There have not been a lot of times in my life when Ezekiel's, "valley of the dry bones" reading has struck me as forcibly as it has in the past week. And this week I surely needed this reading; I needed to spend time with it, to really hear what it promises --- the wonder of what God's Word can do with a collection of dry bones in a world of death and destruction. Because of changes in my parish I am watching what is, at least potentially, the slow death-by-attrition of a faith community that was once vibrant, excited, faithful, and generous in its use of talents and treasure.
The valley is not yet covered in dry bones but there is no doubt that there are a number of ministerial dismemberments and liturgical limbs and corpses already moldering on the ground after having been discarded without a second thought, several more that are in their death throes or lined up for destruction, and we could be well on the way to becoming what Ezekiel describes. The slow, "death-by-attrition" way of proceeding is stunning to me in its effectiveness; the pathogen that is slowly, but inevitably chewing the life and flesh from the bones of our parish, the destructive acid eating away at the sinews of our community and hemolyzing the blood in our very veins is an ancient one. Pope Francis has taken it on after and in the somewhat the same terms that Vatican II did. It is clericalism possibly undertaken in the name of some version of a "reform of the reform" or "returning (us) to the diocese" we never actually left.
The imagery of Ezekiel is strong in my mind and even my ears. In last Friday's reading he is not speaking of those who died a natural death but instead, those who were slain by an enemy. I can see the valley floor littered with the remains of these murdered ones and I can hear the crunch and splintering of their bones as Ezekiel walks through in prayer (or new parish leadership rushes through without slowing, hearing, or seeing). I feel incredibly sad at the needless pain, loss, and at the carelessness and shortsightedness of it all --- as a community of faithful people, nourished consistently and carefully over decades and at different points in their own growth in faith, has the underpinnings of their faith decimated and the victims left to lie and die and disintegrate where they fall. Will something else grow in place of all of this? Yes, very likely; in fact, it is already growing --- much like a garden when it is taken over by an invasive plant like mustard. (The parable of the mustard seed is about the fruitfulness of the tiniest bit of faith, yes, but it cuts another way as well, taking advantage of a property which made the parable scandalous to hearers, namely, the tendency of mustard to choke out less hardy or more fragile plants and established growth and supplant them so gardens or more nutritious crops were impossible.)
And yet, in these parables and the reading from Ezekiel, what is essential for growth and everlasting life is the Word of God -- and that, Ezekiel tells us we have every right to expect, does miracles. So, while it is striking to me that the very first victim of clericalism in our parish is the Word of God, and while it is stunning how little time it takes for death to set in when people are not truly nourished with the Word of God day in and day out, and while yes, there is the odor of disease and death about our community these days, yet, I also believe, God is asking us to come together as church in and through the Word of God. We simply (were it so simple!!) must find ways to allow that Word to live and thrive and bring us (all of us, both clergy and laity alike!) to a new vibrancy as a single pilgrim People of God.
One word we don't hear spoken a lot in our everyday experience is liminality. Liminality is the state of being betwixt and between realities. It is to stand on the margin of one with a foot in the other and to try to stand secure. Celtic spirituality speaks of this way of being in terms of "the thin places" --- when the transcendent is "just there beyond the horizon" of our perception and other references may use the idea of marginality to describe living in liminal spaces. My own director calls it "the muddy middle". Liminality is uncomfortable and Christians are called to become adept at negotiating this reality. When I speak of Jesus' parables as creating a sacred space where one is off-footed or thrown off balance by the second set of values or the second perspective Jesus "throws down" (parable = para=alongside, ballein/ballo=to throw down), I am speaking of Jesus' parables creating and causing us to stand in a liminal space, a space which is on the margins between the world we know so well, and the Kingdom of God we know so much less well. This space created by Jesus' parables is one of Krisis (Gk) or crisis, a place where we are called to make decisions regarding which world we will truly be citizens of and who we will really be.
Our parish stands in a liminal state, a state of transition and crisis; thus, we need to discern carefully and make appropriate decisions regarding who we are and will be going forward. Of course, we know the decisions to be made are not so black and white as all that. After all, the Kingdom of God interpenetrates this world and this world is often falsely clothed in the garb of light. The mustard seed is awesome in its potential for growth and teaches us about the unsuspected and miraculously incommensurate power of just a tiny bit of faith, and at the same time it is dangerous in its capacity to choke out more fragile and established growth. The wheat and weeds of another of Jesus' parables are almost indistinguishable from one another in their earlier stages of growth and, only as the two are allowed to grow to maturity together, can the differences come to be seen truly, the wheat be brought to a fruitful harvest, and appropriate use of the weeds is made possible as well.
But in all of this, I am reminded again and again of the power and place of the Word of God in re-membering dry bones, reknitting their sinews and reconstituting and renewing their flesh and blood. The Word of God has the power to raise from the dead, to bring to new life, to make one of many, and to breathe soul and personal being into the dust of earth and death. This is Ezekiel's promise from last week's readings and while I continue to hear the crunch of dry bones and sorrow over the unnecessary and unnatural loss already very real in our community; it is the promise I know to be true in my own life and which I hope I can convey to those whose faith feels as threatened as my own has sometimes felt in the past several years --- as fragile (and as potentially strong!!) as I feel even in the present circumstances! For in all of this, when I hear the desperate plaint of Ezekiel, "Can these bones live??", I also draw on Paul's writings, especially the text I chose all those years ago as the motto of my religious life, and I hear God reminding me, "Laurel, My grace is sufficient for you (all), my power is perfected in weakness!!" (2 Cor 12:9) O God, that it may be so, Amen!
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