March 22, 2026, Lent 5
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Introduction
Last week I told you how fortunate we were to have Psalm 23 as our lectionary psalm. It was exactly what we needed to hear. Many of you told me this. It was what we needed to hear because we need to be reminded that the Lord is our shepherd, and we shall not be in want. We needed to be reassured that all shall be well.
Last week we stood in the valley of the shadow of death, acknowledging that the reality of life will inevitably take us into such valleys, and yet, because the Lord is our Shepherd, we can hold fast to the truth that “all shall be well.”
This week we stand in the valley of dry bones. They’re not two different valleys. Both are the valley of a world that is suffering, where death has consumed life. This valley is indicative of a world where it feels as if everything is wrong and as far away from God than ever before.
So how fortunate are we that today the valley of dry bones is our lectionary reading for this fifth Sunday of Lent? Because, like last week, it’s exactly what we, our country, and our world need to hear. The valley of dry bones is a story of hope. It’s a story of promise. It’s a story about a people who have a good and bright future. And this text shows us that if the theme running through Psalm 23 is, “all shall be well”, then the theme running through the valley of dry bones is, “…and you shall live.”
Move 1
“Mortal, can these bones live?” asks the Lord to Ezekiel. This is the question—or rather a version of this question—most of us are wondering about today. With all that is happening here in our country and around the world— wars, economic struggles and uncertainty, immigration issues, government takeovers, social unrest and incivility— it has us all asking: Can we recover from this? And, if so, when and how will that happen? What will our future look like? Or maybe your questions are like mine, “How is all of this going to end? How could it end?”
These are really hard questions, that don’t seem to have any good answers or any good news to them. But it’s an imperative that we realize the hard questions we are asking are the same kind of question God is asking Ezekiel. Questions that seem pretty obvious have no good answers, no good news to them.
But Ezekiel does know something—something important for us to know and understand also. The question is God’s question. And it’s God who is asking the question. And knowing this informs Ezekiel to know he can’t possibly know the answer to God’s question, but he (Ezekiel) can be certain God knows the answer to God’s question.
Which is why Ezekiel doesn’t even try to answer the question, rather he simply responds, saying, “O Lord God, you know.” And I so appreciate the faithfulness and honesty in what Ezekiel says and doesn’t say. He could have said something banal like “With God’s help they sure can!” Or, “If it’s your will God, they can live again.” Nor does he give an obvious answer either. “Can they live again? O heck no!”
Instead, Ezekiel simply answers with the truth. “O Lord God, you know.” Ezekiel admits that he could not possibly know if the bones could live again. He’s saying, “You’re God and I am not.” Ezekiel is faithful for sure—he’s God’s prophet. But he knows too how the world works, how biology and anatomy work— nothing comes back to life again when all that’s left are dry bones. You can hear his uncertain-certainty. You can picture him looking around and shaking his head at the overwhelming enormity of it all, thinking about the pain and desperation of it all, and when asked if new life can come from it all the only possible answer, that has any validity, has to be that only God knows if these bones can live again.
Ezekiel is understanding of reality, but he is faithful to God even to the point of know it is possible for God to do the impossible. That is what Ezekiel is feeling and wrestling with as he looks around and sees the dry, lifeless bones. That’s how I feel, and what I wrestle with every time I read or watch all that continues to happen around the world— deaths, job losses, financial hardships, etc. And I’m guessing you feel the same way.
But when we feel this way, we need to understand, like Ezekiel, we are all being asked, “Mortal, can these bones live?” God is asking us, “From what you can see… what do you think? Can anyone survive this? Do you think there can be peace? Reconciliation? Restoration? How do you think this is going to end?” And the only answer we can, and should give is, “O Lord God, you know.” Because we don’t know. We can’t know. But what we do know is that God can— because God has— say to dead lifeless bones, “…and you shall live.”
Move 2
Now I get it. Answering, “O Lord God, you know” is not the answer we want to give. WE want to answer the question with a question. “Can they live? You tell me God. Can they live? And if so, how? You tell me God, can these bones live?” But God does tell Ezekiel. And God tells us too. Ten times God promises to do something about the dry bones, even to the point of repeating God’s self…
“I will cause breath to enter you”; “I will lay sinews on you”; I “will cause flesh to come upon you”; I will “cover you with skin”; I will “put breath in you”; “I am going to open your graves”; I am going to “bring you up from your graves”; “I will bring you back to your land”; “I will put my spirit within you”; and “I will place you on your own soil.” Ten times God promises life and wholeness. Ten times God promises return and homecoming. Ten times God promises the dry bones of this valley are not the final reality.
