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

Without the spirit of our God, flesh and bones are just that … flesh and bones, says St 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 recreation, 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 yet visible. Paint a picture so that people who can see nothing will begin to head towards it. Paint a picture of a 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 to speak at the funeral of his friend, Lazarus. He waits for two days after getting the pleading message from Mary and Martha. He waits, and arrives just in time to pay tribute to his friend 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 a rehearsal of amusing anecdotes. They don’t want him to be the star of “This is Your Life”.

Mary and Martha want Lazarus … alive. “If you had been here my brother would not have died,” they each, on separate occasions, by themselves, declare to Jesus.

Mary and Martha want Lazarus back. Ezekiel wants Jerusalem back. The psalmist wants his spirit back

And 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 really any space for wonder and awe.

In the here and now, everything has 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 making.

And this is (partly) because we have such a good and clear understanding of the beginning of life. After all, some would say, procreation is a doddle!

But, in reality, we know very little about 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, so 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 feel, what you make it, for there are no absolutes.

Paint, Ezekiel, paint!

For it is to these paintings of the future that we cling in our desolation.

And it is to the horizon beyond the horizon that we strain, when the present is bleak.

And it is to truths beyond facts - the truth of hope beyond the fact of despair, the truth of faith beyond the fact of brokenness, the truth of re creation beyond the fact of creation - it is to these truths beyond facts that we hold when we are looking for the living amongst the dead.