“Can these bones live?” (Ezekiel 37:3)[i]. The Lord asks this of the prophet Ezekiel after the Spirit has set Ezekiel down in the middle of a valley full of dry bones. Dry, abundant enough to fill the valley, dead. Can the Lord bring life, restoration, and redemption into this barren inhabitance?
It seems the Lord wants to know what Ezekiel believes. What he believes to be possible. What he believes to be true. What he believes of the Lord. What he believes is possible with the Lord. And what he sees as possible for the Israelites. Something in this valley is going to be revealed, yet the Lord begins by asking Ezekiel a question. Fascinating!
Art also begins this way. In the making, the artist considers what she sees and questions what she believes. When engaging with a completed work of art, the audience observes what the artist has made and is invited to consider and question what he or she sees, hears, and believes. So, what does Ezekiel believe? He believes he can trust his Maker. He responds, “O Lord God, you know” (Ezekiel 37:3). And now we are there in that valley of dry bones, sitting on the edge of our seats, intrigued and waiting. If only I were so wise with my response to the Lord, accepting while simultaneously expectant and trusting.
This past fall I began reading the book of Ezekiel to better understand the context of the Valley of Dry Bones vision. I listened for what this passage means, as well as what it had to speak to me about personally. For months this passage came to mind, I suspect because I was asking similar questions of the Lord: “Can these bones live? Can these bones flourish?” I wasn’t considering ending it all, but I was in one of those dark seasons in which I felt lost, as if drifting at sea, and I was feeling disenchanted with life. Ideas of how to give this Ezekiel passage a physical form began to come to mind. As a visual artist and writer, I find joy and greater clarity when I discover ways to make visible what my heart, mind, soul, and even body are contemplating. Theologian and philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff has written, “Art—so often thought of as a way of getting out of the world—is man’s way of acting in the world.”[ii] I have found this to be quite true.
Making visible the imperceptible, or that which often lies just beneath the surface, is something we rely on in many ways. For example, we expect we need this in the medical field. We get X-rays, mammograms, CT scans, and ultrasounds, all to make the invisible visible, to see the truth of what is going on inside. It’s not lost on me how valuable this is. Making the invisible visible is a necessary step in cancer treatment. I’ve lost loved ones to cancer, and I’ve seen Ioved ones cured of cancer. I’ve been surprised by unexpected tears when sharing my routine mammogram results with friends and family. Cancer is scary. Even tears are a manifestation of the invisible. Sometimes we can’t explain the meaning of our tears; we just know they needed to come out. The Lord has given us the words of Scripture to make visible the Great Story. Often we can read the Word with increased understanding and receptivity with the help of art forms such as music, film, drawing, painting, writing, poetry, photography, and dance. Sometimes we need to hear and see the same truth in multiple forms for it to grow roots into our core beliefs. Sometimes artistic expressions make visible things we already know about ourselves, the Lord, and the world; other times these creations reveal hidden truths. As author Madeleine L’Engle has written, “The discipline of creation, be it to paint, compose, write, is an effort toward wholeness.”[iii] And isn’t wholeness the aim of the prophetic? Isn’t the truth of shalom, wholeness in and through Christ, what we are after for ourselves and one another? We can receive the artistic expressions of others to deepen our insights into Scripture, and we would be wise to remember that the creative Lord who made each one of us has instilled in us the capacity to express ourselves creatively as well.
When I was in my arts education master’s program, I made visible my story and the grief of infertility through narrative writing and enacting my story on stage with a pregnant mannequin torso as a prop. I incorporated music and received the generous presence of my peers as audience. This “making visible,” in both the process of making and the act of sharing, healed me; I had been stuck in this theme of my story for three years. Vulnerably sharing this artistic expression among my peers also created space for my peers to enter into their stories, unhealed hurts, and unheard truths. A sacred space existed for all present in those moments of truth. To me, this was a prophetic voice experience. However, I use the word prophetic with reluctance because some may think the term prophetic only relates when the creator is a Christ-centered believer. The word prophetic can also feel weighty and its meaning easily misunderstood as future-telling. Over the years, countless songs, sculptures, paintings, films and other works of art without Christ-centered intent have moved me closer to the Lord. Even if the Lord remains unrecognized by the artist, we are all capable of expressing truths that are core to the image in which we are made. I prefer to call art that illuminates truth “honest art.” Honest art is what I want. Art that tells the truth. The practice and sharing of artistic expression can welcome a rich honesty about life:
Honest art gives permission for expression. Art that speaks honestly portrays the life we know, not the life we ought to have; it questions, invites, offers, enjoys, aches, grieves and acknowledges life. Honest art is not afraid to approach topics such as war, unanswerable questions, death, grief, pain and long‐term illness. Honest art speaks into our relationships, our culture and our world. It does not offer quick resolution, easy righteousness, cheap grace, perfect families, simple answers; honest art offers truth, and that is why we resonate with it.[iv]
The prophetic is simply the truth heard, spoken or seen, and understood. The arts offer one source for this voice of honesty.
