Sunday March 22nd, 2026 Worship

I don’t know about you all, but when I am feeling particularly exhausted, not listening to what my body needs, trying to push through all the things on my to-do list without taking breaks or resting, I have described the feeling as what I imagine it is like to drive through the desert with your gas tank on empty. It’s the experience of running on fumes but needing to still move forward because stopping where you are doesn’t feel like an option either. I want to be clear, this is not a sustainable way of living, and it’s something that I have spent many hours of therapy working to improve, but there are times when it too feels unavoidable. Looking at you, Holy Week preparations!
I think about this when it comes to the Ezekiel reading today, this story of the dry bones which God tells Ezekiel to prophesy to in order to bring to life (Ezekiel 37: 1-14). At least in my experience, we do not need to be physical bones left to dry out in order to experience this feeling of being like the dry bones, needing life breathed into us. There are so many ways this shows up in our lives, whether that be when we are burnt out, feeling hopeless, dwelling in the shadow of grief, struggling to make sense of our purpose in the world at points of transition in life, or any other scenario when we feel disconnected from ourselves, others, and God. Or, perhaps we relate more to the experience of Lazarus (John 11: 44), feeling bound up, managed by people and things outside of our control, not sure how we can move forward. When our souls are crying out, waiting for the Lord (Psalm 130). When we are feeling stuck, in need of some CPR in order to get up and move again, in a way that feels life-giving for us.
These feelings have always been present in our human story, yet, I can also see the ways in which they are particularly prevalent in our time now, when our systems and souls are overloaded with the pain and suffering of the world while also trying to figure out how to live within our own little sphere too. When I read the headlines, sit with people in their grief, and receive updates from our colleagues in churches around the world, it can feel hopeless. It can feel like we are the dry bones that were left in the desert (Ezekiel 37: 1-14); we may even find ourselves being like the Israelites who are constantly asking if God has abandoned them and if God even cares about what is happening their world. We keep crying out, asking for things to change, maybe even struggling to trust in the promises we have from God, more so than we have struggled with this at other points in our lives.
Yet, I am also reminded, when I read these stories, that God doesn’t just leave us abandoned in the desert. Instead, like God asks of Ezekiel, “Mortal, can these bones live?” (Ezekiel 37: 3b), God finds a way to breathe new life into us. We always focus on “the Resurrection” at Easter, but I would argue that life is full of countless mini resurrections; a return of hope when all feels hopeless, when we become unbound from the things that are burdening us, when a sense of life is breathed into our bones! I experience this when I volunteer with the kids at school, especially a few weeks ago when I got to witness their incredible sense of joy at playing in the snow; work with coaching clients as they start to find their own paths forward; or see the ways that we accompany one another in our grief and pain, like at grief group last week. It is a hope and promise that we are not alone in this world, that our existence matters to God and the world around us. It’s a promise of new life that springs forth, even in the midst of all the other heaviness. It’s like the springtime, when the flowers begin to bloom and grow, even though they had to die or hibernate in the winter as a part of their growth. These resurrections aren’t just for the fantastical stories of a phoenix rising from the ashes, but they are a part of our everyday lives if we begin to look all around us.
None of this negates the physical reality of death; it doesn’t take away the emotional sting, as we can see by the reactions of Mary and Martha in today’s Gospel, and even in Jesus’ own weeping (John 11: 1-45), even knowing that he is about to raise Lazarus, and as we have experienced in our own lives. But, it is a promise that in life and in death, we are never outside of God’s love. It helps us to trust in Jesus’ declaration: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die” (John 11: 25-26). There are so many different ways to understand what Jesus is saying here, and scholars have debated it for centuries. There are arguments about whether the resurrection will be a literal bodily thing or if it is spiritual, it’s what has led to debates about “proper” ways of burial. But, I think when we get caught up on those details, we miss the point.
Those things pull the attention away from the way that God is constantly breathing new life into us through the Spirit, with each breath we take. It’s like the Ezekiel reading says, “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live…” (Ezekiel 37: 14a). I’m reminded of our Jewish siblings who do not speak the name of God, but the written name of God in Hebrew is meant to reflect the sound of our breathing, because it is from God that we have our life and breath. The bones in Ezekiel are so dry, there is no semblance of life in them, long forgotten, left to the elements (Ezekiel 37: 1-2). Meanwhile, Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days, meaning he isn’t just dead, he is dead dead. There is already going to be a stench; there is no hope of Jesus being able to do anything there (John 11: 39). Yet, in each of these cases, God brings forth life! Where there is no hope of life existing, God renews their spirits and shows the ways in which the Spirit is always bringing forth new life in the places where it feels impossible. And, with our own loved ones, it can be like the ways in which their legacy and memory live on within us, as we say their names and share their stories. There are so many forms in which these mini-resurrections can take place; I’m not going to try to stand here and limit them. But, this is the promise we hear today: God is still moving and breathing and stirring up life among us, even in our grief, despair, and fear, when all hope seems lost.
When I was in a meeting this week, one of the facilitators concluded us with a blessing written by former bishop Leila Ortiz. The entire thing was beautiful, and it resonated with my soul in a way that tied together the promises I was hearing in these readings too. So, I want to remind us that, even when hope feels lost, when we are struggling to see life in the midst of all the death that surrounds us, God is still speaking to us and breathing new life into our dry and weary bones. May Reverend Ortiz’s blessing be one of those things that breathes some life into us today too; “Renewed by the breath of God that lifts what has fallen and gives life to what seemed dead, go out into the world with courage and tenderness. Someone needs to hear today that hope has not ended.”