Bones with out flesh. Flesh and bones without spirit. This was Ezekiel’s nation: dead on the battle field, or dead on their feet.

Out of the depths, cries the psalmist. Out of sorts, out of spirit, the psalmist waits.

Without the spirit of God our flesh and bones are just that … flesh and bones, says Paul.

And Jesus returns to Bethany to find the flesh of his friend Lazarus turning into bones.

What can we do about this? How do we face the future when the present is so bleak? Where do we find flesh amongst the bones; spirit amongst the carcasses; life amongst the dead?

The process of procreation is so well known, its beginning is easy to believe. The process of resurrection is not well known, its beginning is hard to believe.

That is why God told Ezekiel to prophecy to the bones. Prophecy!

Paint a picture of the end of the process that no-one has seen. Paint a picture of a horizon not otherwise visible. Paint a picture so that people who saw nothing would begin to head towards it. Paint a picture of the horizon that God can see; of a horizon not yet created; of a horizon that is, for the moment, only promise.

Paint, Ezekiel, paint!

This is what we do when we the present is bleak; when we are looking for the life amongst the dead. For this is the challenge of every moment when desolation overcomes us. It is also the challenge of every funeral address.

Jesus gets to Bethany just in time for the funeral of his friend Lazarus. He has waited for two days after getting the pleading message from Mary and Martha. He waits, arriving just in time to preach at the funeral. But Mary and Martha don’t want a funeral oration: they don’t want to be reminded of the times when their brother did this or said that; they don’t want to review his life; they want him … alive:

If you had been here my brother would not have died

Mary and Martha wanted Lazarus back. Ezekiel wanted Jerusalem back. The psalmist wanted his spirit back. But Jesus says:

If you are with me, I will take you to a place I have already prepared for you.

This is a place we cannot comprehend, for this is a place we have not seen and do not know.

The world we live in, the world as it is today, doesn’t really allow for mystery; there isn’t a place for wonder and awe. In the hear and now we expect everything to be understandable, verifiable, explainable. We think we’ve got life taped, catalogued, sorted. We think we’ve got creation neatly wrapped in swaddling bands and lying in a manger of our creation

And this is, partly, because we have such an understanding of the beginning of life. Procreation is a doddle!

But, in reality, we know very little. And we know nothing of re‑creation, of resurrection.

But just because we can’t describe it, clarify it and explain it; just because we have no computer generated models from which to build simulated lists of probability outcomes …

… that doesn’t mean that there’s nothing there.

Paint, Ezekiel, paint.

Paint me a picture that will hold my attention despite the siren voices that proclaim:

I can’t see it, it isn’t there.

Paint me a picture that will hold my love despite the siren voices that proclaim:

There’s nothing there, so there can’t be any love.

Paint me a picture that will hold me true, despite the siren voices that proclaim:

Truth is what you make it, not something real and tangible, for there are no absolutes.

Paint, Ezekiel, paint.

It is these paintings of the future to which we cling in our desolation; when the present is bleak; when we are looking for life amongst the dead.