Amidst a global pandemic (which some deny), amidst racist violence (which some discount), amidst xenophobia (which some applaud), amidst voter suppression (which some embrace), we come to express the will of the People, O God.
May there be wisdom. May there be health. May there be compassion. May there be mercy.
Ezekiel once stood upon the city wall. He stood, he gazed. I’m sure he wept. For on that day he saw an army terrible and merciless. It filled the valley, all the valleys, that encircle Zion. He stood. He gazed. I’m sure he wept.
When You showed him all those desiccated bones, O God, what fashion did the valley take in his imagination? Kidron? The Outer Valley? Or Gehenna? Or had You mercy enough to make it look like a Babylonian valley spanned with gardens?
I doubt it mattered. Ezekiel wept, I’m sure, upon the wall. I’m sure he wept the see even an unfamiliar valley overflowing with the dead. Bones so dry, dry as dust, unmoistened even by the flood of tears of a priest and prophet’s grief.
Command me, Holy One, to prophesy and promise to the dusty bones that they shall live again. Command me, Holy One, to summon up the spirit breath to bind with sinew all these bones. For then shall I appreciate the salt of joyful tears.
A poem/prayer based on Ezekiel 37:1-14, the Revised Common Lectionary First Reading for Year A, Fifth Sunday in Lent.