Lent 5 (A) + Breathe on me, breath of God + 3.29.20
M. Campbell-Langdell
All Saints, Oxnard
(Ezequiel 37:1–14; Ps. 130; Romans
8:6–11; St. John 11:1–45)
Our clergy meetings with Bishop Diane these past two weeks
for those in Latino Ministry have been very helpful and grounding. One of the
reasons for this is that we begin by looking at a big feelings chart and talk
about how we are feeling. We are all usually a mixture of anxious, scared and
hopeful. Anxious about all that is happening in the world and hopeful for the
ways our communities are responding and that we can be a part of a creative
response to it.
Listening to today’s collect, I was struck by the language
around “the changes and chances of this life.” Perhaps at no other time in my
life have day to day changes seemed so big and with so many different
ramifications both for daily life and ministry. Like many of you I have had to
go with the flow of each day, which has not always been easy. Although I must
admit it has been fun finding ways to connect with you all through different
mediums.
We see so much around us, and at times it feels really bleak
right now. We may feel as if we are with Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones,
wondering with God, “Can these bones live?” How will we get through this and
can we trust that God will create a new reality that will honor what’s been and
bring us into God’s future? Can we care for those who are sick while keeping as
many healthy as possible?
We are in a crisis, and all around the world people are
taking steps to curb the spread of the novel coronavirus. We are doing this so
that these bones can live—literally our own bones. But we are also taking
precautions so that other “bones” – other people – can live. And live in their
fullness.
Because we care, just like Jesus when he realizes in his
bones that his friend is actually dead. When Jesus weeps, we know he loved
Lazarus. And it is one thing to know, and another to know, to be faced with the stark reality of loss.
In Ezekiel, we hear God saying, “Come from the four winds, O
breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” We too today can
say, breathe upon us, that we may live. And may the Holy Spirit breathe,
breathe upon us wherever we are and cast out illness and death from every home,
and from every hospital. We ask this because we believe, even as we know the
Spirit acts in the Spirit’s good time.
Before Jesus gets to the weeping, Martha meets him and we hear
such a profound expression of faith that it seems to shine across the
millennia. “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who
believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and
believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes,
Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into
the world.’”
Yes, Lord I believe. It echoes back to us, and it challenges
us in this moment. Can we stand with Martha and Mary at this moment and say, “Yes Lord, I
believe?”
Even at the grave we sing our song, alleluia. I know we are
not supposed to use that word in Lent, but I am doing so intentionally today
because I need to remember, and I imagine you also need to remember that God is
with us in all of this. God will use all the ways we are caring for ourselves
and others to breathe life into us. And to bring us to that resurrection day.
That day when we can cast off such fear of disease and meet together again. And
hug again and smile in greater proximity than six feet!
Breathe on us Breath of God, and let us be made new in you.
May your tender Spirit circulate through every home, filling it with health and
joy. Let us stand with Jesus by the tomb
and may we await the moment where on Easter day we approach Jesus’ tomb,
knowing that if not then, soon there will be hope. Because, whether it is Eastertide
or soon after, we trust that joy will come in the morning! We will beat this
and God will bring life again, life in all its fullness! Alleluia. Amen.
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