Seventh Sunday after Pentecost/ 15th July 2012
Last
Sunday, I ended the sermon with reference to a video I saw during worship at the
General Assembly in Pittsburgh, shown at East Liberty Presbyterian Church to a
congregation of 700 Presbyterians. It
was the latest release by Matt Harding on his site: “Where the hell is Matt?” His Dance 2012 consists of Matt dancing a
funny dance with people – he’s not really a great dancer – in small groups and
in enormous crowds, with people all around the world, children, adults, all
shapes and sizes and religions and races in a celebration of the human spirit
caught up in the dance. There’s one
poignant scene in which he’s dancing with people in wheelchairs. He’s dancing in Rwanda, Germany; Damascus,
Syria (the dancers have their faces blurred to keep them anonymous); Iraq,
Afghanistan, Haiti, Gaza, Thailand, North Korea, South Africa, Cairo, Athens,
Rome, and even Patterson Park, Baltimore.
Some are dangerous places, impoverished places, places of untold pain
and suffering, but also places of joy and happiness. I’m not exactly sure why it speaks to so many
people – I was a wreck watching it. I’m
not sure what’s at the root of the emotions it releases, but it’s profound and
uplifting and joyous and it celebrates the thread that binds the human spirit
together. The video is set to music, a
song, “Trip the Light,” co-authored by Matt.
By trip he means to turn on
the light. Here are the lyrics:
If all the days
that come to pass
Are behind these
walls
I’ll be left at
the end of things
In a world kept
small
Travel far from
what I know
I’ll be swept
away
I need to know
I can be lost
and not afraid
We’re gonna trip
the light
We’re gonna
break the night
And we’ll see
with new eyes
When we trip the
light
Remember we’re
lost together
Remember we’re
the same
We hold the
burning rhythm in our hearts
We hold the
flame
…
I’ll find my way
home
On the Western
wind
To a place that
was once my world
Back from where
I’ve been
And in the
morning light I’ll remember
As the sun will
rise
We are all the
glowing embers
Of a distant
fire
We’re gonna trip
the light
We’re gonna
break the night
And we’ll see
with new eyes
I can’t shake free from the images
and music of this video. I’m not exactly
sure why. Perhaps it gives a glimpse of
what the human spirit really hungers for; it allows us to soar with hope for
the new thing God is doing in our midst.
For the dance continues and nothing can stop it.
And then just when I thought I was
beyond it, here comes the lectionary for this week from 2 Samuel, of David
dancing with “all his might” before the ark of God.
2 Samuel depicts the ascendency of
David to the throne of Israel and Judah.
Saul is dead. Abner, Saul’s
general, is dead. A lot of people are
dead – all within the first five chapters.
David is not completely innocent here.
But he’s the one left standing. The Lord’s anointed. He moves the capital to Jerusalem. Jerusalem, already a religious center for
Israel, now becomes a political and military center. He brings with him the ark of the covenant,
the dwelling place of Yahweh, the holy presence of God, which was entrusted to
the Northern tribes. And so in a great
liturgical procession of 30,000, “David and all the people with him set out and
went…to bring up from there the ark of God, which is called by the name of the
LORD of hosts who is enthroned in the cherubim.”
David is leading the way and he’s
dancing. David and all the house of
Israel “were dancing before the LORD with all their might, with songs and lyres
and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals.” Eventually they make
their way into the City of David, into Jerusalem, and David is still dancing,
“all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the LORD with shouting, and with
the sound of the trumpet.”
As David makes his way through the
city, Michal, Saul’s daughter, David’s wife, looks on and despises him? Why?
Maybe she’s resentful toward him for pulling her away from her first husband,
Paltiel – this David who demanded that she become his wife. Maybe she’s resentful that she’s one of David’s
wives and not the only one (and be sure to note the Bible’s early configuration
of marriage here). We’re not sure. Her anger and even hate for him are strong
and justified; they become the lens through which she looks out at him and his
holy display. Maybe she thinks he’s a
poseur, a fake, she knows his heart, he’s got the 30,000 fooled. Michal probably knows better than most that
David isn’t perfect – and we must not project those expectations upon him. But it’s kind of sad to see Michal’s
resentment toward him getting in the way of the celebration, hindering her
ability to worship to God, obstructing her from joining in the dance.
I think if we’re honest, even if we
have two left feet, we want to join in the dance. But there are things that hinder us from dancing,
that prevent us from hearing the music. Maybe
you know what it’s like to be on the edge of a dance floor looking on with
desire and maybe jealousy and fear because you know that you want to dance, you
know you want to be out there, but you don’t know how (or think you don’t), or
you don’t want to embarrass yourself (or your friends), and so you run from the
risk and the fun and look on. We all
want to dance. It’s buried deep in our
souls, in our psyches. Dance is as old
as humanity; it’s archetypal. Dance might actually be older than language; it’s
preverbal and even subverbal. It’s part
of our collective memories. When we hear
the beating of the drum, something stirs in us.
It’s primal. Certain rhythms and
beats can cause even the most frozen of the chosen Presbyterian tribe to
move. We might not think it’s possible;
but it is. With God all things are possible. At the church I served in Mendham,
NJ, we had a dance one evening. I remember seeing about fifty Presbyterians
lose enough to dance, not only the Electric Slide, but also the Macarena! That was a sight to behold! It couldn’t get
that image out of my head for a while.
