New Life in the Valley ~ Ezekiel 37:1-14 ~ Fifth Sunday in Lent

All the time, people ask me, “where do you live?”

I always give them the same answer: “I live behind the old Montgomery Ward’s.”

You know something?  Just about everyone knows where that is—even people who aren’t local. 

I hate to say it, but this 28-acre eyesore is Lower Burrell’s most famous landmark.  One community leader calls it “our big black eye.”  

If this site were located in some other place, say in the North Hills, you can bet that it would have been snatched up and redeveloped right after Ward’s closed its doors.  But not here in the Kiski Valley.  For more than a decade it’s sat abandoned.  Nobody wants it.  The reason why is obvious: this is not the bustling region it once was.  Major employers have closed their doors, and many families have left for greener pastures.  It certainly doesn’t make us feel any better to know that there’s a nuclear waste dump just two miles down the road.

So what does this do to us who still call this valley our home?  How do we live as people of God, amid so much struggle, so much loss, so much death?  Is there hope for this depressed community?

In our first reading from Ezekiel, God brings Ezekiel into an unnamed valley.  The scene the prophet describes is one of nightmares.  Bones are scattered all across the valley, and they were all very dry.  This was not so much a valley as it was a sea of death. 

God asks Ezekiel a question: “can these bones live again?  Rather than answering “yes” or “no,” Ezekiel sends the question back to God.  Then, God commands Ezekiel to speak to the bones: “I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.  I will cover you with skin, and you shall live—and then you will know that I am the LORD.”  All of the sudden, the bones come together, and skin covers them—but aren’t breathing.  So God commands Ezekiel to speak again: he commands the winds to come into the dead—and then, they come alive.  But still, they cry, “our hope is lost.” 

That’s the real power of death: it doesn’t just destroy bodies. It destroys hope.  It destroys faith.   This is a terrible thing—because without hope, a human being is living dead.  Fear takes captive your every thought and your every action.  No longer is there anything to be thankful for; no longer is there any good to be received or shared.  Peace, purpose, and rest are all pipe dreams.  Survival becomes the key objective.  Happiness comes in grabbing whatever pleasures and thrills come along, giving no thought to the consequences.  It is the hopeless who say, “let us eat and drink; for tomorrow, we die” (Isaiah 22:13).

Hopelessness is a kind of death—because it blinds us to the reality of the Author and Giver of Life.  Hopelessness is the resignation of faith that Jesus has power and authority over death.  The hopeless say, “Jesus isn’t there; Jesus doesn’t care.”  This is the tragedy for which Jesus weeps.  Jesus is the resurrection and the life; he loves us so much that he gives his life for us.  His grace is sufficient to deliver us in any time trial.  But we don’t believe.  We don’t trust him.   We do not obey his word.  We live and act as though death is in control.

And this isn’t hard to believe.  Turn on the news and what do you see and hear, but stories of violence, suffering, and greed?  There’s warnings that the economy is on the verge of collapse, and that global warming is slowly making the planet uninhabitable.  Then there’s the so-called “doomsday preppers;” the people who are so certain that that we are on the cusp of our doom that they’re building bunkers and stockpiling food and weapons. 

Even the rapid trend toward secularism and the decline of institutional Christianity is enough to convince anyone that all hope is lost.

But what we see is not ultimate reality.  Jesus has come into the Valley of the Dry Bones that is the world we live in.  He makes his home with us in our valley. 

Think about what this means for us who live in depressed times in a depressed valley…

In the meantime, Jesus is in our valley.  He speaks to us in the Word.  We receive his life-giving flesh and blood at his table.  His forgives our sin.  He walks with us so that we may see his goodness by faith.  Death and evil are not going to have the last word.  The sorrow and turmoil of today are giving way to a glorious future of peace and justice for all. 

As disciples of Jesus, we call new life into being, just as Ezekiel does.  People need our gifts and our good works.  They need our prayers and our encouragement.  God has given us stories to tell, gifts to share, and love to lift our neighbors out of hopelessness.  By grace, we make Christ real as we peak God’s truth—and live according to that truth.

Resurrection is hard work.  Mission and ministry mean following Jesus to people and places we may not wish to go.  It demands persistence, just as it did for Ezekiel.  It demands that we trust God.  But this is God’s will.  If you are committed to doing God’s will, God will give you everything you need to do it.  Of that, you can be certain.

So in what ways can we as a church call new life into being?  What gifts can you bring, that will not only help a neighbor, but give hope?  Our Easter Egg hunt is two weeks away.  Do you know a child who could use a little joy this Easter?  In six weeks, we’ll be opening our doors for our clothing closet ministry.  Are we going to continue to reach more people, as we’ve been doing over the last two years?

And how may God be calling us to grow—so that God’s abundant gifts to us may meet more needs?  Where and how may there be an abundance to share?

Do you know someone who could use a prayer, a friend, a helping hand, or a community of love?

Life is too great a gift to be lost to hopelessness.  Death is already defeated.  So be alive.  Let the power of Christ make you alive—and then go and call new life into being.  Go and see resurrection as you do it, by God’s help.