And, throughout those ten promises— from the beginning, to the middle, and all the way through the end— God says, “…and you shall live.” God says it three times: “And you shall live”; “And you shall live”; “And you shall live.”
“…and you shall live” is the river of promise and reassurance that flows through the valley of dry bones. Those promises and reassurances are the path we walk as we make our way through the valley of the shadow of death, the valley of dry, dead bones.
Move 3
The next time you are watching the news, reading headlines and articles that have you asking those hard questions mentioned earlier, the next time your get scared, the next time you feel anxious and overwhelmed… do yourself a favor. Remember God’s promises. Remember God’s reassurances.
And as you remember, listen. Listen for the noise; listen for the rattling of “bones coming together, bone to its bone.” That noise you will hear is the sound of faith, hope, and love. That rattling you will hear is the sound of courage and a refusal to be ruled by fear. It sounds like people praying Psalm 23. It sounds like people praying, “All shall be well. All shall be well. Every manner of thing shall be well.” It sounds like church bells ringing in remembrance. It sounds like people helping people who have lost jobs or work hours, or homes, or enough food to eat. It sounds like patience, gentleness, and compassion for others when the world says they don’t deserve any. It sounds like support and care for healthcare providers, first responders, and essential workers. It sounds like people asking, “Are you ok? What do you need right now? Let me help you with that.” It sounds like people smiling and laughing as they sit and listen to stories of loved ones who have gone on before them, remembering and honoring them, keeping their spirit alive. It sounds like a text message that reads, “Thinking of you. I pray you are well. Miss you.” It sounds like an openness to the future that God alone puts us on a pathway towards.
When the world overwhelms us… Remember God’s promises. Remember God’s reassurances. Remember to listen.
Conclusion
Ezekiel understood that God is more than able to make the impossible possible. And then we see just how God does this—by calling Ezekiel to be part of the work to make the impossible possible.
Then the Lord said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”
God answered God’s question to Ezekiel by calling him to prophesy—to tell the dry, dead bones, “God is at work. God’s work is always for good. And because it is, you shall live.” Ezekiel responded to that call and partnered with God to do that good work.
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We don’t know how, but we know God will. We know God will say to our dry bones, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord… I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall know that I am the Lord.
So let us remember… Let us remember God’s promises. Let us remember God’s reassurances. Let us remember to listen— not to the news, the politicians, social media loud mouths, or propaganda machines. Let us remember to listen to God. Let us remember, in our dim valleys of shadows and death… to listen for the noise and rattle of dry bones— because that is the sound of God’s Good News saying to you, and me, and everyone… “All shall be well… All shall be well. Every manner of thing shall be well.” “And you shall live.” Amen.
Pastoral Prayer, March 22, 2026, Lent 5
Lord God, our breath and our life, we come before you in this season of Lent, standing in the middle of our own valleys. We look around and see the “dry bones” of our world— the places where hope has withered, where peace seems like a distant memory, and where the harshness of life has left us feeling dry and lifeless.
Yet, we thank you for speaking into the dimmest and dryest valley. We praise you that no circumstance is too desolate and no heart is too broken for your Spirit to revive. Just as you knit together bone and sinew, we ask you to move among us now, and breathe your life-giving Spirit into our weary souls.
For when you bless us so, we rest in the certain hope that because of you, all shall be well. In your hands, life is never truly lost; it is only needing to hear your word. Help us then to hear your voice, and to live in the promises and reassurances that because of you, we shall live— triumphant over the shadows that would rob us of life.
Then help us to live as people of your promises. When we are tempted to believe death or despair has the final word, remind us of the rattling of dry bones coming to life. Give us the courage to not only believe in your renewal but to be the ones who prophesy hope to the hopeless, new life to the lifeless.
Equip us to be messengers of this Good News. In a world struggling to find a reason to keep going, use our voices and our lives to announce that you are making all things new. Call us to carry your light beyond the walls of your church and share the steady hope that even in the dimmest and driest valleys, your voice is responding to your hurting children, saying again and again, “and you shall live.”
Please Lord, hear now the prayers we have to share with you, from our hearts to yours, in this time of Holy Silence.
We pray all this in the name of the one who gives us the assurances that all will be well and that all shall live, Jesus the Christ, who taught us to pray, saying, “Our…”