NOTES for Eze 37:14

Ezekiel's vision of the spiritual renewal of the people of God certainly instilled hope in the hearts of those for whom it was intended, the deported inhabitants of Jerusalem. It is not surprising that later it was reinterpreted in the context of New Testament revelation, becoming a symbol of the universal resurrection. Nor is it surprising that a few more centuries later, around this and similar texts, a whole theology grew up connected with the teaching about the Holy Spirit. But it is still important to keep in mind that all such theological concepts belong to a completely different era and, to a certain degree, to a different tradition.

The prophet, however, speaks about the breath of God, which returns life to dead bones, making them not simply a people, but the people of God. And here before us is the prophetic, or more broadly, the common biblical idea of what life is, whether the life of an individual person or of an entire people, which also appeared before God as a certain spiritual whole. As is evident, life here turns out to be a process not natural, not biological, but spiritual in the full sense of the word, at least when the matter concerns a human being. This is not surprising: already at creation God "breathes" into man's "nostrils," exactly so in the Hebrew text, the breath of life, which gives man life. And in Ezekiel's vision He does the same thing with an entire people.

As is evident, the measure of life, or more precisely of "aliveness," both of individual people and of entire nations, is determined by the measure of the fullness of God's breath. And this measure can vary from that which is proper to the Kingdom, and here the parallel with the universal resurrection is quite appropriate, for resurrection into life presupposes entry into the Kingdom, down to the minimum characteristic of Sheol, where only a pale shadow of life remains. And only on a person's relationships with God does it depend how full and intense his life will prove to be.

The same concerns the people of God as a whole: as is evident, by the beginning of the exile, spiritually they represented a heap of bones, which showed itself accordingly in their historical fate. And when the spiritual life of the people again acquired fullness, their return to the land of the fathers also became possible. But another return preceded this return: the return to the fullness of communion with God, which took place already when the people were living in Babylon. Without it, the return to Judea would have proved meaningless and, most likely, simply impossible.

Ezekiel's vision of the spiritual renewal of the people of God, of course, inspired hope in the hearts of those for whom it was intended, the deported inhabitants of Jerusalem. It is no surprise that later it was reinterpreted in the context of New Testament revelation, becoming a symbol of the universal resurrection. It is just as unsurprising that, several centuries later, a whole theology connected with the teaching about the Holy Spirit grew up around this and similar texts.

But it is still important to keep in mind that all such theological concepts belong to a completely different era and, to a certain degree, to a different tradition. The prophet speaks of the breath of God, which returns life to dead bones, making them not simply a people, but the people of God. And here before us is a prophetic or, more broadly, biblical idea of what life is, whether the life of an individual person or of an entire people, which also stood before God as a certain spiritual whole. As we can see, life here turns out to be a process that is not natural, not biological, but spiritual in the full sense of the word, at least when it concerns a human being. And this is no surprise: already at creation God "breathes" into the human being's "nostrils" (in the Hebrew text, exactly so) the breath of life, which gives the human being life. And in Ezekiel's vision He does the same thing with an entire people.

As we can see, the measure of life or, more precisely, of "aliveness" both of individual people and of whole nations is determined by the measure of the fullness of the breath of God. And that measure can vary from what belongs to the Kingdom (and here the parallel with the universal resurrection is quite appropriate, since resurrection to life presupposes entrance into the Kingdom) down to the minimum characteristic of Sheol, where only a pale shadow of life remains. And only a person's relationship with God determines how full and intense that person's life will be.

The same applies to the people of God as a whole: as we can see, by the beginning of the exile, spiritually it was a heap of bones, and this had the corresponding effect on its historical destiny. And when the spiritual life of the people regained fullness, their return to the land of their fathers became possible. But that return was preceded by another: the return to the fullness of communion with God, which happened even while the people were living in Babylon. Without it, the return to Judea would have been meaningless and, in all reality, simply impossible.

