Ezekiel stares in horror at the valley of death. He’s not supposed to be anywhere near bones like this. Death contaminates him as a priest. What’s going on?
‘Son of dust, can these bones live again?’ The resonant voice rattles the sky like unexpected thunder.
Ezekiel won’t say. He knows God can do such a thing, though the thought had not entered his head until now. But if it were to happen, it’s God’s call, not his.
‘Only you know that Lord God,’ he says, his face lifted to the heavens, his shoulders shrugging. He doesn’t raise his voice, knows he doesn’t need to, God will hear.
There is a pause, as the silent skies brood over him. God appears to be thinking.
There’s a slight breeze, a whisper of wind, like God exhaling gently as he ponders.
‘Speak to these bones, call them back to life.’
Ezekiel swallows hard. God has spoken. The bones can live, but it seems it’s Ezekiel who must command it. He has to get involved, has to trigger the resurrecting, he has to click the send button. And so he lays his dignity on the line. Speaks to a valley devoid of life, as if these bones can somehow hear him and will somehow stand up. There’s a pregnant pause. And so they do, and it’s as if someone’s running a movie in reverse. The figures reforming, the flesh and muscles growing back. Bones reclaiming their bodies. Extraordinary. But not as extraordinary as what happens next.
‘Speak to the wind, call it to breathe life into these reformed corpses.’
So says the resonant voice from the heavens.
And Ezekiel gets involved again, speaks, and the rest is history. Or rather, the future. Those times Ezekiel will never see because he himself will be long gone. But the story will continue, and time and again other sons and daughters of dust will speak to bones, and lives will be renewed.
Based on Ezekiel 37