Ezekiel 37: A question. A breath. A resurrection.
There are valleys so barren, even memory feels dangerous.
There are places where hope lies skeletal,
where the only thing louder than silence is the question:
“Can these bones live?”
Ezekiel 37 sits in the heart of a prophetic book written during Israel’s exile in Babylon. The nation has been scattered, their temple destroyed, and their identity fractured.
This chapter follows a series of warnings and laments, but also comes just after a promise in Ezekiel 36 where God declares He will restore His people, cleanse them, and give them a new heart.
This is not a story of instant answers.
It’s a story of dialogue. Of dust. Of divine breath.
And the God who still speaks life — not just in metaphor, but in movement.
This is a valley tour with God as guide — and He doesn’t waste the walk.
A Valley of Bones: Naming What’s Dead
Ezekiel 37:1–2 (ESV)
The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. And he led me around among them, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry.
The Hebrew word for “valley” here is bĕqāʿ, often used to describe broad, low places — places of vulnerability. The bones are not buried. They’re scattered across the surface, exposed, forgotten.
This is a scene of utter defeat — military, spiritual, emotional. The dryness of the bones signifies the absolute absence of life. No marrow, no sinew, no hope. God brings Ezekiel here not to show him despair, but to invite him into co-creating resurrection.
God does not avoid brokenness. He walks us into it to redeem it.
The Question That Waits
Ezekiel 37:3
And he said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” And I answered, “O Lord God, you know.”
God asks a question He already knows the answer to. The Hebrew for can these bones live? — hă-tihyeynā ha-ʿăṣāmôt hā-’ēlleh — places emphasis on the possibility of life for these exact bones. It is not a general inquiry. It’s personal.
Ezekiel responds not with bravado, but with reverence. His phrase Adonai Yahweh atah yādaʿta is a surrender to divine wisdom. He acknowledges the limit of his prophetic sight — and opens the door for divine action.
Sometimes faith isn’t loud. It’s whispered trust in the face of what we can’t answer.
The God Who Breathes on Dust
Breath (ruach in Hebrew) is a central figure in this vision — mentioned ten times in this chapter alone. It means breath, spirit, wind — three meanings held in one holy word.
From Genesis to Acts, the movement of ruach tells the story of creation, collapse, and renewal:
Creation Breath: From Dust to Living Being
Genesis 2:7
Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature.
Here, God doesn’t just make Adam. He animates him. The word for breathe — nāp̄aḥ — suggests an intimate exhaling. Divine CPR. A closeness.
Prophetic Breath: A Valley Echoing with Divine Command
Ezekiel 37:4–6
“Prophesy over these bones… I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”
Notice the progression: words first, breath second. Speech creates structure. Breath gives it spirit.
Resurrection Breath: Lazarus and the Voice That Shatters Tombs
John 11:43: “Lazarus, come out.”
In Ezekiel’s vision, God tells the prophet to speak, and breath enters bones. In Bethany, Jesus Himself speaks — and death lets go.
There is no touch. No grand gesture. Just a voice.
The call is loud, but the movement is intimate.
Empowering Breath: Pentecost Wind and the Filling of Frail Disciples
Acts 2:2–4
And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind… and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit.
The Greek word pneuma mirrors ruach — breath, wind, spirit. The disciples aren’t given a motivational speech. They’re given breath.
Every revival begins with breath, not effort. Every calling begins with being filled before being sent.
Speak, Even When It Feels Empty
Ezekiel 37:7–8
So I prophesied as I was commanded… but there was no breath in them.
This is the in-between. The bones come together. Sinews form. Skin stretches. It looks alive. But it isn’t.
Sometimes our obedience feels like this — halfway resurrections. The visible changes, but the invisible hasn’t shifted. That doesn’t mean God has stopped moving. It means He’s not done.
We’re called to speak life, even before life returns.
Breath Comes in Waves
Ezekiel 37:9–10
“Prophesy to the breath… breathe on these slain, that they may live.”
Now, Ezekiel is told to speak directly to ruach. There is a progression in his assignment:
- First, speak to the bones (structure)
- Then, speak to the breath (spirit)
This is a model for spiritual restoration. The external may align first — but until the inner life is revived, the work is unfinished.
Healing often comes in layers. Restoration is rarely one breath away.
The Promise of a New Spirit
Ezekiel 37:11–14
“And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people… I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live.”
The bones are Israel.
Scattered. Shamed. Silenced.
God doesn’t just raise them.
He reclaims them.
This is not a rescue from suffering — it’s a re-storying of identity.
The Hebrew phrase v’natati ruchi bachem — “I will put my Spirit in you” — is a personal act. God gives not just breath, but His very own Spirit. This is the same promise echoed in Joel, fulfilled in Acts, and sealed by Christ.
Acts 2:16–17 (ESV)
“But this is what was uttered through the prophet Joel [i.e., 2:28–29]:
‘And in the last days it shall be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.’”
Ephesians 1:13 (ESV)
In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit.
God is not asking if you can fix it. He’s asking if you’ll believe that He can.
Dry bones don’t dance without breath.
And breath doesn’t come without the voice.
But the voice still speaks.
Even now.
Even here.
Even in your valley.
The question isn’t just “Can these bones live?”
It’s — “Will you trust the One who breathes?”
Selah.
Let the wind blow again.
Reflection
- What feels like dry bones in your life right now?
- Where is God inviting you to prophesy, even when nothing has changed yet?
- How have you experienced God’s breath before — and what might it mean to receive it again?
- Is there a question God is asking you — not for information, but for transformation?
- What would it look like to speak life into a valley you’ve stopped visiting?
Originally published on Medium. Reposted with the author’s permission. All rights reserved.