Dry, dry bones

 God said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"

    I said, "Master God, only you know that."

 He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones: 'Dry bones, listen to the Message of God!' I'll breathe my life into you and you'll live. Then I'll lead you straight back to your land and you'll realize that I am God. I've said it and I'll do it." -- Ezekiel 37, The Message

What is it about this time of year? Everything points toward death. 

The skies lose their summer brightness and dim towards grey. 

The trees drop their leaves, like so many dirty socks strewn across Mother Nature's carpet. 

Shuffling through them calls up Peterson's image of the dry bones, how they rustled as the Lord brought them together and attached them with sinew, covered them with skin and breathed life into them once again.

Isn't that the whole point?

Each year we watch this happen. The leaves change, the winds turn chill. The colors of fall give way to November drear, and then the snows begin. The cold blankets of winter, lovely to look at from inside our warm, cozy houses-- but if you venture out, be prepared.

But before we know it, the snows melt, creating rivulets of life. The first signs of life appear, green tips of crocus peeking up through the snow. Birds return from their winter exodus. Squirrels get all squirrelly as they chase each other round and round the oak behind my neighbor's house.

Life goes on. 

So why do we, as Christians, fail so often to look beyond our circumstance and remind ourselves that life goes on? 

A friend's diagnosis is terminal. Despair sets in. Eternal focus is lost. Why is that?

Don't get me wrong. I am not here to get all happy dappy and remind you that it's all right-- Jesus is waiting to welcome you home! (That's true, and that's important-- but sometimes, that promise is unhelpful. Ask the poor woman I unleashed on two days after Rich died and she "comforted" me by reminding me he was with Jesus now.)

But here, this place! God has placed us in such a wonder-filled creation, surrounded us with so many amazing fellow travellers-- how can we not miss it-- miss them-- as our days draw to a close? Our family, our dear friends, all those who shaped us into who we have become (in a good way), all integral parts of our journey through this space and time.

And when the diagnosis is our own, then what?

I met a wonderful person who has stared death in the face for over 40 years and asks these same questions. How do we live here, now, fully engaged, when Death is rapping its gnarled knuckles on our doorpost?

Look around you.

Behold, our God is making all things new again. 

So it will be with each of us.

Our bodies, worn out in this life, made new, resurrected and restored.

Just as each spring, fresh life is breathed into Creation.

And the funny thing is, if we look, we can see it happening all the time. As our days grow shorter and the snow flies, halfway around the world Down Under, it is coming on summer. 

How about that. 

“Where, O death, is your victory? 
   Where, O death, is your sting?”

--1 Corinthians 15:55