“Son of man, can these bones live?”
A song plays on the Christian radio station I listen to that references Ezekiel 37. And that song has been playing in my mind the past several days, keeping me thinking. I’ve thought a lot about how this story applies to my life, and the lives of the people I know. Until I heard this song, I hadn’t read that story in a long time, but I think it’s one of my favorite stories in the whole Bible. There aren’t a lot of stories mentioned in the Bible that speak of God raising the dead to life, but what stories are given, are powerful. But this one is different. When I think about this story, I wonder why it’s not mentioned in churches more. It should be. Not just for the prophetic reasons, but also for the application you and I can apply to our own lives with God. This story should be told far more often than it is.
Ezekiel is a prophet. God speaks to Ezekiel, and then commands Ezekiel to speak God’s heart to His people. He has seen visions of God since he was thirty years old. He’s been used by God to call them back to the Lord. He cried out to the stubborn, rebellious hearts of the people of Israel for years. And I’m sure, at this point, his ministry has taken a toll on his soul. In this chapter, Ezekiel has been lead into the wilderness by the Spirit of God. And God places him into a valley that is filled with dry human bones. God leads Ezekiel back and forth among them, and Ezekiel did not record how long. Personally, I think God led him from one end of the valley to the other, to see all these bones stretched out before him. And Ezekiel comments that these bones are very dry—as in, these bones no longer have any flesh left on them. The decaying process has almost been completed. There is nothing left of these dead bodies except their very dry bones. Soon, these bones will become dust again. For, as God said to Adam in Genesis 3, “Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”
I wonder what that was like for Ezekiel. I can almost see him, or at least envision seeing through his eyes. I can imagine him stunned. Maybe he didn’t record how long he stayed there because he lost track of time. He was overwhelmed.
Why was God leading him here? It was an unclean place—he would have to purify himself. He couldn’t go back to the temple, or to his people, without being purified. I wonder if Ezekiel saw any wildlife, if crows or ravens still flew around this place, or if mice still borrowed in the brush around the bodies. Or was there even brush left? Would the plants have been destroyed in the battle that left all these dead bodies? I imagine so. Israel has a lot of desert, for one, but for another, thousands of feet trampling on plants during a war doesn’t leave much alive. I imagine it as an open tomb, dusty and bare, and Ezekiel is wandering through, stepping gingerly, trying not to step on the sun-bleached bones. Occasionally, he steps wrong, and he winces as he hears a crack! under his sandals. He’s stunned at the vast amount of bones, grieved by the loss of countless lives, and wondering why God allows such pain. Suffering. Sickness. War. Death. But yet, he wonders also why Israel has turned their backs on God. And he wonders why God even bothers with his people. Why God wants anything to do with them. God once destroyed the world with a flood—was God warning him that a greater destruction was coming? Had God finally lost his patience with Israel, with the world, again? Ezekiel had been warning the people that another, more powerful nation would destroy them. But was God about to warn them that He’d destroy the world again, because He was so sick of their wickedness?
I can imagine that Ezekiel’s eyes are filled with tears. He’s afraid. He’s grieved. He hates how his people are so stubborn and wicked, yet he loves them. And he begins to wonder, Why, God, have You put such love in my heart for these wicked people, if You’re only going to destroy them? Why do You allow my people, any people, to act so wickedly toward one another? Why do You allow war? Why do You allow rape? Why do You allow sickness? Why didn’t You stop Adam from sinning, and bringing this world so much pain?
And then, for the first time recorded in this story, God speaks.
“Son of man, can these bones live?”
Ezekiel pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the valley again, surrounded on all sides by the dead. His thoughts have been challenged. His questioning of God’s character is interrupted. Perhaps he remembers stories about Elisha, and the story of how God used Elisha in the process of raising a widow’s dead son. Another prophet, years before this moment. But that boy, though dead, certainly still had flesh on him. He dead for hours, maybe a few days—certainly not years, like these bones spread out all around the valley.
Still overwhelmed, still grieved, Ezekiel longs to see the kind of miracle Elisha saw. Doubt claws at his soul, yet he longs to believe again, like he used to. Like when God first gave him the visions. Like the first time he heard God’s voice. Like when he first realized God was calling him to be a prophet. Something inside him whispers, If God created these men who died, surely He can give them life again. But neither faith nor doubt have the upper hand in Ezekiel’s heart. And so, weary and broken, Ezekiel whispers back, “Sovereign Lord…only You know.” Maybe then, Ezekiel shrugged his shoulders, helpless, fighting the tears in his eyes. And then his shoulders slumped again. “…Only You know.”
How often I’ve believe that in my own life. If I were asked, I think I would’ve replied, in Sunday school fashion, how God can do anything. That God can raise dead people to life. Jesus did it three times, and He Himself rose from the dead. But the truth is, when it comes to the life of the soul, I didn’t truly believe it. I doubted God far more often than I believed.
