Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The sight shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. It wasn’t his first day. He wasn’t a new prophet, hadn’t been ordained yesterday. It was far from his first vision. That had happened years ago. The voice of the Lord came calling him to be God’s prophet, to speak the words of the Lord, whether or not the people accepted him or his message. Nothing had changed in the intervening years. Visions continued to come. Words miraculously flowed. He’d lived out entire object lessons. It had been lonely work. Costly. He’d lost things. People. Popularity. Respect. Tasked as God’s watchman for the people of Israel, Ezekiel would never find himself in a position of reverence and authority. No. The people were rarely interested in what he had to say. They weren’t inclined to turn from their idols. They weren’t thrilled at being called out on their less-than-stellar behavior, their bent toward sin. The priests were certainly less than happy to have their spiritual shepherding called into question. Yet this vision appeared to be headed in a different direction. Indeed, it was quite possibly the strangest one yet. (Ezekiel 1-3, 8-9, 11, 34)

He hadn’t been doing anything special when it came. Wasn’t praying in the temple. Wasn’t prophesying. Wasn’t preaching. He was simply going about his daily tasks. Surviving. He hadn’t eaten anything crazy. The lamb hadn’t been too spicy. The milk wasn’t on the turn. The bread hadn’t molded. He hadn’t set out on a spurious hike over an unknown mountain into a forgotten valley. Yet here he stood, in the middle of a valley. A valley of bones. Old bones. Dry bones. Disconnected bones. Thousands of them. A veritable sea of body parts. Every part of him shrank back at the sight. Body. Mind. Soul. His stomach lurched. Bile rose in the back of his throat. He wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Couldn’t drag his eyes away. Couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Couldn’t begin to understand the vision God was showing him this time.  

As his eyes darted from one side of the eerie graveyard to the other, Ezekiel’s mind fired off questions. Where did they come from? Who had they been? Why had no one taken the time to give them a proper burial? Or had they somehow come to the surface? It must surely be so. The people of Israel didn’t leave their dead unburied. It simply wasn’t done. Yet here they were. Here he was. Every step a stumble over a loose femur. Every move a rattle of dismembered ulnas, fractured skulls, and disconnected vertebrae. Every sight a reminder of the death and dryness that inhabited not only this valley of death, but the souls of the nation to which God had sent Him to prophesy. 

Struggling to absorb the sight of death surrounding him, Ezekiel was shocked nearly speechless at the question God posed. “Can these bones live?” Was He serious? Really? Did he want Ezekiel’s off the cuff answer or was He asking for more? It felt like a test. Erring on the side of caution and drawing from all the humanly irrational things he knew God had done in the past, Ezekiel responded with words that echoed both his incredulity and stalwart faith, “Not in my book, but Yours probably reads differently.” (Ezekiel 37:1-3)

It was an answer stemming from a wealth of experience as God’s prophet. It was a response echoing from the depths of his soul rooted in the absolute, unshakeable knowledge that God could do anything. No matter his own human limitations, Ezekiel knew God’s abilities were limitless. He knew His word was final. He was all too aware that what God decided, what He promised, what He determined would always, ultimately be performed. If God desired to raise this army of scattered, dried up skeletons into a living, active army of God, it would happen. The God he served could make anything out of nothing. By now, Ezekiel was bouncing on his toes in poorly concealed excitement because he knew God wasn’t done there. (Genesis 1; Romans 4:20-21; Genesis 18:14; Jeremiah 32:17)

Neither was Ezekiel. He should have known he’d never have the role of silent bystander. God hadn’t called him to prophesy only to silence his voice. God didn’t visit him with visions so he could sit idly by and watch God move. It didn’t work like that. It never had. The visions always came with an opportunity for obedience, a way for Ezekiel to get involved. Not one thing was different about this event. God had something for Ezekiel to do. Something he’d done before. Something he’d practiced on living, breathing humans. Something they hadn’t obeyed, but he was somehow certain these skeletons would. God tasked Ezekiel with preaching. And Ezekiel was there for it. 

