There is great discussion in the church today about the transition from a modern to a postmodern worldview. Much of the discussion is based in fear—fear of change, fear of becoming irrelevant or sidelined, and fear of losing our witness. However a shift has occurred and some are now looking at this transition as an opportunity to shed ourselves of the things that have held the church back from becoming all God has called us to be. This new opportunity is beckoning us back to the Scriptures, to read them anew. The book of Ezekiel is one of those books receiving new attention. So, who is this mysterious man and what does he have to share with us in this troublesome and yet promising time?

The priest Ezekiel was among the 8,000 exiles taken to Babylon along with King Johoiachin in the spring of 597 b.c. At the age of 30 (when he would have been eligible to begin his service in the temple), Ezekiel was called to be a prophet. In a dazzling vision, God appears to him with a rainbow and seated in a wheeled chariot borne by four grotesque figures. The message was delivered to Ezekiel on a scroll, which he was told to eat.

This first prophet and priest is often called a transitional figure. Jeremiah, his contemporary whom he probably heard firsthand preaching in the streets of Jerusalem, is often called the prophet of doom. Ezekiel’s own ministry, while beginning with oracles of doom, transitions to one of consolation. Ezekiel witnessed the political unrest following King Josiah’s death, and he may have been exposed to the ministries of Habakkuk and Zephaniah.

Yet, Ezekiel is most known for his bizarre behavior and unusual messages. He is the prophet known for becoming a recluse in his own home. He was made mute for years except to deliver the occasional prophecy and was then told to lie on his left side for 390 days eating barley cakes cooked over dung. This strange behavior was glossed over as the ranting of a disillusioned man.

While today’s preachers use stories to illustrate their points, Israel’s prophets often used props and delivered their sermons in symbolic actions. Many preaching classes in seminaries across America are looking at Ezekiel as a model for our present day media-orientated mind. The cry of the younger generation is for authenticity and an experience equal to the depth of their needs. They want to be immersed in the Word and to know that what they are hearing and experiencing has changed the life of the person delivering the message. Ezekiel is their man.

Therefore groan, son of man! Groan before them with broken heart and bitter grief (Ezekiel 21:6).

Anyone reading these words can hear the power and intensity of Ezekiel’s concern for his people. So, what did he do with this overwhelming emotion? By willingly bearing their guilt, Ezekiel became a prophetic symbol of his people. This is more than sheer empathy. The prophet knew what God was asking his people to do, but as their priest he cried out for their souls. His very body displayed the burden he carried for his people (for instance, the shaving of his head symbolized the coming destruction of Jerusalem and his identity with their impending doom). How do others know you care about them? Does injustice stir you to anger and action? Does senseless violence cause your stomach to churn and compel you to take a stand? Does the depth of the hunger of those outside the church’s doors make you cry, or are you too busy to notice? Are we groaning before the eyes of the people?

I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none (Ezekiel 22:30).

As Maxie Dunnam noted in his address on this passage to the National Association of Evangelicals, “Not only do we speak to the people for God, we speak to God for the people.” This from-God-to-others and on-behalf-of-others-to-God is the essence of intercession. What sacrifice was for a priest, prayer was for a prophet. In chapter 22, God announces his determination to destroy Jerusalem because of their continued refusal to turn from their moral decay. He looks for one person of such moral character who is able to stand in the breached wall. For whom are you standing in the gap? How seriously do you take this call to intercession on behalf of those “who know not what they do”?

Then the nations will know that I am the lord, declares the Sovereign lord, when I show myself holy through you before their eyes (Ezekiel 36:23b).

The people had been using a proverb that claimed God was unjust in punishing their generation for the sins of their fathers. Ezekiel sets them straight: their own sins also contributed to the destruction of Jerusalem. Likewise, it is easy for us to sit in our comfortable pews and point fingers at those sinners. But as we read in Ezekiel, no less than God’s holy name is at stake here. God makes it clear that only when those who call themselves children of God take holiness seriously will his name be vindicated in our world. How seriously are we taking the call to holiness of heart and life?

Then set the empty pot on the coals till it becomes hot and its copper glows so its impurities may be melted and its deposit burned away (Ezekiel 24:11).

On the day Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to Jerusalem, God told Ezekiel to get a cooking pot, add meat, and cook its contents until burned to a crisp. While cooking, Ezekiel sang a dirge adapting the words to the present situation confronting the Judeans. Since Ezekiel was a priest, this depicted a castoff pot from the temple, declared unfit for worship. Ezekiel was calling his people to holiness once again. They were the copper pot who’d defiled themselves by taking in unclean thoughts and practices. Being no longer holy, they were unfit for temple use.

As Ezekiel transitions from doom to hope, he gives us one of our most striking and memorable metaphors—the valley of dry bones. Referring to the exiles God asks, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel replies, “O Sovereign lord, you alone know.” Then as Ezekiel prophesied to his skeletal congregation, “there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone.” Sinew and skin covered the bones and God filled their lungs and they “stood up on their feet—a vast army” (37:1-14).

Foreclosures, bankruptcy, endless political fighting—our dry bones ache for a resurrection, for a new life. Can these dry bones live again? Because of God’s infinite love and mercy, we can. As we shape our lives according to the call we’ve heard once again through Ezekiel, flesh and skin begin to cover our bones and a “great river” flows through our veins. A great wind rushes through our lungs, and we stand to our feet—a glorious restoration, a temple fit for a king. |L