I’ve heard many Christians describe times in their life where they felt “dry.” That before, they felt on fire and close to the heart of God, but in the moment, they felt far from him. “Dry.” Like plants that need water. Like a desert. Like dust, needing water for life, and to give life. I was no exception. For many years, all I experienced was being dry. I wrote once of how I felt like a barren desert, thirsty and dead. Deserts are often full of life, but I felt like the Sahara, nothing but sand and rock. Every once in a while, God would rain His Spirit on me, and I felt joy again, but so rarely. And I wrote that I longed to be full of life, like a forest. I imagine my heart becoming like the woods of southern Oregon, where I grew up. I can see bright sunlight filtering through the tall Douglas Fir boughs in the summer, of birds singing in the trees. I can see whitetail deer leaping through blackberry bushes and drinking from salmon-filled rivers. That’s exactly what I longed for that in my soul. For life. To truly live. “I am the living dead,” Jonathan Thulis sings, in the song I like. Those are the very first lyrics in his song. And I was just that. I was the living dead, for many years. But I doubt many people saw through it—I hid that pain away as much as I could. I think only a few people could really see the pain I held within.
I read a book by John Eldredge called Waking the Dead, and I held onto its words for a while. I thought, Maybe I could gain life in my soul…someday. But I need to reread it, because I couldn’t hold onto its words as a broken-hearted teenager. I didn’t have the faith or strength. I held onto one of the key Bible verses he quoted, John 10:10, for a while as well. “The thief comes to steal, and kill, and destroy. But I have come that they may have life, and life to the full.” But again, I didn’t truly believe it. I couldn’t hold onto its words. I was filled with pain for the things I’d lived through, and slowly, the promises I’d held onto slipped through my weakened hands.
“Daughter of God, can these bones live?”
Like Ezekiel, I realize God has challenged me with that question the past couple of years. Because, though I used to think I did believe it, I realize now that I never truly did. I doubted God. I doubted His love for me, that I could do nothing to make Him love me more, and that I could do nothing to make Him love me less. I doubted every promise He ever made. That He cared for me. That He would provide for my needs. That He would guide and lead me. That He really had begun good works in me, and that those good works He began He would complete (Philippians 1:6). I could go on and on and on. For all the beautiful promises of love God puts in His word, I didn’t truly believe anything He wrote. I believed God existed. I only barely believed Jesus had died for my sins, and I wasn’t truly confident I was going to see Him in heaven. Because I was so wretched, how could God love me? I doubted everything. How could God love me? Why did He allow me to suffer pain? Why did God allow me to experience such heartache, dealt by the hands of the family who should have loved me more than anyone else? Why did God allow me to suffer such loneliness, almost unseen by my acquaintances (could I dare to call them friends?) and certainly unnoticed by any boy I even half-way admired? But then, how could I deserve it? I was such a wretch. How could God bless me with these beautiful things, when I was certain to screw it up? How could anyone love such an ugly girl, who talked too much (so obviously desperate for attention—how irritating!), who was so bitter-hearted? I certainly did not deserve any scrap of blessing God might toss my way. How could God love a wretch, like me?
“Sovereign Lord,” my broken heart whispered for years, “only You know.”
For years, I couldn’t hear a response from God. Not really. And I wonder how long it took Ezekiel to hear God’s response. Was it immediate? Or did God have to speak audibly, not just in Ezekiel’s mind, so that Ezekiel got a clue? And then, I wonder, did Ezekiel respond right away? Or did he doubt what he’d heard, wondering if he’d gone crazy or if he’d heard God wrong?
“Prophesy to these bones,” God commands Ezekiel. “Say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’”
I bet Ezekiel stood there for a while, stunned again. Maybe feeling stupid, because it sounded like such a crazy command. But eventually, he does. And suddenly, at Ezekiel’s word, he begins to see a dramatic change. He hears rattling first. He looks around, wondering where it came from. But soon, he no longer wonders, because it’s so loud it’s echoing off the mountains around the dry valley. He’s about to panic, because he sees the bones suddenly pulling together, like the invisible hands of God are drawing them close. Bones bump into his ankles and feet, and he jumps out of the way, dancing frantically for a few moments so he doesn’t step on one. And as he watches, Ezekiel is really about to freak out, because he sees tendons suddenly appearing on the joints of the bones around him. And ligaments. And he sees muscle forming, and organs appear, and blood vessels all over. And then skin is draped over everything, and hair graces the heads and the cheeks of the bodies everywhere. Ezekiel sees no wounds. He sees no spilled blood. He just see what looks like thousands of men sleeping. Insanely curious, yet terrified, Ezekiel can’t help but bend down to touch one of the men nearby. There is no breath. The man is still dead, but he at least has a body again. He is not yet fully alive, but he is far more now than just dry bones.