Breathing words into Ezekiel’s ear, God told him to speak to the valley of dry bones. Preach the words and promises of God to them. Address this audience who was so completely beyond saving and offer them the gift of restoration, the gift of life. Tell them the sovereign God of the universe promises to breathe into them the breath of life. He will knit them back together, assembling bones, attaching tendons, adhering flesh and covering the whole with skin. As their lungs inflated with that first breath of life-giving oxygen, the living dead would know beyond even the slightest doubt that God was the Sovereign Lord of all the earth. (Psalm 33:6)

Taking a deep breath, Ezekiel began to speak the words. He’d barely gotten past the first sentence when a rattling sound came from his left, then his right, then echoed from the other side of the valley. To his astonished eyes, the bones began to assemble themselves. Correctly. Phalanges did not attach to the humerus. The clavicle did not attach to the ilium. No. Each bone miraculously found the one to which it would properly attach. As the words of God finished flowing from Ezekiel’s tongue, he stood in silence, watching as tendons stretched over bones, flesh over tendons, and skin over flesh until not one loose bone lay unclaimed. The only thing missing was the promised breath of life. 

God, Who never promises something He cannot or will not perform, had the answer for that. Pray. “Pray, son of man.” Pray that the breath of God, Who at the dawn of creation breathed into man the breath of life, would come down and fill the lungs of the lifeless bodies spread across the valley. With not one thought of hesitation, Ezekiel did. He prayed the exact words God told him to pray. He prayed with fervor. He prayed with urgency. He prayed with great desire. By now, he was wholly invested in this company of the dead. He wanted to see them come to life. He wanted to see them spring into action for God. He was anxious, excited, thrilled to be part of this grand transition from death to life. With every nerve in his body vibrating in anticipation, Ezekiel earnestly petitioned Heaven that the breath of God would sweep across that valley bringing life to the dead. And it did. (Genesis 2:7)

In a sweeping movement, the breath of God flowed into the lungs of the lifeless bodies lying helplessly on the valley floor. An inhale of epic proportions echoed around him. Formerly prostrate bodies began rising to their feet. Turning from side to side, robe billowing as he spun around, Ezekiel’s widened eyes took in the miracle happening before him. His heart overflowed with awe and amazement. His soul danced with exuberant joy. God had done it! Into this valley of impossibly dead, desperately dry, irreparably broken humanity, God had restored life and filled it with His own breath. The breath of life. Oh, that we would see the same in our day! (Ezekiel 37:1-10)

Surrounded as we are with the spiritually lifeless, apathetic, complacent shells of those claiming godliness but lacking the spirit of God, we urgently need the resuscitating breath of God to sweep across our land. Our society dangles precariously on the edge of complete abandonment of every conceivable moral principle. Our churches lie in disrepair. Our homes are shattered. Our hearts are broken. Our spiritual pulse is barely detectable, if there at all. We embody the valley of Ezekiel’s vision. Dry. Destitute. Dormant. Dead. We indisputably need a miracle. We need the life-giving breath of God to sweep down over us and raise us back to life, a veritable army of righteousness to rise and stand against the sweeping tide of the world. We need the Breath of Life to breathe life into our physically living yet spiritually dead or dormant souls. We need an Ezekiel. More than one, actually. We need an entire congregation. Every. Single. One of us. (II Timothy 3:1-5)

For the breath of God to sweep across our nation bringing revival and restoration, everyone who has managed to elude the bog of spiritual passivity must boldly speak God’s words. His wisdom. His commands. His judgments. His mercy. We need to tell of His miracles. The things He promises His people when they get and keep their hearts in proper relationship with Him. And we need to pray. Pray like we’ve never prayed before. The evil one is working overtime. We must do the same. We must pray that the God who breathed the breath of physical life into Adam’s nostrils will breathe the breath of spiritual life into our valley of dormant, dying and dead souls. We must pray that God will raise up an army for Himself in our day of unbelief and apostasy. Can you even imagine what that might look like? (Psalm 85:6-7; Matthew 19:28-29; II Chronicles 7:13-14; Ezekiel 33:11-12; Psalm 60:2; Joel 2:12-13; Proverbs 14:34)

Although I find it difficult to even imagine the glory of such a large-scale turning toward God, I absolutely know this. I want to be part of God’s renewal process. I want to see the revival and restoration of our society, our churches, our homes, our souls. I want to be knee-deep in the middle of things when the prayers of saints from around the globe are answered. I want a front-row seat to the moment the breath of God sweeps across this valley of carcasses and brings them back to spiritual life. I want to be Ezekiel, standing in the middle of a valley full of dry bones and watching in exhilarated amazement as God does the impossible. And I want you to be there beside me. Preaching. Praying. Believing. Trusting that the pages of God’s version of events reads far differently than the one we are looking at right now. Are you here for it? Are you working toward it? Are you ready to do it? Are you willing to be an Ezekiel doing God’s business in the valley of the living dead? (Psalm 84:1-12; Daniel 9:4-10,17-19; I John 5:14-15; Jeremiah 33:3)