Freedom from the Powers that Bind (Sermon - Lent 5)
This sermon was preached on March 22, 2026, at Ebenezer UMC and Black Creek UMC for the Fifth Sunday of Lent. The scriptures of the day are: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Psalm 130, Romans 8:6-11, John 11:1-45.
1. Being Stuck
Have you ever felt truly stuck? It is a sensation that
defines so much of our human condition. We often use the word metaphorically—we
are stuck in a career, stuck in a grief that won’t lift, or stuck in an old
pattern of behavior. But whether it is emotional, mental, or physical, being
stuck is a form of paralysis. It is that heavy, suffocating moment when
something wraps itself around your heart or your spirit and simply refuses to let
go. This state of being bound creates a barrier between the person you are and
the life God intended for you to live.
One Tuesday, after a heavy rain, I pulled into my usual spot
and spent my hour by the water. When I returned to the car, I realized the
ground was soft mud. As soon as I shifted into gear, the tires began to sink. I
tried moving forward; I tried rocking backward. The more I struggled, the
deeper the tires spun into the mud. Staring at that mess, I felt an incredible
sense of helplessness and frustration. This was long before cell phones, and I
realized I was going to be late for my class. Eventually, I had to walk to a
nearby farmhouse, where a kind man used his truck and a chain to pull me out. I
arrived at Duke with mud all over my car, relieved but shaken by how easily my
progress had been halted.
Even this morning, a similar frustration took hold. I
realized I had left my bag on the other side of Smithfield, forcing a
redundant, one-and-a-half-hour trip that left me feeling behind before the day
had truly begun. Whether it is a car in the mud or a forgotten bag, these
moments of being stuck mirror the deeper, spiritual entrapments we face.
However, the scriptures for this Fifth Sunday of Lent offer a divine solution
to our paralysis.
2. Hope in the Valley of Dry Bones
The vision of the valley of dry bones is a vision that
speaks to anyone who has ever felt that a situation was beyond repair. It
addresses the ultimate “stuck” place: the silence of the grave. Ezekiel was in
Babylon among the Judean elites—a people in exile whose temple has been
destroyed and whose future feels erased. They were a people who believe their
story is over.
In this vision, the Spirit of the Lord carries Ezekiel to a
valley filled with bones that are dried by time and caked in the dust of
despair. God poses a strange, almost impossible question: “Mortal, can these
bones live?” If you or I were walking through the woods and found a carcass, we
wouldn’t ask if it could live; we would know it is finished. But Ezekiel’s
response—”O Lord God, you know”—is an act of theological surrender. He does not
claim power he does not have, nor does he limit what God can do. He simply
yields to God.
What follows is a two-stage process of restoration. First,
Ezekiel prophesies to the bones, and they rattle together, forming structure
and flesh. Yet, they remain breathless. It is only when he prophesies to the
breath—the four winds—that life truly returns. This is a vivid illustration of God’s
grace, the grace that seeks us out in our “dry places” even when we have given
up on ourselves.
We must apply this to our contemporary context. You and I
look around this sanctuary, and we might lament that the church “isn’t what it
was 20, 40, or 50 years ago.” We find ourselves in Ezekiel’s valley, wondering
if these bones can live. But do not despair. The promise of the text is that
God’s Spirit can still surprise us with new life, even when we are certain the
valley is only for the dead.
3. Crying from the Depths
If Ezekiel provides the vision of restoration, Psalm
130—historically known as the De Profundis—provides the words for the
journey. There is a role for lament in our spiritual life. We must move from
the silence of the valley to the vocalizing of our pain. This psalm is the
essential cry for those in the “depths” who recognize they are sinking.
This text holds a sacred place in our Methodist heritage. It
was the very psalm John Wesley heard being sung at St. Paul’s Cathedral on the
afternoon of May 24, 1738. He was in his own “depths” of spiritual frustration that
began to turn when he heard those words: “Out of the depths I cry to you.”
Later that evening, during a meeting at Aldersgate Street, his heart was “strangely
warmed” as he realized that Christ was not only the Savior of the world, but
was his personal savior.
The psalmist describes a specific kind of spiritual
discipline: waiting for the Lord “more than those who watch for the morning.”
