Deacon Susan Erickson

The hand of the LORD came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the LORD and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry.
Ezekiel 37: 1-2

He covers the heavens with clouds
and prepares rain for the earth;
He makes grass to grow upon the mountains
and green plants to serve mankind.
He provides food for flocks and herds
and for the young ravens when they cry.
Ps. 147: 8-10

Dear Friend,

In today’s Psalter and Old Testament readings we have two contrasting images: dryness and life-giving rain, parched desolation in the valley of dry bones, and a bounteous earth that feeds all creatures.

I’m writing this from Wisconsin, where my husband and I are visiting family. Here in the Upper Midwest, the lines from Psalm 147 resonate: grass is turning green again, daffodils and crocuses are blooming, and rain clouds are in the forecast for tomorrow. Birds are singing, including crows (no ravens here).

Meanwhile, in southern Arizona, the weather is turning predictably hot again and the sides of the mountains are scarcely what you’d call verdant.

As we move into Eastertide we might have the sense that we still belong more to Ezekiel’s vision than the Psalmist’s, that we’re spiritually a little dried out. More than a year into the pandemic there’s hope but still a lot of uncertainty. Like the disciples huddled together in a room after Jesus’s Resurrection, we may feel more confusion and doubt than joy. (Luke 24: 33 - 37)

After whatever self-reflection we mustered during Lent and the tentative joy of worship together at Easter, we may feel a little adrift. I do, anyway. Where to now — towards green growth or back again to the valley of dry bones?

But of course, Ezekiel’s vision, which is one of our readings during the Great Easter Vigil, ends with flesh being restored to the bones and the breath of life breathed back into them. The vision is of a restoration of Israel after its exile, and of new life with God.

Like the improbable, fiery blossoms that bloom at the end of ocotillos, so dead-looking for stretches of the year, God’s Spirit is always capable of breathing new life. I know if I’m only patient and attentive, God will feed me as he does the young ravens who cry. As those of us who love the desert know, it’s full of life. The Resurrection is at work.

Dcn Susan Erickson