Dry Bones

Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 37: 1-14 and John 11: 1-45 Sermon Title: Dry Bones Preached on March 29, 2020 Every night before we eat supper, we always say one thing that we’re thankful for. Everyone has to say something. No one can eat a bite until we’ve all said at least one thing we are thankful for, no repeats and no kiss-ups. Like, no one is allowed to say, “I’m thankful for Mama.” This is not a time for kissing up, this is a time for gratitude, but while repeats and kissing up are against the rules, simple is OK. Gratitude doesn’t have to be for anything complicated. So, often, we say things like: “I’m thankful we’re having macaroni and cheese,” or “I’m thankful for my friends.” Thinking about it one night last week I realized that I was thankful for technology, and that’s what I said. “I’m thankful for technology.” Now, I’m not usually. Sometimes I hate it. I generally prefer things that I can fix without the help of an expert, or better, I prefer things that I can understand. So now, while I have often hated having a phone that’s smarter than me or a car that talks, I’m thankful for technology because it keeps me from feeling separated from all of you. Today, technology is a tool we can use to fight isolation. Technology defies social distancing. Technology can help us beat back fear with love. It daily reminds us that we’re not alone. Which is true, we’re not alone, though it’s easy now to feel that way, just as it’s always been easy to feel that way. Before this quarantine ever happened, I once felt all alone in one of the biggest, most densely populated cities in the world. I was in New York City, and there I had the chance to volunteer in a great big building where counterfeit clothing was processed and cleaned, then distributed to homeless people. I introduced myself to the man who was supervising the project and told him my name and that I was from Georgia, and he said, “Yea, I can tell.” In New York City, way up North, I felt like a pilgrim in a barren land of people who used too much diction and not enough ya’lls. I didn’t like it. But I never do, because felling alone is the worst. Worse still was when I spent a summer in Argentina as a missionary intern. I felt alone often there, not because there weren’t people around. There were, but I felt alone in Argentina because I couldn’t always understand what people were saying. I remember riding a train in Buenos Aires, the capital, and up came a Mormon Missionary who spoke English. I was so happy to talk with him in a language I could understand that I nearly converted. “Please, tell me more,” I said to this man. It was probably the first time the missionary was the one trying to get away. Feeling alone isn’t a good feeling. That’s why, in this dangerous time where social distancing and fear are combining to assail our spirits, I give thanks for everything that keeps us connected: technology, language, empathy. Empathy forges connections today, because pretty much we are all feeling the same thing. Maybe, like you, we’ve had some extra time to clean up around the house, and something that we’ve kept but keep thinking about getting rid of is a huge collection of National Geographic magazines. It’s like we have all of them, but it’s hard for me to let these magazines go because the pictures on the cover are just so powerful. The desperate mother, the hungry child, the refuge with the soulful eyes, the smiling groom on his wedding day. Regardless of the culture you can tell what each person is feeling by the emotions there on their face and regardless of the year the picture was taken you can feel a connection. The same thing is happening right now on Facebook, because people aren’t just spouting out what they think on there as usual, now they’re also posting what they’re feeling. A member of our church recently posted: How long is this social distancing supposed to last? My wife keeps trying to come in the house. Do you know the feeling? Are the people you’re quarantined with driving you crazy? Elsewhere on Facebook there are the desperate prayers of a mother turned teacher as well as reports from Day 1 of homeschooling, like: Both students suspended. Teacher caught drinking on the job. There are many others. Religious ones even. I saw that someone posted, “I didn’t expect to give up quite this much up for Lent.” Seeing and reading this kind of stuff I know what everyone out there is feeling. It’s the same thing I’m feeling. We’re in a moment of mass solidarity, for so many of us, regardless of party, race, creed, nationality, or rank on the totem poll are in this together. We are not in this thing alone. We have to remember that, because know that we’re together makes a difference. That’s why the most important lesson for us to hear from today’s Gospel reading is in just two words: Jesus wept. It’s two