Such a lesson for us now. God brings us to places we would avoid. “The hand of the Lord… set me down in the middle of a valley.”
Ezekiel does not choose this valley; God leads him there. For us, this is the inward and outward journey into the places we most fear: Here lie the traumas we bury, the injustices we normalize, the communities our society has abandoned, and perhaps the ecological ruin we barely face.
The Spirit often brings us where polite religion refuses to go. Prophetic imagination begins by witnessing what is broken without turning away. A hard question is asked: “Can These Bones Live?” God asks not for a doctrinal statement, but for Ezekiel’s hopeful imagination. The prophet replies, “O Lord God, you know.” His reply contains a mixture of humility and openness. It is an answer that honors both reality (the bones are dead) and possibility (God can do what we cannot yet conceive).
This is the heart of progressive faith: holding grief and hope together, refusing both denial and despair.
Today, questions echo across the valleys around us:
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Can communities fractured by racism live?
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Can the earth, wounded by ecological destruction, live?
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Can democracies threatened by injustice live?
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Can church traditions that have harmed LGBTQ+ people live in a new way?
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Can our own exhausted spirits live?
As Christians, we must insist: yes, breath is still possible.
“Prophesy to these bones and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.”
God does not magically reassemble the bones. God invites Ezekiel into the work. This is divine partnership—what some theologians call co-creation. God’s healing moves through human voices, human courage, and human solidarity.
To prophesy today is not primarily to predict the future, but to speak life where death has claimed the last word:
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speaking truth against systems that dehumanize,
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proclaiming dignity where society calls people disposable,
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advocating liberation,
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naming injustice,
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dreaming of alternatives.
Prophetic speech is not abstract, it is speech that changes reality.
“There were sinews… flesh… skin… but there was no breath in them.”
This two-step miracle mirrors real transformation. First comes structure, all the organizing, repairing, community-building. It might feel this is without breath (ruach as we learned at the Oregon Synod Assembly: spirit, wind, or life-force). These structures, in and of themselves, fall short of God’s promise.
But at Creator we are encouraged to:
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Organize for justice and seek spiritual renewal.
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Build systems of care and cultivate wonder.
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Reform institutions and welcome the Spirit’s unpredictable movement.
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Create inclusive churches and pray for deep transformation.
Reform without Spirit becomes bureaucracy. Spirit without reform becomes sentimentality. Ezekiel shows the union of both
“Prophesy to the breath… and breath came into them.”
The Spirit enters from every direction; north, south, east, and west. This is God’s radically inclusive movement. The winds do not discriminate. No culture, identity, or community monopolizes the Spirit. Breath flows across boundaries, traditions, and borders.
As we discussed Creator's vision and mission last Sunday this was articulated by all who were there:
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honoring diverse voices,
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seeing God’s life in communities outside Christianity,
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embracing the global movement for justice as Spirit-led,
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trusting that renewal is never confined to our tribe.
The breath that brings life is bigger than us.
“They stood on their feet, a vast multitude.”
The bones don’t come back to life as isolated persons; they rise as a people, a community. Salvation in Scripture is communal and embodied. The vision points toward liberation, not escape; toward rebuilding society, not retreating from it.
This challenges individualistic spirituality. Resurrection is not an interior feeling; it is a collective rising, a shared reclamation of hope.
This is not a promise of resuscitation but resurrection; in new life and new identity, we have a new future. For exiles in Babylon, restoration didn’t erase their wounds; it wove them into a story of survival and renewal.
For us today, this text proclaims:
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Trauma does not get the last word.
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History’s injustices can be transformed.
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Communities written off as “dead” can rise.
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Creation itself can heal.
The Spirit is never done with us.
The Valley of Dry Bones is a vision of God’s relentless commitment to life. It invites us:
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to face the broken places with honesty,
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to dare to hope against despair,
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to speak life into death-dealing systems,
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to trust the breath that moves from every direction,
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to rise as communities shaped by justice and compassion.
It is a story for any people who have been told they are finished.
It is a story for a world desperately needing breath.
It is a story for every valley we stand in, whispering the same question:
“Can these bones live?”
And the Spirit still answers: “Yes.”
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