Message: We Shall Overcom / Ezekiel 37:1-14

Today is the Fifth Sunday in Lent. We know where Jesus’ path is leading. It leads toward Jerusalem, toward the cross, toward Golgotha. Lent invites us to walk with Jesus, who shows us the reality of pain, loss, and death on the road to resurrection. In this season, we are called first to look, to pause, and to reflect on the shadows of life, the dryness of the spirit, and the violence of the world.

In today’s first scripture reading, God brings Ezekiel into the middle of a valley. It is filled with bones, very dry bones. It is a place marked by long death. Everything seems over. No future can be seen. It is the kind of place where talk of new life almost sounds impossible.

This vision reveals the reality of Israel during the Babylonian exile. The walls of Jerusalem had fallen. The temple had been destroyed. Many had died in war. Most of those who survived had been taken to Babylon. In that foreign land, they lived with discrimination and humiliation.

What they felt was not only the shame of defeat. They felt cut off. They felt abandoned. They felt as though God’s promise had been broken. Verse 11 gives voice to their heart: “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.” This is more than discouragement. It is the cry of spiritual separation and deep brokenness.

This matters for us today. The dryness we carry does not come only from busy schedules or difficult circumstances. Sometimes it comes when life begins to feel empty of meaning. We still do what we must do, but we are no longer sure why. The faith we once held, the direction we once trusted, the sense of calling we once knew can all seem to slip away. We feel deeply disconnected and completely cut off. That is why Ezekiel’s vision still speaks. It sheds light on the struggles we face in our own lives.

Ezekiel was a priest taken captive to Babylon. For a priest, going near dead bodies or bones was forbidden under the law. It meant ritual uncleanness. That valley was not a place he should enter. It was not a place of comfort. It was a place to avoid. Yet God brings him there. God leads him into the middle of despair and makes him face what is there.

Jesus also walked that road. He went toward Golgotha, which means the place of the skull. It was the hill of death, the place of violence, shame, and execution. It was a place where the swords and spears of empire seemed to cut off the light of hope. Nevertheless, Jesus did not avoid that road. He did not turn aside. He did not stand at a distance. He walked up that hill. Ezekiel’s valley and Jesus’ Golgotha are both places of death by despair. Both are places most people would rather not see. Yet both are places where God begins anew.

We often want to say “someday” too easily. Someday things will get better. Someday the pain will ease. Someday healing will come. But the Bible does not use “someday” as an easy comfort. Ezekiel’s someday comes only after the valley of dry bones. Jesus’ someday comes through Golgotha. A someday that ignores reality is not biblical hope. True hope begins when we face what is real, when we do not forget what has happened, and when we wait for the breath of God in the middle of it all.

God asks Ezekiel, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel answers, “O Lord God, you know.” He does not give a clear answer. He does not say either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ This reveals his complicated heart. It seems impossible for the bones to live again. But he does not try to close the door on what God may do. That is where faith begins. It begins not in 100% certainty, but in leaving room for God.

Then God tells Ezekiel to proclaim. God works through Ezekiel’s voice. As Ezekiel speaks, the bones begin to stir. They come together. Sinews appear. Flesh grows on them. Skin covers them. Yet the work is not complete, because there is no breath in them. So once again, God tells Ezekiel to proclaim, this time to the breath. Breath, wind, and spirit all come from the same word, ‘ruah’, which appears ten times in this passage. In the Bible, the number ten often symbolizes fullness or completeness. We may notice the dry bones first, but ruah runs through the whole vision. The breath of God is never absent. Even in a valley of death, the Spirit is present. And when it is called, it comes. It fills the body with life.

The dry bones become “a vast multitude.” Those who were slain, forgotten, and cast aside are brought back to life. God forms them into a new community. The valley of death becomes a place of new creation. Lives are restored, and they become a living sign of hope.

Recently, the United Church of Canada published a new hymnbook titled Then Let Us Sing. When I looked through it, I found a familiar song: We Shall Overcome. This song carries the spiritual memory of African American Christians. It traces back to Charles Albert Tindley’s 1901 hymn, I’ll Overcome Someday. It was not born from blind optimism. It came from people who had every reason to despair, yet who did not let go of their trust in God.

In 1945, during a tobacco workers’ strike in Charleston, South Carolina, Black women workers began to sing it, and “I” started to become “We.” Just as God’s breath gathers people into life, this song drew them together and helped them stand.

During the American civil rights movement, people sang this song in the face of violence. Martin Luther King Jr. quoted it again and again. It was not a political slogan. It was hope in God. It was trust that God’s love is greater than human violence. It was a witness that even in the valley of injustice, the breath of God does not disappear.

Through this song, people acted together. They endured fear. They kept walking. They did not give up. History began to change. The Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964, and the Voting Rights Act in 1965. Laws banning interracial marriage were finally struck down in 1967. This meant that African Americans gained the basic human rights. They finally began to be treated as human beings.

The song did not remain in the United States. It became part of the breath of hope for people resisting apartheid in South Africa. It was sung in Germany as a sign of peaceful resistance against division and oppression. It was heard in Northern Ireland and in Eastern Europe during movements for democracy. In Korea, the song was translated in the 1970s and became one of the key songs of the democratic movement resisting dictatorship. In 1987, the Korean people finally overthrew the military dictatorship. 

A while after Ezekiel’s vision, the people of Israel were able to return home from exile. What had once seemed impossible became possible. But history did not end there. There were moments of joy and relief, but also new valleys and challenges. When “someday” comes, it does not mean that every problem is gone forever. Sometimes those who once suffered oppression may come to stand in the place of the oppressor. When we look at Israel today, we see that it is very different from the Israel of Ezekiel’s time.

Therefore, hope is not a simple victory. Hope is the direction that shows us the way. Hope is the strength that mends broken hearts. Hope is the breath that brings life in the midst of despair. In this regard, ultimate hope does not come from human perfection. It comes from God, who continues to lead us toward a new heaven and a new earth.

There are valleys in our lives too. There are valleys in the church. There are valleys in society. Some wounds are as dry as bones. Some relationships seem too broken to live again. Some memories hurt too much to face. In this season of Lent, God calls us into the middle of them. Avoiding these places does not bring life. When we enter them, God works with us for new beginnings.

That is why we sing We Shall Overcome again today. We see the harsh realities of our lives and our world, but we do not give up. We remember wounds, but we are not handed over to despair. The breath of God, who raises dry bones, is with us now. God still speaks to us. God still breathes for us. God still lifts us up and helps us stand together.

As long as we live by the breath of God, we will experience “someday” not only in the valleys we face together as a community, but also in the valleys each of us faces in our daily lives. God meets us in every place, in every struggle we face, and brings new life. 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Rev. Min Hwang