You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. Psalm 30:11-12
Every year some friends rent a church hall, hang a disco ball, put out refreshments, hire a DJ and invite their family and friends to boogie down. The DJ was on his game this year, reading the baby boomer crowd well, choosing one song after another that stirred memories of some part of my youth. People dance with partners of the same or another sex, or in groups, or, like Kristen, solo, snaking through the crowd and making brief contact with dancers hither and yon. As I surrender to the beat, I find myself facing my wife, or Josh, or Doug and Susie, and it all feels good. When I slow dance with Jenny to “Whiter Shade of Pale” I remember slow-dancing to this same song as a middle schooler at church dances and the romance of the moment rises. Once in a while I look up and make eye contact with a stranger across the room simultaneously mouthing the words to some beloved song from our past, shared culture. Mostly, I feel pure joy.
When was the last time church felt like this? Maybe it was that Easter Sunday when thousands of flower petals rained on our heads from the cupola. Maybe it was during the U2charist installation service when clergy in their robes and laypeople in their street clothes literally danced in front of the chancel. Maybe it was the tired but grateful feeling I had as I hung up my apron after a half day of chopping vegetables and serving a hot meal to the homeless with my daughter. When was the last time you danced with the Holy Spirit?
Emma Goldman famously said, “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be in your revolution.” Amen, Emma, Amen.
Lord of the Dance, teach us how to move in your name, to create real, lasting community, to remember that even as we re-commit ourselves to working for justice, we need to celebrate this great gift of life.
Amen.