How is madethis prediction (and almost every prediction in the Old Testament)? Ezekielpronounces it in a historical defined situation (the Babylonian captivity), andit concerns first of all in particular this situation (the return of Israel onhis land). Let us notice that the prophet uses an unfold metaphor, where thecaptivity assimilates to the stay in the grave, and the liberation - resurrection(among others, it is almost the first performance of the idea of theresurrection of the death in the Bible).

It gives us the right to approach thisprediction further as a metaphor. Then we can see here and the second meaning:we, dead by our sins, the Lord vivifies us with His Spirit and gives us a new lifeonto this our earth. But indeed, there is a third meaning, maybe not the most metaphoric.God promises that he will resuscitate us after our physical death, will fill uswith Spirit, carrier of eternal life, and will settle on such a land, whichwill really be ours, just then we will really know our God, we shall enter notinto puddled relationship with him.

For Ezekiel, the very possibility of the future return of the people of God to the land of their fathers is connected with their spiritual renewal, with that breath of God which gives a person life. This is undoubtedly the same breath that God "breathed" into the human being's "nostrils" at creation, although in the account of the Book of Genesis it is designated by another word.

The fallen person no longer lives so much by this breath as, in the language of the Bible, by "blood." After the fall, his vital principle, his "soul," turns out to be connected not with the breath of God, as it was before the fall, but with his own nature.

One can, if not live a full life in this way, at least exist. This is true for an individual person and for an entire people. It will be precisely existence on what remains, not so much life as survival. Then there is no room for independence, for one's own statehood, or for resistance to enemies: all this requires such spiritual strength as cannot be found by relying on one's own nature instead of on God.

Paradoxically, exile in such a spiritual condition was the best outcome. After all, the issue was not the destruction of the people. Even those deported to Babylon were not going to be killed. The authorities did not even take any special care over assimilation: if it happened in part, it happened only as a natural process under such conditions.

It was precisely the naturalness and ease of such a life that placed every Jew who found himself in Babylon before a choice: to keep faith with the God of the fathers or to get rid of that faith as an unnecessary burden in the new circumstances, one that now gives no advantages and can create problems, though not catastrophic ones.

However, in order to preserve the faith of the fathers, it had to be renewed, and it is precisely this spiritual renewal that the prophet speaks about. He understands perfectly well that the possibility of returning to the land of the fathers, and therefore in effect the chance for another, second history, can be received only by acquiring the spiritual strength necessary for the new historical path ahead. Otherwise this second history not only will not be successful; it simply will not be able to begin.

Ezekiel, perfectly understanding the spiritual situation that had developed, not by accident speaks of the renewal of the people as their resurrection: the matter truly is a return to life already lost, in the same way, or almost the same way, that centuries later those raised by Jesus would return to it. And just as the subsequent life of those raised can be considered a miracle, even though for now still in an untransformed body, so too the whole post-exilic history of the Jewish people can be considered a miracle. A miracle whose culmination will be the coming of the Messiah.

We know that he is the Lord because we are alive. Because we are living. Our very life is the basis for believing that he is the Lord: the God in whom there is life; the God who gives us life; the God who refuses death so utterly that he died a terrible death on the Cross to destroy it; the God who is faithful to us human beings, who speaks and acts and gives life, bestows the life-giving Spirit, gives us land from which we can be nourished, and gives us beauty that we can behold as we glorify him, the Creator of heaven and earth, our Maker.

Ezekiel's vision of a field strewn with dead bones, which God brings to life by breathing the breath of life into them, is usually associated with faith in the universal resurrection at the end of time, on the assumption that this is what God is showing His prophet. Yet it is apparently not about this after all. Of course, faith in the universal resurrection and in the Day of Judgement must already have existed among the Jews at the time of the Babylonian exile, when Ezekiel was allowed to see what he saw. But God does not disclose to the prophet an image of the Last Judgement, but something else: the destiny of God's people. He shows Ezekiel the spiritual path that the people would have to travel. Dead bones: that was the spiritual state of the Jewish people when they found themselves in Babylon. And this is understandable, for if it had been otherwise, the historical destiny of the people would also have been different. In any event, the national catastrophe of the exile could then probably have been avoided.

