The Breath That Isn't Yours

Step toward the light in God’s presence

God leads Ezekiel down into a valley and walks him through it. Bones everywhere, and the prophet notes what he sees: they are very dry. Not the freshly fallen, not the wounded who might still be helped. Old bones, bleached, with the wind going straight through them. Then comes the question: “Son of man, can these bones come back to life?”

Ezekiel's answer is one of the most honest lines in all of Scripture. He does not say of course, nothing is impossible for God. He says: “Lord GOD, you alone know that.” That's all. He refuses to perform a faith he does not feel. And God does not scold him for it. Everything that follows is built on that one crack of openness.

A few verses later we learn who the vision is about, because God quotes the people's own sentence back: “Our bones are dried up, our hope is lost.” This is not rebellion. It is the voice of someone worn through, someone who is not even angry anymore. Going dry is rarely dramatic. It happens quietly, over months, and you don't notice it because something hurts. You notice it because nothing does.

And on this same morning someone asks Jesus which commandment is the greatest. The answer is familiar: love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and love your neighbour as yourself. But hear that sentence while standing in a dry valley and it stops sounding like a command. It sounds like a verdict. Where is a person supposed to find a whole heart when there is nothing in it?

That is why these two readings stand together today. Love does not come out of your last reserves. It is poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us, and in Scripture the word for Spirit is the same word as breath. You are not asked to squeeze love out. You are asked to let it in. God breathes first, and only then does he ask.

Another word arriving this morning points straight at what dries a person out fastest: don't worry about what people think of you. Look at where the strength of your heart actually goes on an ordinary day. Not into love. Into an invisible courtroom where you spend the hours making your defence to people who aren't even listening. Loving God with your whole heart is how you walk out of that room. Not because other people's opinions stop mattering, but because the verdict on you has already been handed down, and it was mercy.

Today the Church remembers a pope who was born a village priest and stayed one to the end; he simply moved to Rome. Pius X took three words for his motto: to restore all things in Christ. Not repair. Not tidy up. Restore, the way dry ground is restored after the first real rain.

And watch how the breath arrives in the vision. God does not speak to the bones directly. He tells Ezekiel: prophesy over them. A human being has to say the word out loud above what is dead. You don't have to feel your faith first. You have to speak it. Then comes the rattling, and the bones begin to move toward each other.