words in the older translations. It’s “Jesus began to weep” in our pew Bibles, which isn’t as succinct. Regardless, it’s still among the shortest verses in the Bible, and out of the 45 verses that I just read that’s the one I focus on. In our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning Jesus saw Mary’s tears. When he saw her crying, he started crying. Why? Because not only are we all in this together, God’s in it with us too. When we see the tears of Christ, we come to know that our God wipes our tears away, not with indifference but with compassion. When we reveal to our Creator the depths of our hearts and our deepest pain, we know that God is feeling that same pain with us. Mary looked to him with tears in her eyes to see that he felt the same grief. Jesus wept. He did. He was not indifferent. No, he hurt, he grieved. He just isn’t stuck in it. Do you know what I mean by that? Well, to Mary and Martha all they could see in the world at the beginning of this Scripture Lesson, all any of us would have been able to see was a dying brother and a miracle worker who was running late. Then, when they closed him up in the tomb, they were confined to their own understanding of what was possible and what wasn’t possible. What was possible? Healing. What wasn’t possible? Bringing someone back from the dead. This is how we all think. The Prophet Ezekiel wasn’t any different in our first Scripture Lesson. He saw a valley of dry bones and God asked him, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel was far more faithful than I would have been because he said, “O Lord God, you know.” That’s right. God does know, but sometimes I think I do. “Will this Corona thing ever end?” I ask. It sure doesn’t feel like it. What started with two weeks is now stretching out to: “Maybe the kids will be back in school by May.” I doubt it. So, does everyone else. If it felt to anyone else like this was going to end any time soon half the nation wouldn’t have filled up their attics with toilet paper. We’re settling into this crisis, and it’s hard to see over the top of it. You can tell that’s the truth because the people who talk about getting past it sound like jerks. Did you hear about the Lieutenant Governor who wants to just let the grandparents die out so we can get back to normal. If that guy gets reelected our democracy is in worse shape than our economy. Still, life will go on. We will get past this. And no one need be sacrificed at the Idol of the Dow to do it. Do you know how I know? Because I’ve just heard about the God who breathed on a pile of dry bones and brought them back to life and Jesus Christ who called into a tomb and a dead man walked out. Carol Bockman painted it for us on our bulletin cover. Look and see, death is not even the end with our God, so Corona Virus will not be either. You know that. I know that, but we have to act like we know it and come out of this thing better than before rather than emerge from our caves as PJ wearing apathetic, selfish, couch potatoes. This a moment. It’s a moment, where we have to let go of so much, but don’t forget we will also choose what we’ll pick back up once it’s over. And what do I suggest you pick up now and cling to once it’s over? Your power. It was a valley of dry bones and God called on the Prophet Ezekiel to prophesy to them. That was a bold request, to use his words to do something so momentous, but God uses our words all the time to do impossible things. I was running yesterday, and I saw a banner. It said, “Marietta, we can do hard things.” I saw another that said, “This too shall pass.” Then I saw rainbows in windows because people are trying to give children something to look for as they walk around their neighborhoods. People are still connecting. Lives are still changing, and we as a church will come out of this stronger than ever before if we remember that our words can break the silence and do impossible things. You might be hesitant. Ezekiel was, but don’t underestimate what happens when you take the time to speak. Years ago, my father had a quadrupole bypass surgery. He was in the hospital, and as he had become a critic of the pastor who was serving our church then, he wasn’t interested in letting anyone here on the church staff know where he was or what was going on. The pastor came to visit any way, and after the visit my father said, “Joe, it just means something. It just means something when someone takes the time to say they care.” Use your words First Presbyterian Church. Use your words, use technology, be honest with each other about your true feelings just as those who can’t get to the salon are having to be honest about their true hair color, and watch as dry bones come to life, as broken relationships are mended once more by the power of the Holy Spirit working among us, connecting us, changing us for the better. Amen.