In this dance of faith, we don’t have to have all the right moves; if we simply follow the Lord’s lead, we’ll experience the joy of worship.
One of my earliest memories is of sitting in a neighbor’s living room and watching Shirley Temple tap and twirl across the television screen. I was mesmerized. I had never seen anyone dance like that, let alone a little girl who looked my age. She moved so gracefully and with such joy! The vision of that tiny dancer struck a chord somewhere deep down inside of me.
Musical Roots…
My family lived off the grid before the term “off the grid” really existed. Even though we didn’t have electricity, running water, or modern conveniences, we were rich in music and dance! In his youth, my dad had been a prodigy on the violin and could play just about any instrument he picked up. Before homesteading and raising kids, in her former life, Mom had been an Off Broadway actress and classically trained opera singer. Our musical roots ran deep, and the family songs we composed comprised our only form of homemade entertainment.
Family Hootenannies…
I loved it when of an evening, after the dinner dishes were done, Dad would push the kitchen table against the wall. If he cleared that “dance floor,” a family hootenanny was about to break out! He’d start to pluck and strum his small classical guitar. When he and Mom bought that little instrument at a pawn shop in New York City’s Lower East Side, they probably never guessed it would make its debut in a small shack in Southern Indiana! As Dad played, he and Mom would sing while all four of us kids joined in.
The rhythm section consisted of metal table spoons that we clasped between our fingers, tapping them between our cupped hands and laps. Mom would bust out her zils, or finger cymbals, a carryover from her old belly dancing days. More than likely, the tambourine and harmonica would make an appearance before it was all said and done. As new believers, my folks surely did not get everything right about the Bible. But when it came to singing and dancing as a form of worship, they were right in step with the psalms.
Let them praise his name in the dance: let them sing praises unto him with the timbrel and harp.
Psalm 149:3, KJV
The Sweetest Music to My Ears…
I couldn’t sit still through the first chorus before I was out on the “dance floor” with what I’m sure were some enthusiastic homemade moves. I’d try to mimic what I had seen Shirley Temple doing with her feet. One evening, a couple joined us for dinner and stayed for some of our after dinner “entertainment.” Afterward, they kept remarking that the steps we were doing looked a lot like the Appalachian clog dancing they were learning. They were taking lessons in the nearby town and suggested that we might like to join them. Soon after their visit, my dad told me we were all going to start taking clogging lessons. His words were the sweetest music to my ears, and they ushered in nearly a decade of dance.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:… A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4, KJV
Through It All, I Danced…
I thank God for that season of dance. It was filled with deep sorrow, but the Lord had given me a gift to carry me through it. I danced through the devastation of my parents’ divorce. Through the empty pangs of hunger that one meal a day–the free lunch at school–could not fill. Through the grief of my dad’s untimely death. He always said he hoped he’d die dancing, and one night at a local line dance, that’s how he passed. As if caught in a dizzying contra dance, spinning from one partner to the next, I danced through a disorienting shuffle: moving in and out of six different families’ homes by the time I graduated high school. Through it all, I danced.
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.
Psalm 30:11, KJV
The Magic of the Dance…
I remember long afternoons that turned into late nights pounding out beats on the hard concrete floor of my friend Chris’ basement. A national championship under his belt, Chris proved not only to be an amazing dancer but teacher as well. He patiently broke down each step into smaller movements, which we repeated over and over until it became second nature. That’s when the magic of the dance began. I was no longer thinking about each shift of weight, each toe ball heel combination. The movements just started to flow out of me. For the first time, it felt easy and fluid, and fun! What had begun as a frustratingly mechanical process became an exhilarating experience of movement and joy!
The Clunky Walk of Faith…
This progression describes my walk of faith as well. For many years, I have felt like a clunky beginner, tripping over my own feet. My spirit is ready and willing. It longs to sashay through life, trusting that my Father will always catch me when I fall. But my flesh doesn’t follow suit. It wants to rehearse each step before I take it, to rehash old missteps, to mistrust my partner, to complain that the choreographer’s routine is too complicated. But then there are those times when I’m blissfully lost in the dance of faith. When I’m moving freely in the spirit, it all feels so effortless. When I let Him take the lead, I feel like I can fly.
The Joy of Worship…
Whether it’s dance or any other form of expression, I know God created us to experience the joy of worship. One afternoon my husband and I were playing an outdoor concert with our old bluegrass band. As I looked out at the audience on a beautifully sprawling lawn covered by a grove of huge old oak trees, I saw one of the most simple, joyous sights I’ve ever been blessed to behold.
Directly in front of the stage was a throng of about 50 children dancing with reckless abandon. Those sweaty little bodies and the bright spirits within them were not concerned about how they looked, whether they were on the beat, off the beat, or even had a beat. And they weren’t worrying about whether they were doing it “right.” They were simply moving with the music and experiencing joy. And isn’t our faith suppose to look like that of the little children?
Invite to the Dance…
It can feel paralyzing if we don’t know all the right moves. We can hold back and not even think about stepping on the dance floor of our lives. But when it comes to our faith and our worship, God is not interested in perfect execution. He considers the state of our heart toward Him. There is freedom in this dance of faith. If we simply incline our hearts and minds toward the Lord, He shows us when and how to move. He shows us whom to partner with, which wall flower to invite off the bleachers and onto the floor. He chaperones us away from the sin that entices us down the wrong path. After all, He is the Maestro, the choreographer, and we all have an invite to the dance. It’s when we accept the invitation, when we show up, that we experience the magic.
How do you express your worship? When was the last time you danced?
Gaelle Marcel