But judging by what God allowed His prophet to see, no spiritual life was left among the people at all. Everything had to begin again, starting with the small community in Babylon and its spiritual renewal. Then, after that renewal, it would grow, in essence, into a new people, into that very post-exilic Jewry whose history continues to this day, the same people who would have to meet the Messiah promised by God.

Such a renewal could not, of course, be achieved by human efforts alone. God's direct intervention was needed; a miracle was needed. And the spiritual renewal of the people that took place in Babylon truly became a miracle, just as all subsequent Jewish history was a miracle, a history which, humanly speaking, simply could not have existed. The Babylonian kingdom absorbed and assimilated many small peoples, including the Jews' neighbours: the Ammonites, Moabites, Philistines and Phoenicians. All the more was the small community of Jews deported from Jerusalem doomed to assimilation in a metropolis such as Babylon was at that time.

Yet it was not only preserved, but was renewed spiritually and gave rise to a new Jewry. It was this miracle that God allowed Ezekiel to see, at a time when all of it still lay ahead. But what he saw inspired hope, the hope that what seemed to be the end of the people's historical journey was only the beginning of a new stage, leading the people directly towards the Messiah and to the threshold of the Kingdom.

The vision of dead bones returning to life becomes a symbol of the spiritual rebirth and renewal that await the Jewish people after the captivity. At the center of this process are the Messiah, allegorically called David here, and the new—or more precisely, renewed—covenant with God, which Ezekiel calls a “covenant of peace.” This does not speak only of universal reconciliation and the absence of wars and hostility, although these too are implied. In this case the absence of hostility is only a consequence. The biblical concept of peace is much broader. It concerns above all the inner state of a person who abides in constant communion with God—constant rather than occasional, as is characteristic of most of us today.

Such inner peace is actually attained simply by consistently observing the fourth commandment, the commandment of the Sabbath. This commandment is not only about refraining from everyday business for at least one day a week, but also about forgetting it altogether, if only for one day. It means stopping the ceaseless whirl within us and coming to a stop ourselves, because otherwise we cannot hear God. Otherwise we cannot sense God's breath, the breath of life given by the Creator to each of us at creation. Yet it is essential to sense it, because without this, communion with God is impossible. That communion takes place in the heart, in the very spiritual “I” that is the center of the human person. But we can hear the voice of our own “I,” hear ourselves, only when the noise coming from outside grows quiet in the soul. This is why the rest of the Sabbath is needed—a rest expressed by the same Hebrew word that also means “peace.” It is on this very peace, or rest, that the new covenant binding God to His people and to everyone belonging to that people is founded.

The inner peace that for us is most often only episodic must become our usual state. Then the new covenant, a new quality of relationship with God and a new level of communion with Him, will also become real for us. Without this no spiritual renewal is possible, for it presupposes not only grace poured out in full measure, but also a person's capacity to receive that grace, likewise in full measure. Then the covenant with God will become truly new: a covenant of peace and a covenant of the Kingdom.

The words about the dry bones coming to life are traditionally interpreted as a prophecy of the future Resurrection of the dead and victory over death. This is why the passage is read at Matins on Holy Saturday, on the eve of Christ's Resurrection. But is this interpretation strained? Did the compilers of Orthodox worship arbitrarily apply to another event words that, as the text suggests, are an allegory of the restoration of a people crushed by conquerors?

It seems there is no strain, because the historical path of the chosen people is in many respects a prefiguration of the spiritual path of all humanity. The opposite formulation is therefore more accurate: the prophecy likens the restoration of the people to the Resurrection, and so it is entirely natural that this very path is revealed through images of the Resurrection. In turn, the paths of ancient Israel help us understand the meaning of the historical paths of other peoples.

The prophecy of the joining of the two sticks, which reveals the coming reunification of the divided people, must not only point to that event but also give us hope. The world is full of hostility and divisions: with a strange rapture we cling to differences and assert ourselves through them, treating these quarrels and divisions as the norm. Yet sooner or later the Lord will gather us all into one.