Memorial of Saint Bernard, abbot and doctor of the Church

Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"

Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
Ezekiel cried, "Dem dry bones!"
"Oh, hear the word of the Lord."


I’m sure the Jews who found themselves removed from Jerusalem to Babylon, aching for their lost city and the old ways, enjoyed Ezekiel’s song as much as we do, and found it just as comical. A good preacher sometimes lambastes his congregation for their sins; sometimes he comforts them in their grief; and sometimes he makes them laugh at themselves and their pitiful condition.
“Can these bones rise?” Early enough to get ready for work? To get the children off to school? To spend some quiet time in prayer before the day begins?
I’m reminded of the old woman who got up with several men every morning: Baby Ben woke her up, Arthur-itis wanted her to stay in bed; Will Power made her get up and Ben-Gay gave her some relief. Can these bones rise?
Of course, Ezekiel was encouraging his people, the disbanded nation of Judah, not just the weary old woman. They felt both helpless and hopeless. Their future had disappeared, their past was fading, and their present was bleak.
And yet God was with them. God’s spirit moved through the alien trees of Babylon, his breath whirled over the marshes and flatlands of Mesopotamia, just as God had shown himself in Israel. Little by little the people stirred to life. They collected and copied their scriptures, revised their liturgies, identified which foods they might eat according to their religious traditions, and taught everything to their children. If they could not dance in the Temple around the Ark of the Covenant, they could dance in the synagogues with the Torah in their arms. If they could not point to the sacred places so familiar to the Bible, they could keep the sacred hours of the Sabbath.
As Jesus would rise from the dead many years later with a new and transfigured body, the Jewish religion rose from the ashes of Jerusalem to bring their renewed and sacred presence to the world.