It was the great dance teacher and
choreographer Martha Graham (1894-1991), who said, “Dance is the hidden
language of the soul.”[2] When
we dance, something deep is revealed, something deep is released, something
deep is set free, something deep that can only be discovered, maybe, in the
dance.
Twice we find David and all of
Israel “dancing with all their might.”
I’m struck by the strong, profound connection between worship and dance
here, between devotion and dance, between praise and dance. With all his might David gives himself over
in praise and celebration, with all his heart, soul, mind, strength, and body
he offers himself to God in praise.
There’s such happiness, such joy and delight, such selflessness and unself-consciousness
here that he’s free to give himself over to the dance, he’s free to let himself
go. What a marvelous expression or
definition of worship.
The
Russian-born choreographer George Balanchine (1904-1983) once said, “I don’t
want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance.” From what we can glean from this text, no one
told David to dance. He had to dance; it
flowed from him. That’s what worship
does – it’s what God wants from our worship.
I’m struck by this connection
between religious experience and emotion.
The religious expression, the depth of love and devotion causes
movement. That’s what an emotion
does. An emotion is energy in motion – e-motion – and that’s what religious experience
can and should do within us – move us, cause us to move.
Early Judaism knew this. Dance has always been part of the Jewish
tradition. In the Christian experience,
not so much. In the gospels, Jesus says,
'We piped to you but you did not dance' (Matthew 11:17). In Jesus'
parable of the prodigal son there was dancing and rejoicing on the son's return
to his home (Luke 15:25). Even as late
at 200 A.D., circle dances were still part of the Christian liturgy. But all
that changed when the dance was equated with moral decadence and dance was
removed from the liturgy. John Calvin (1509-1564) and his colleagues and
the congregations of the Reformed church did not dance. There are exceptions in Christian history, of
course, think of the Shakers in the 19th century America.
In
Islam, the mystical Sufis today dance in a whirling dervish of praise around
one still point. In the gnostic text,
the Acts of John, we find Jesus
saying, “Give heed unto my dancing… Divine Grace is dancing: Fain would I pipe for you. Dance ye all!”[3]
It’s
not surprising that Jesus came to be known as the Lord of the Dance. Sydney Carter (1915-2004), composer of our
closing hymn, “I Danced in the Morning” (1963), set to the Shaker tune Simple
Gifts, said in connection with this hymn, "I
see Christ as the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that
shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. …I sing of the dancing
pattern in the life and words of Jesus. Whether Jesus ever leaped in Galilee to
the rhythm of a pipe or drum I do not know. We are told that David danced (and
as an act of worship too), so it is not impossible. The fact that many
Christians have regarded dancing as a bit ungodly (in a church, at any rate)
does not mean that Jesus did. The Shakers didn't.”
I wonder whether with
the absence of dance that we haven’t lost something essential in our
worship.
We
know all the power of dance. Sometimes
we have to go beyond the Church to discover it or reclaim it. Whether it’s a
scene from Hairspray or Flashdance or Saturday Night Fever or West
Side Story, “Dancing with the Stars,” or watching Fred and Ginger – you
have your favorites – you know the beauty and emotion of the movement when we
dance, even when we watch people dance. My
parents were wonderful dancers. I can
remember watching them at wedding receptions and parties, effortlessly moving
across the dance floor in one fluid, beautiful movement. We want to participate in it. We want to get
caught up in it. Dance is a marvelous metaphor or image for the Christian life,
a faith that is dancing.
Listen
to this personal statement or confession of what dance means, what it does, why
it matter. As you listen, try to connect it to your own faith, hear it as a
metaphor for a dancing faith:
Consciousness expresses
itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator.
Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many
an occasion when I am dancing, I have felt touched by something sacred. In
those moments, I felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that
exists.
I become the stars and the
moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished.
I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become
the knower and the known. I keep on dancing then, it is the eternal dance
of creation. The creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy. I keep
on dancing...and dancing...and dancing. Until there is only...the dance.
These are the words of Michael Jackson (1958-2009).
I can easily imagine David saying
something very similar, can’t you? “…touched by something sacred…I felt my
spirit soar…creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy…there is
only…the dance.” And so we keep on dancing…and dancing…and dancing. For there is only the dance.
[1]“Trip the Light,” by
Alicia Hempke and Matt Harding; Music by Gary Schyman.
[2] See Martha Graham’s
autobiography, Blood Memory: An Autobiography (Doubleday, 1991).
[3]
The Acts of John is a gnostic text
that dates from the 2nd century AD.
In its account of the Last Supper, there is reference to the Round Dance or Circle Dance of the Cross, initiated
by Jesus who says, "Before I am delivered to them, let us sing a hymn to
the Father and so go to meet what lies before us.” Directed to form a circle
around him, holding hands and dancing, the apostles cry "Amen" to the
hymn of Jesus. Gustav Holst (1875-1934)
set the text to music, using his own translation from the Greek, in The Hymn of Jesus (1916). I’m using
Holst’s translation here.
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