead place, with bones crackling and
snapping under his feet, and the very air burning his lungs with its
lifelessness, Ezekiel could very well have determined that there is no
way to redeem this situation. It is a logical, reasonable answer when
faced with the enormity and hopelessness of the situation before him. It
is an answer that many people in our world give when faced with the long
road of suffering and pain.
"There is no way out!" they yell at the heavens. And so they fight tooth
and nail to seize hold of what they can here and now. If we have no
faith in a God who, ultimately, can sort things out; who, ultimately,
can hold people responsible; who, ultimately, can make sense of things,
then the best we can do is to grab what we can while we can, and make
sure that it is the bones our enemies that litter the floor of the
valley, and not our own. An answer of "no" shows more than just a lack
of faith in God. It throws us back upon ourselves to find a solution to
our human situation, if there is a solution to be found at all. With no
God to intercede, life itself becomes pointless and bitter, a doomed
struggle against nothingness. It is a hopeless, dead-end road. This
cosmic bone pile just cannot be the ultimate end of our existence, can
it? When faced with the question of whether or not those bones can live,
"no" is not a very good answer.
Well how about "Yes," then? Why doesn't Ezekiel pour out his faith in
God with a resounding, enthusiastic "yes" to that question? YAY GOD!
Well, if the answer "no" lacks faith and hope, the answer "yes" lacks
love, and fails to recognize the reality of sin, and of suffering and of
pain. "Yes" is the answer of the quick, easy road; the road that would
put God in our pockets to be pulled out in tough times like some magic
pill. This easy answer devalues the situation and the sufferer, making
both ultimately meaningless. "I'm sorry about your pain," we say, "but
it's OK, God will make it all better in the end." This quick answer
highlights God's power and ability, sure, but leaves no room for
weeping, gives no recognition to sorrow and pain and loss. The easy
answer has God standing back, clean and distant while we poor, pathetic
creatures stumble around in the muck of our existence; an existence that
ultimately doesn't seem have any value or meaning. It doesn't matter if
you suffer or not, because it all comes out in the wash. Can you imagine
saying to one of those survivors of Auschwitz, "You know, what you
experienced in that horrible place… the evil, the inhumanity you
witnessed… what you lived through… doesn't really matter in the long
run, because God is just going to wave His mighty hands and make it all
better."
Auschwitz was not some great cosmic game. Neither was Armenia. Neither
is the reality of pain and suffering that ordinary people like you and I
experience every day in this world. There are no easy answers; or, if
there are, they are not satisfying, not complete. This short easy road,
as attractive as it may be, leads to a shallow understanding of God and
a devaluing of humanity. Can these bones live? The easy "yes" is no
better an answer than the quick, hopeless "no."
But God's question still hangs before us. "Son of Man, can these bones
live?" Is there a solution? Is there a way to redeem, to make sense of
human suffering? "Oh Sovereign Lord, you alone know."
Ezekiel's answer tries to find a path between the two extremes. On the
one hand, it recognizes God's power. "Oh Sovereign Lord," he says. He
recognizes that God is indeed sovereign, Lord over all things including
life and death. But he also recognizes that the situation is not simple
or easy, and that any solution to it will have to come from God Himself.
It is almost as if Ezekiel is bouncing back and forth between the two
polar opposites. "Lord, I see no way of fixing this situation. But I
know that you are God. But I see no way of fixing this situation… but I
know that you are God." The two are held there in tension, and there is
no easy answer to be had.
I didn't realize this when I picked the passage for this morning, but
there are elections being held in Babylon today. There, in the very
place where Ezekiel sat in captivity, free elections are being held for
the first time. What a wonderful thing that must be. But I have a
confession to make. Even if things should go smoothly, and Iraq should
gain a new government and a new process, I don't believe, in the end, it
will solve its problems. Democracy is not the answer to their problems
anymore than Democracy has solved the problems of the United States in
the last 200 years. Our problems are so much more than any system of
government can hope to fix. And so I, like Ezekiel, feel caught in
between these two extremes "I see no way of fixing this… but I know that
you are God."
And God does make a promise to Ezekiel, and through Ezekiel to us. Those
dried up, lifeless, broken old bones will live. "I will put
breath in you, and you will come to life…" And of course, this is the
promise we've been expecting all along. This is a God-sized promise! I
WILL fix it! No matter how bad things seem, no matter how hopeless, how
lifeless, GOD WILL REEDEM it. God will bring back life and hope and
purpose and meaning.
But make no mistake; this promise is not an easy one. God is not going
to stand far off and wave his divine hands and come up with a magic
cure. This, you see, is the real miracle of this story. God did not
merely come up with a solution; God became the solution. God did not
stand far off; God entered the human condition. He became one of us and
shared in our sufferings; indeed he BORE our suffering so that he could
make that suffering part of himself. God himself walked the long road as
one of us. He knew hunger and thirst. He knew pain and loss. He knew
fear and sorrow. God himself walked the long road to Babylon. God
himself walked into the desert with the Armenians. God himself walked
through the doors of Auschwitz. Wherever there is suffering in this
world, God himself has said "I will be there with you." God himself, in
Jesus Christ, became God-forsaken, so that we would never have to be.
The God of life died; took death into his very being, so that we would
never die. The Immortal, Holy One, became one of us, so that we could be
one with him.
God's answer to our condition is neither weak, nor is it easy. It is
nothing less than the infinite patience and love of a God who is
unwilling to give up on us, no matter how bad we manage to make things.
It is nothing less than the promise that, even when we cannot face
ourselves, God will not turn away from us.
Slowly, painfully, another man stumbles up the long, dusty road. He
passes through the crowds, beneath the shadow of the temple, through the
streets of the holy city and out of its gates. He hears the harsh calls
of the soldiers, the jeers of the onlookers. Step by agonizing step he
shuffles up the hill, and with each laborious gasp of air, he breathes
back this promise: "I am here. I will not leave you. I love you. I
choose you… these bones will live."
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