It was through a vision that the Lord spoke to Ezekiel of the redemption of Israel. This truth and future hope could have been explained without metaphor and graphic charisma, but that’s not how the Lord chose to communicate here. It seems there are often more effective ways to reveal the truth, to speak the prophetic, than to be literal. Consider how often Jesus spoke in parables. Why? Story is a language we not only understand with our minds, but we also more readily enter into narrative with our hearts and our emotions, and often with less reluctance and more grace. We more readily identify with story than with, say, an instruction manual. Jesus had a way of showing instead of telling, and that is the aim of the honest artist as well.
At the time I was reflecting on Ezekiel’s vision, I had a two-day arts-based workshop to plan, and I realized that guiding a group through this passage of Scripture could be a rich experience. Guiding groups through Scripture and inviting groups into expression through the arts (perhaps especially those who don’t believe themselves to be artists) is one of my favorite things to do. A shared experience of creating in community around a central theme generates varied insights of rich personal and global truth. Working in community also reinforces the importance of the truths unveiled, particularly as each participant shares their creation with the group. My workshop theme emerged—Dry Bones/Spirit Breath: I Hear a Rattling—and I began experimenting with visual art materials.
Wanting a base material that presents as having an inside and an outside, I selected framed wood panels to be used backward to create something like a shadow box. I wanted contrast to be a clear component of this project. We placed a clear film over the wood frame, creating a window-like view. The idea was to create two views. First, what part of me right now feels like dry bones? Over what brokenness in the world does my heart currently ache? Next, where do I sense in this personal or global ache the Lord’s promise of life-giving Spirit breath? What does that hope and redemption look like? I encouraged participants to draw a self-portrait of their face on the clear film so that one must peer through this portrait in order to see the promise of Spirit or the dry bones metaphor on the inside. There was, however, full flexibility given to explore this Scripture however each person felt compelled. Most participants arrived at the second day of the workshop with unique materials from home to express their stories more personally; I was thrilled that my encouragement to do this had been taken to heart.
At the end of the second day, we each shared our completed work. We peered through these meaningful windows and saw partially concealed truth awaiting visibility: Spirit breath entering the scene, hope in the Lord being restored and lives being made new. Looking through one layer we saw another, and the layers influenced each other. As we shared our creations, we grew in our knowing of one another and of the valleys of dry bones we each face, and we grew richer in hope.
Artist and teacher Peter London has written that, above all of its functions, “art is about exploring what it is to be human.”[v] “If this is true, then the result of such exploration must play an essential role not only in the expression of self but also in the formation of self.”[vi] The prophetic, the true, aspires to such formation. Discovering shape for expressing our inner lives can transform us. This is the purpose of prophetic art; this is what honest art can do. Honest art made and received can welcome us more readily into truth. When art offers a language for the formation of our expressions, the formation of ourselves is also advanced. This formation occurs most effectively in community. What good is the prophetic if it informs us but does not form us? Art that tells the truth speaks so that we may know.
A valley overflowing with sun-scorched bones was visible to Ezekiel, but what the Lord wanted him to envision more deeply (and to believe) was a restorative promise awaiting reveal. Do you know what the Lord God commands Ezekiel to do after asking him if these bones can live? He tells Ezekiel to prophesy the truth of Yahweh, the I AM LORD, over the bones. The Lord tells Ezekiel to proclaim these words, “Thus says the Lord God to these bones, ‘Behold, I will cause breath to enter you that you may come to life. I will put sinews on you, make flesh grow back on you, cover you with skin and put breath in you that you may come alive’” (Ezekiel 37:5-6). And for what reason does the Lord give this life-breath? Why does Yahweh show this vision to Ezekiel and to us? So that “you will know that I am the LORD” (Ezekiel 37:6). Ezekiel’s “O Lord, you know if these bones can live” transforms to the Lord’s, “I do know, and I want for you to know. And I want for you to live. And I want for you to know the source of life. I want you to know me.” When the Lord brings these bones back to life, the whole house of Israel, whose hope had thoroughly perished, breathes. “I will put my Spirit within you and you will come to life” (Ezekiel 37:14).
Just as the Lord breathed the first breath of life into Adam’s nostrils (Genesis 2:7), the Lord breathes this same Spirit breath into the whole house of Israel, a people who had felt like an army of dry bones perished in a valley. This vision of the Lord shown to the prophet Ezekiel makes known the truth. “I am the Lord. I am your life source. I know you. I made and am making you.” The Lord who knows these bones can live. These bones will live. These bones are alive! This we can see. This we know.
[i] All scriptures used are quoted from the NASB, 1995 edition.
[ii] Nicholas Wolterstorff, Art in Action: Toward a Christian Aesthetic (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1980), 4-5.
[iii] Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (New York, NY: North Point Press, 1980), 70.
[iv] Krista Little, The Fertility of Artistic Expression As a Two‐Way Offering: Releasing the Prolific Self (Burnaby, BC, Canada: Simon Fraser University Library, 2011), 23.
[v] Peter London, No More Secondhand Art: Awakening the Artist Within (Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications, 1989), 34.
[vi] Little, 116.
Krista Little is a visual artist, teacher, and writer. She loves guiding arts-based experiences for groups. She has a B.A. in art (drawing and painting) from Whitworth University and an M.A. in arts education from Simon Fraser University. Her visual work tends toward the abstract, with a focus on composition, line, and concept. She desires to offer the viewer space to slow down to find a path back to beauty. Krista has lived in the California East Bay and the Pacific Northwest, and currently resides in Huntington Beach, California.