This is not a passive waiting. It is the active, disciplined trust required
when an instant fix is not provided. We have all been in those depths where we
do not know what to pray. As the apostle Paul writes, the Holy Spirit will pray
through us with “groans and utterances too deep for words.” The “Good News” is
that God’s steadfast love and his great power to redeem outweigh any human
mistake. Our freedom begins the moment we stop pretending we can rescue
ourselves from the mud of our own making.
4. The Indwelling Spirit as the Source of Freedom
In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul shifts our
focus from the external hope of restoration to the internal reality of the
spirit. This is the cornerstone of Christian freedom. Paul contrasts “life in
the flesh”—a life turned inward, trapped in old patterns and fed with our biases,
desires, and selfish ends—with “life in the spirit,” which leads to peace.
We call this sanctifying grace. It is the ongoing,
daily work of God making the believer new. Paul argues that the same power that
raised Jesus from the dead is not just a distant historical fact or just a
future promise; it is a present reality available for your Monday morning and
Tuesday morning challenges.
What does this indwelling spirit actually do when you feel
bound by fear at 9:00 AM on a workday? It attacks the “powers that bind” by
breaking the grip of sin, dispelling the paralysis of fear, and silencing the
lie that you will never change. You are not merely inspired; the same power
that walked Christ out of the grave lives in you to set you free today.
5. The Command to Come Out and the Call to Unbind
The Gospel of John gives us the most vivid narrative of this
power in the raising of Lazarus. The setting is Bethany, a town about two miles
from Jerusalem, just over the Mount of Olives. The name Bethany means “house of
figs,” and for Jesus, it was a place of sweetness where he found respite from a
bitter and sour world. This was a family he loved, and their home was a sweet
refuge for Jesus when he came to Judea.
When word reaches Jesus that Lazarus is dying, he delays his
arrival for two days. The disciples are terrified to return to Judea, where
people had recently tried to kill Jesus. I love the human element here—Thomas,
in a moment of grim sarcasm, says, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
Upon arriving at the tomb, Jesus is “deeply disturbed in
spirit.” The Greek word used here, embrimaomai (ἐμβριμάομαι), suggests an internal
turmoil that hits you in the gut— such as a boiling indignation at the havoc
death wreaks on those lose loved ones. He orders the stone rolled away. Martha
warns him of the stench. But Jesus cries out with a loud voice: “Lazarus, come
out!”
Lazarus emerges, but imagine the sight: he is alive, yet he
is still bound head and foot in grave clothes. He is shuffling out, still
wearing the wrappings of his former state. But notice, friends, the miracle
doesn’t end with Lazarus standing. There is something else that is required—and
it involves us. Jesus commands the community: “Unbind him, and let him go.”
This is the prophetic call to the church. While Jesus
provides the life, he calls us—the body of Christ—to do the work of unbinding.
We are called to help one another strip away the bandages of resentment, shame,
and prejudice. This also extends to systemic bondages. The church is uniquely
equipped to work to strip away the “grave clothes” of hunger, homelessness, and
unemployment. The heart of the gospel is both receiving the call to “come out”
and accepting the responsibility to “let go” of the things that hinder our
neighbors.
6. Conclusion: A Journey Toward Freedom
As we complete this Lenten journey and move toward the
passion of Holy Week, remember that the powers of fear, guilt, and despair do
not have the final word. The four witnesses of scripture today speak with one
voice:
1. God
brings life to dry bones.
2. God
hears us from the depths.
3. God’s
spirit sets us free.
4. Jesus
calls us out of the tomb.
Where are you stuck today? In what ways do you feel bound by
the bandages of your past or the mud of your current circumstances? Listen
closely, for Christ is calling your name, commanding you to come forth from the
places where death has tried to hold you. God is not finished with you yet.
May you experience the real freedom that comes only through
Christ, freedom from every power that seeks to bind you.
+ In the name of the Father, and
of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sermon Information
- Preacher:
Alan Swartz
- Date:
March 22, 2026
- Occasion:
Fifth Sunday of Lent
- Scripture
References: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Psalm 130, Romans 8:6-11, John 11:1-45
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