“Life and Breath”

Pentecost Sunday

Sunday May 31, 2009

Ezekiel 37:1-14                         

Psalm 104:24-34, 35b

Acts 2:1-21

Permit me to begin this sermon with one irrefutable truth.

It is this.

Breath is necessary for life.

The air that we breathe, the oxygen that we draw into our bodies, is absolutely essential for the maintenance of life.   Without breath, our physical bodies may not suddenly disappear, but we are not alive.  Life requires breath.

Breath is, in fact, one of the defining experiences of human life.  Although we may have existed in our mother’s womb for nine months, our journey in this world begins when we emerge from the womb, take a few gulps of air, and cry our way into breathing the oxygen into which we are suddenly plunged. 

And those of you who have been present at the moment of the death of a loved one will know that in the last moments of the journey of this life, a longer and longer pause between breaths is the most moving sign that life is about to draw to its inevitable end.  When the pause between a loved one’s inhalations and exhalations lengthens and eventually ceases, life’s journey is complete.  And at every moment in between birth and death, one of the only constant activities that we are engaged in is the drawing in of breath. 

But even as we ponder the necessity of air, it is interesting to realize that the air that we breathe does more than simply sustain life.  In many ways, breath also serves as the substance that animates life, that shapes existence, that excites and inspires our passions.

Consider the role and importance of breath and of air in something as simple as this morning’s worship service.

One of the great blessings of this congregation is the music that enriches our services of worship.  The songs that the choir prepares, the music that Dan Bickle plays, the hymns that are used in our services – all of these expressions of worship and of praise are quite moving and inspiring.   But – and I hope that neither Dan Bickle nor the choir take any offense, but it is all really a bunch of air – air pushed through valves and pipes in the organ; breath drawn from the lungs of the choir members and propelled across their vocal chords; air that is transformed from unspoken longings of our souls into the words of the hymns that we all sing.

But, lest anyone think that I am centering out the choir in unfair ways, I would also invite us to realize that everything that comes from the lectern and pulpit is all really just hot air as well.  All of the words that are spoken – in the prayers that we offer, the words of Scripture that we read, the reflections of the sermon and the professions of faith that we articulate in the creeds – are similarly little more than movements of warm air from within us, emanations of breath. These words, and songs and prayers may move us, may shape our faith, may influence our view of reality – but at their very root, they are simply different emanations of the oxygen drawn from within us.  And yet, it is upon those wisps of breath that we hear God’s word; that we give voice to our praises and to our prayers; that we are renewed in our faith and inspired in our compassion.

And it is not only in worship that breath touches and reshapes our lives.  Last night, a young couple stood at the front of this sanctuary, and spoke words which bound their lives together in the covenant of marriage.  Regardless of what the future holds, for them, the words that they spoke in that moment – carried upon the breath that emerged from within them – will have a tremendous impact on the journeys of the lives.  The wedding vow reminds us, in a profound a powerful way, that we may make love with our physical bodies, but it is in words, spoken on the breath that emerges from within us, that our passions are articulated; it is in words, spoken on the breath that emerges from within us, that sacred promises are spoken which create the bond of fidelity between human beings.  Only the most cynical and naïve person would suggest that the words of a wedding promise have no meaning that is greater than air breathed across a person’s vocal chords.  A wedding vow means more than the breath of air that forms it.

Breath, therefore, is more than a necessity of life; it is also the force that animates life – that gives voice to our passions and our promises, that proclaims our praise and our prayers, that creates the soul-stirring movements of music and the life-affirming declarations of God’s word.  It may all just be breath – but without it, life is emptied of meaning, of purpose, of passion and of vitality.

So what does all of this have to do with today’s biblical readings?

In ancient Hebrew, it is important to remember that there is a profound link between the words for breath, wind, life and the Spirit of God. 

In the opening pages of Genesis, for example, the Hebrew text suggests that the ruach elohim hovered over the primordial waters of creation.  This phrase – the ruach elohim – which can literally be translated as the ‘breath of God’ or the ‘wind of God’ but which is more commonly translated as the Spirit of God – is the animating force of God’s creative power.  It is that divine breath, that Spirit of God, that ruach elohim that brings order out of chaos so that creation might begin. 

And it is this same phrase – the ruach elohim – which is found in today’s reading from Ezekiel 37.  The breath which blew through the valley of dry bones was this very ruach elohim that was the creative, animating breath of God. 

So what was the vision of the valley of dry bones all about? 

The prophet’s ancient vision of the valley of dry bones – made perhaps most famous by the old spiritual “Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Dem Dry Bones” – served as a powerful analogy for the experience of the oppressed and exiled people of God during their Babylonian captivity.

