Lord of the Dance

I'm not much of a dancer, in a conventional sense. Given the option, I would rather play music and watch other people dance. I have had some close friends who can really move their bodies, with apparent ease, in such away that the space around them comes to life as they move either alone or in harmony with others. Of the few times I've been able to trick my ego into letting me be foolish and playful for a while, and actually try to dance, my favorite dances have been in community. I remember the joy of learning to Contra Dance when I was in my 20's. An old-time string band played simple, repetitious, traditional tunes as a caller directed us through the community dance; we laughed at ourselves when we tripped over one another, and we wore wide grins when we managed follow the instructions and keep rhythm.  At a recent retreat at the Mustang Island Conference Center, I taught a "Kenyan Halleluia" song during evening worship. Once everyone learned the simple song, I introduced a very simple side-to-side dance step to go along with the song. Like my Contra Dancing experience, wide grins and laughter accompanied the tangled feet and rhythmic steps. The retreat was only for a weekend, but a group of strangers were able to sing and dance together, making community and finding a physical unity; an expression of our spiritual unity in Christ.
One of my dad's favorite church songs is "Lord of the Dance." The song playfully sketches the story of Jesus' life as if he is going around inviting everyone to dance with him. Some dance, some do not. The fishermen are willing to dance, for example, but the scribes and Pharisees will not. The chorus to "Lord of the Dance" is, "Dance then, wherever you may be,// 'I am the Lord of the Dance,' said he//'And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be//And I'll lead you all in the dance,' said he."
Even though I'm not much of a dancer, I get that song. I can imagine Jesus as the caller with the Holy Spirit Band playing a simple melody to get us all moving together. It reminds me of part of one of Jesus' parables: when the child is in the market place playing the flute, but no one will dance to her music. The metaphor tells us that the music is out there, the caller is inviting us to join in the dance, if we would but allow ourselves to be so moved.
Often times, the reason I don't dance is because I'm afraid of what I might look like. It's a silly thing. Dancing requires some level of vulnerability. We have to ask our ego to get out of the way so we can take the risk required to participate in something greater than ourselves. We have to allow music to move us; and we may be moving in harmony with others. The great thing about my Contra Dance experience, and that retreat group stepping side-to-side to the "Kenyan Halleluia" was that no one in either situation was expected to be an expert dancer, no one was even expected to dance well. We were all simply invited to let the music move us, and try to step in time. So it is with the Divine Dance of our spiritual lives. How ever you want to phrase the metaphor, God's music is present for us to listen and be moved. We may have to ask our ego to back off, to practice vulnerability to get moving, but there are callers to help us along. In this Divine Dance, we are able to laugh at our own mistakes, grin when we are in rhythm, and experience joy as we are moved by the Lord of the Dance.

Originally published in the South Jetty