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.