You Can Dance
The history of religion is basically a story of people trying to become holier than God.
Last Saturday night I was dancing. It was a wedding—not some dance club for serious shimmiers, not dancing with any stars, just a wedding. But I was dancing, and that’s still a big deal for me. Because I didn’t used to dance. I was raised in a church where it was forbidden. You’ve probably heard the old joke. Why are Baptists against premarital sex? Because it may lead to dancing!
How we forbade something celebrated in the Bible—whose every word we revered—always eludes me. You could do an exhaustive word study and see how dance and dancing permeate the Scriptures, but that lovely line from Psalm 30 comes to mind. “You have turned my wailing into dancing.” And then of course Ecclesiastes 3:4 tells us pointedly, “To everything there is a time… a time to mourn and a time to dance.” The Bible is, literally, pushing out onto the parquet, saying, “Time to dance”!
And we said, Not us. We want to be holy.
I don’t think Baptists are any worse about mistaken holiness than anyone else, it’s just the version I know. All faiths, all denominations go down this road. We take grace, take pure, unbounded love and put it behind a paywall: You can buy it with abstemious living. This road has a gradual, almost imperceptible decline, so that once you start down it, you get deeper into your own private perfection. You eschew the bad stuff, and that feels so good you start walling off the good stuff. It sounds crazy, but of course you’re only vilifying the good-stuff-that-leads-to-the-bad-stuff. Before you know it, you’re not just holier than thou, you’re holier than God.
How I got the nerve to get out on the dance floor is a long story, the short version of which is, I finally decided some twenty years ago to take dancing lessons so I could obey Ecclesiastes 3:4. Pam and I signed up for five dance lessons. We blew through those five and kept practicing for two more years, every Thursday night, and going to dance club every Friday night we could make it. It didn’t make me a good dancer, even after years of practice (I am Scandinavian, after all), but it did give me enough confidence to make a fool of myself without really caring.
If you’re planning on going to heaven, you might want to take some dancing lessons. The whole of eternity in God’s presence is poetically depicted in Revelation as one great wedding banquet. So you’d better come with a big appetite and when it’s time to dance with the Bridegroom, you don’t want to be saying no on account of your holiness.
(P.S. If you want to get practicing, here’s Abba’s “Dancing Queen.” I love it because Abba is a bunch of Scandinavians who can actually dance, this miracle being probably the strongest evidence for the existence of God.)
As someone who also was not allowed to dance as a young person, I understand your at once awkwardness and enthusiasm on the dance floor, but I’m trying as best I can to get ready for that really big party!
Getting ready for the big party—that’s kind of it.
Growing up Southern Baptist, I just thought I was dancing “like no one was watching” to be rebellious…little did I know I was just following the Bible’s orders…yay me!
Didn’t realize your religious upbringing shared that dance aversion with mine. Yay you indeed!
I have chills up and down my spine from reading this! Wonderfully put.
Thanks, Glenda–glad to know it hit home with you–though knowing you, I’m not surprised it did.
This is so good!
What a wonderful meditation. One of the metaphors for the inner life of God is perichoresis – dancing! Thanks, David!
I was thinking of perichoresis, but didn’t end up making that reference. Thanks for injecting that into the discussion—God the Holy Trinity IS DANCE.
Being raised with “no dancing” too, I remember as we all became adults we witnessed Dad twirl our beautiful niece around the dance floor on her wedding day. That started the joy of dancing for our extended family. Beautifully written, David!
Yes, that was the dance heard round the world…at least our family’s world. I couldn’t make it to Lisa’s wedding, but someone called me from the reception to report on what was happening. In so many ways, Dad anchored us in the past and led us into the future.