The people to whom Ezekiel prophesied were in a desperate time.  Having been carried into the Babylonian exile, they were cut off from their homeland, from their Temple, and from the covenant promises in which they had rooted their self-identity.  They were political refugees, a dominated and oppressed people; they had been conquered by one of the ancient world’s great empires, cut off from joy, cut off from certainty about the future, cut off from any sense of vitality about what lay before them.  It was during that Babylonian exile that the words of the Psalm were set – “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion….how could we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land?”  They were a people filled with despair, with loss, with the shame of defeat, with doubt about God’s care, God’s protection, or even God’s continuing interest in them.  They were a people who were filled with as much life as was to be found in a pile of dusty, old, dry bones.

We read, “the hand of the LORD came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.  He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry.  He said to me, ‘Mortal, can these bones live?’“  The answer seemed obvious.  Of course not.

 But that was not the prophet’s response. “O LORD God, you know.”  And then the seemingly impossible happened.  In that visionary experience, the prophet was told to declare that life would, indeed, be found amongst that decrepit pile of bones.  “Thus says the LORD God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.  I will lay sinews on you, and will cause flesh to come upon you, and cover you with skin and put breath in you, and you shall live; and you shall know that I am the LORD.”

The breath of God would restore them to life.  The ruach elohim would move among that pile of bones.  The Spirit of God would re-animate them.  The wind of God would blow through them -- and they would live.

In the vision, Ezekiel then heard a noise, a rattling and the bones came together.  But even though the bones began to come together he came to realize that physical life, by itself, was not enough.  As verse 8 states, “I looked, and there was sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them.”  The bones were beginning to have all of the physical trappings of being alive; but without that animating breath, life was not fully manifest.  Physical life with spiritual inspiration was incomplete.  Without that breath, the dry bones would simply be reconstructed skeletons.  Life required breath.

And so, the breath came.  “I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude.”

And, with that breath, the prophet articulated a vision of a time when that depressed and dispirited people would be restored to hope.  The spirit of God would live in them again; they would be restored to a vital and vibrant existence; and their confidence in their relationship with God would be renewed.

And all because the breath of God would be breathed into them; all because the wind of God would blow through them; all because the Spirit of God would re-animate their dry and dusty bones.

It is that same vision, of a time of hope, of renewal and of inspiration, that stands at the heart of the story of Pentecost.  Today is Pentecost Sunday, the day when the Church celebrates the coming of the gift of the Holy Spirit upon the gathered community of Christ’s followers.  In the aftermath of Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension, the followers of Christ did not know what to do.  They were afraid and unsure of what they were supposed to do, where they were supposed to go, and even what their experiences meant.  The passion of their experiences had been tried and tested; not always successfully.  But what was supposed to happen now?

And the answer came in the form of a wind that blew through the house in which they were staying.  Tongues as of fire danced upon their heads.  A new spirit rushed through them.  The ruach elohim, the breath of God, the wind of the divine, re-animated them and drove them out into the streets to declare the good news of God which had been made known to them in Jesus Christ.

And the world has never been the same.

What is important for us all to remember is that the celebration of Pentecost is not meant to be limited to a remembrance of what happened in Jerusalem two thousand years ago.  Rather, the celebration of Pentecost is a celebration of the ongoing presence of the Spirit of God in the Church.  It is a celebration of Christ’s promise that he would send a Spirit to continue to guide his followers – a Spirit that would inspire them in their times of indifference, comfort them in their times of sorrow, challenge them in their times of complacency, and draw them into further into truth in their times of discernment.  It was a promise of a Spirit that would live within them – that would live within every one of us – and that would plant the seeds of God’s life within us, and allow those tiny seeds to grow into the fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

And the good news of Pentecost is that this same Spirit continues to be present to us, even today.  When we feel lost in the chaos of life, the ruach elohim can still create order in the place of chaos.  When we find ourselves embracing the form of physical life without its spiritual vitality, the breath of God still has the power to blow through these old bones of our to re-animate and inspire us.    When we feel uncertain about the future of the church or our calling as the followers of Christ, God still has the power to blow through us and send us back out into the world with a message of good news -- a proclamation of grace, of hope and of love to share.  

And so, our prayer, on this day and on all days is that Christ’s promise will be fulfilled in us – that the ruach elohim, the breath of God will breathe into us, so that the power of God’s creative, life-giving, renewing, inspiring Spirit might blow through us – and bring life and breath, even to these old dry bones.