I believe that, for my life personally, I’m at that place now. I believed that God had a fickle love like I’d experienced in my family. I believed He was often angry at me, that I was a screw-up who could never do anything right. I was a source of anger and frustration for God. That I was not worth His love. That in God’s eyes (not just mine), I truly was a wretch. In the deepest part of my heart, I felt that I couldn’t express what I really felt and wanted with God. I didn’t truly believe His word, that I am His cherished daughter. That God delights in me. That yes, I have sinful desires, but not all desires are sinful. That God Himself placed within my heart good desires, that He longs to fulfill, and to use me and the desires that burn within me to bring the world back to himself. Even writing. God placed that love of writing, and this skill for writing, into my hands. I’ve always wanted to write book and become an author. But as a teenager, God also placed a desire in my heart to write for Him. And, in time, I’m beginning to truly believe He will.
And through the words of a perceptive counselor who knows Him, Christ is showing me that I can truly believe His promises. I can truly believe that God intends to, and will, bring me life, as He spoke of in John 10:10. I can truly believe now that God has a plan for my life. “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,’ declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 29:11-14).
I’m just barely beginning to fully believe. My spirit is beginning to gain some muscle and strength, some tendons and ligaments so my faith can move. I’m more now than what I used to be. I am more now than just dry bones. But now comes my part, my act of faith, as it was for Ezekiel.
Ezekiel is still awe-struck at the bodies around him. I don’t know historically who this army could have been, but I wonder, were they Israelites? Did Ezekiel even recognize a couple of the faces, perhaps mentors or older friends who had died when Ezekiel was young? Did he have a brother, or several brothers, who died in this valley? Did his father die here? I don’t know, but I know for certain that Ezekiel must have been awe-struck. But confused. I thought You asked if they can live. They’re not alive yet, God. They have bodies, but where is their spirit?
“Prophesy to the breath,” God commands again.
And this is where I get absolutely fascinated with this story. Because if you look at the Hebrew word for “breath,” God is basically saying, “Prophesy to My Holy Spirit.”
“Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.'”
God is commanding Ezekiel to command the Holy Spirit to give the dead men life.
Ezekiel hesitantly obeys, not for lack of faith anymore, but now, for being filled with wonder. And I can imagine here that there was a rushing sound, like on Pentecost when the disciples received the Holy Spirit. Wind rushes into the valley from the mountains, and Ezekiel robes billow around him. His hair whips around his face. But he just manages to see, and hear again, a different rushing sound. The sound of living people breathe deeply in. He sees the chest of the man before him expand. He looks around, and sees, one by one, men all around him breathing in deeply. The wind stops, but a softer rush continues. The bodies are exhaling. And slowly, one by one, the men all around him begin to sit up. They look around, absolutely shocked, perhaps touching their bodies. Their heads, their chests, their stomachs. Looking at their hands, expecting blood, but only seeing their dusty fingertips. They look around at one another, but they turn and stare in wonder at Ezekiel, as if knowing somehow that they needed to follow him. Slowly, each man stands. And Ezekiel can only turn all around, watching in awe, perhaps with tears flowing down his cheeks, overwhelmed at the words that God speaks next.
“Son of man, these bones are the people of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’ Therefore prophesy and say to them: ‘This is what the Sovereign Lord says: My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. Then you, My people, will know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it.'”
God is bringing me back to life. Not just to half-hearted belief in an ancient book, but to a vibrant, living faith in His active, glorious, holy Self. God Himself wants to give me life—to make my spirit a life-filled forest, transformed from being the dry, wasted desert it was. And please, please believe—this isn’t just for me. I do not have my act together. I mess up all the time. But it’s not based on if I deserve it—or if you deserve it. God wants to give your spirit this life, too, because of who He is.
“He is faithful, He is glorious / He is Jesus, and all my hope is in Him / He is freedom, He is healing right now / He is hope, and joy / And love, and peace, and life.” That’s one of my favorite songs right now, “He is Faithful” by Jesus Culture. And how perfect, that the last word of the chorus is “life.” He is life. I definitely wanted to share that song, but that’s not the song I’ve been referencing. These are some of the lyrics that inspired this blog.
We are the dry and thirsty sand
Upon this dry and thirsty land
But You speak life into the flesh
Breathing air into the dead
A valley of bones
Covered in stone
Nothing more than human
Into the unknown
Body and soul
You’re calling me, ’cause
Only with You
The dead come to life
Dead come to life
Only in You
The dead come to life
Dead come to life
Only with You
I’ve heard it said that everlasting life does not mean, “After we die, we’ll life forever.” It means that the life of our spirit begins now, and lasts forever.
In light of that thought, I know what I will be responding now. I’ll be begging God’s Holy Spirit to rush into me, too. To wake my spirit up, and being this everlasting life. To be filled to the brim with His life. And I know He’ll answer my prayer with a “Yes.” And I’ll be begging God to rush into the lives of those I know, even to those I don’t, to fill them with His Spirit. To fill them with life. Not because we deserve it, but because God loves us. That’s why.
And please, again, know that this is true of you, too. No matter who you are, no matter what you’ve done, and no matter what has broken your heart—God loves you. And He will bring You to life, if you ask. So I encourage you—ask Him. Ask Him to bring your heart to life. Your spirit doesn’t have to be dry and thirty forever. Ask Him.
“I have come, that they may have life, and life to the full.” John 10:10.
Lifepress 