A
few years ago, my son, Joe, ran his first marathon. He had trained for it and thought he was
ready for it, but it was harder than he expected it to be. At a certain point, he was feeling so much
pain with every step he could barely go on.
In
distance running they call it “hitting the wall,” when the pain and fatigue are
overpowering. I have heard it said that it’s
like your body and your mind are having a conversation. Your body says, “Look, you’ve had me out here
for hours, running hard. I am really,
really hurting right now so I think we should just go over there to the side of
the road and lie down.” And the body has
a pretty convincing argument at that point.
What’s worse, the mind will find it pretty hard to argue back because it
is energy-deprived – all the fuel is going toward keeping the legs moving. As a
result, the will is weak and confused. It’s
a tough place to be. It feels like a
dead end.
How
do you go on when you have run into a dead end?
When all hope is gone? This is
the question Israel might have asked during their time of exile, more than 500
years before Christ was born. They were
turned out of the promised land, shuttled off to the enemy land – refugees or,
you might say, prisoners of war. The
temple had been destroyed, Zion was no longer, this was the end.
Ezekiel
was with them in their exile. He knew
this state of hopelessness in which they now existed. They believed God had abandoned them. They were the walking dead. Then God gave Ezekiel a vision. God led him out to a valley filled with dry
bones. Note – these were not just dead
bodies, these were the bones of the long dead.
Not a speck of life left in them.
Life had long ago left this valley. And Ezekiel hears a most peculiar
question from God: Mortal, can these bones live?
And
imagine Ezekiel’s answer in this way: “Ahhh – Lord God! You know,” He doesn’t even finish his
thought. Why bother? If the Lord wants to entertain impossible
questions, who am I to argue?
And
when the Lord says to Ezekiel, “Prophesy to these bones, Ezekiel, prophesy!” Sure, why not? After all, he doesn’t have anything better to
do than engage in exercises of futility.
Sure, prophesy to the dry bones.
It
was the same when Jesus in Bethany called out, “Take away the stone;” open the
tomb of Lazarus, now four days dead.
Really and truly dead. Not just
maybe-somewhat-possibly dead, but really-honestly-truly dead. Well, there will be a stench – don’t say we
didn’t warn you. But, sure, why not –
let’s open the tomb.
Why
does God insist on looking death in the face and pretending it’s not there?
When
the evidence is clear, tangible, and irrefutable that it is over for Israel,
God says, “Hey Ezekiel, why don’t you go prophesy to those bones. Maybe you can get them to repent.”
When
the evidence is clear, tangible, and irrefutable that it is over for Lazarus,
Jesus says, “Open the tomb, guys. It’s
time to fetch Lazarus and bring him home.”
Foolishness. Folly.
I dare say that Ezekiel didn’t see things God’s way at that point. Nor did the people of Bethany see things
Jesus’ way at that point. But here’s the
kicker: they did it anyway.
They
did it anyway.
In
the face of clear evidence that this was the end, that there was no longer any
hope of life, they acted in a way that was contrary to the evidence, because
God urged them to.
When
Joe hit the wall during that marathon, he had a hard choice to make. He chose to keep going. He kept putting one foot in front of the
other. Even though the finish line
seemed like it was an infinite number of steps away, even though the joy was
gone, he put one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, one
step at a time.
I
understand that’s what runners do. Is
that what people of faith do?
When
we have stopped feeling like praying, do we pray? When we are distracted by all the other
things that seem more pressing, do we pray?
Even when, as we sometimes say, our heart is not in it, do we press on,
do we pray?
When
we have prayed and prayed and prayed for something we badly needed, but we
heard no reply, do we say, well so much for that! or do we, once again, pray?
I
am reminded of the story Elie Wiesel tells about one night at Auschwitz when
the men gathered together and held a trial. God Almighty was tried for the crime of
deserting God’s people. Evidence was
presented, arguments were made. The jury deliberated and decided. They found God guilty as charged.
Then
one of them said, “Come. It is now time
for evening prayer.”
There
is no dead end that God cannot move past.
In God, there is life on the other side of it. God’s promise to the dry bones is to breathe
God’s Spirit into them, to put life back into them, and to return them to their
land. And the work that God sets for us is to follow God’s lead and move
through these valleys of death, move through it in trust. Even when we can’t believe, trust.
Look
that dead end in the face and prophesy.
Open the door to the grave and let life in. The strength in our faith is that we know the
words, and we can say them even when we don’t believe them. The strength in our faith is that we know
what love looks like in action, and we can do those actions even when we are
not feeling it. We can go through the
motions even when we feel nothing. And that
is not as scandalous as it might sound, because to know this is to know our
salvation does not depend on us.
Know
that God’s power is greater than any indecision, disappointment, cynicism, or
grief of ours. The power of God’s love
will prevail.
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