As I read today’s
scripture, what came to me was the beauty of people in the Christmas
story moving in sync with God’s purposes, something I think
of as “dancing with God.” Luke 1 and 2 forms a parenthesis
around Jesus’ infancy and childhood. The beginning parenthesis
is Mary’s visit from the angel telling Mary she would birth
the Savior of the World. The closing parenthesis folds around the
end of Jesus’ recorded boyhood, when his fascination with
Holy Scriptures got him in trouble with his parents. Jesus was only
12 years old then, and by Jewish law, he would not become a man
until he turned age 13.
The stories
of Mary’s visit by the angel and Jesus at the temple are told
only in Luke’s Gospel. Matthew begins with genealogy. Mark
jumps right in to John the Baptist’s ministry. John expounds
on “the Word made flesh.” But Doctor Luke tells most
of the Christmas story, except for the coming of the magi, which
appears in Matthew.
Mary’s “dance with God” begins with words, “Here
am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your
word.” After a visit to her cousin Elizabeth, Mary’s
responding Magnificat is a beautiful acceptance speech of the angel’s
news. Matthew, however, tells Joseph’s side of the story.
He didn’t take the news easily—it was unthinkable to
a God-fearing Jew like Joseph for his fiancée to be pregnant
before marriage. When an angel appeared to him in a dream to tell
him, “Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife,”
he too joined in the dance.
At the other
end of the parenthesis is Jesus’ experience in the temple
during Passover. His family’s yearly pilgrimage to Jerusalem
was a community thing. There was a buzz of excitement and anticipation
among the travelers. Jesus had freedom to move among the caravan
of visitors to Jerusalem. But when everyone headed out for home,
Jesus wasn’t with the group. It was bedtime before Mary and
Joseph knew Jesus was missing. If you ever lost a child in a throng
of people, you know the panic Jesus’ parents felt. Even more
frightening, the child who was missing was the Son of God, the son
God made them responsible for! By the time they found Jesus several
days later, the parental edges were ruffled and sharp—“Why
did you treat us like this? We’ve been frantic, searching
for you.”
Whether his
parents realized it or not, the child Jesus was on a journey from
manger to mission. Jesus was gifted but not all knowing. The desire
to listen and ask questions of the temple priests had his utmost
attention, and his gut told him this was the right place to be.
Likely Mary taught him what she knew—perhaps even shared the
incredible story of his birth. He likely spent time at the Nazareth
synagogue. But his understanding was well beyond his years, and
made the temple elders marvel.
I discovered several interesting tidbits in these two chapters.
In Luke 2, there are two statements about Jesus’ maturation.
After Jesus’ baby dedication, Luke says, “The child
grew and became strong, filled with wisdom, and the favor of God
was upon [him].” After Jesus’ experience in the temple,
Luke says something similar: “Jesus increased in wisdom and
in years, and in divine and human favor.” Wisdom and favor
characterize Jesus’ growing up.
The other tidbit
is the phrase “favor with God.” Luke uses the term 8
times in the first two chapters. How do you get in favor with God?
By understanding that God has the right to lead. Acceptance of God’s
incredulous plan shows profound trust and faith in God. God created
the world with a purpose in mind. Mary, Joseph, and Jesus respected
that purpose. For that reason, they found favor with God.
An internet
author writes this story. “When I meditated on the word GUIDANCE,
I kept seeing “dance” at the end of the word. I remember
reading that doing God’s will is a lot like dancing.
When two people
try to lead, nothing feels right. The movement doesn’t flow
with the music, and everything is quite uncomfortable and jerky.
When one person
realizes that, and lets the other lead, both bodies begin to flow
with the music. One gives gentle cues, perhaps with a nudge to the
back or by pressing lightly in one direction or another.
It’s as
if two become one body, moving beautifully. The dance takes surrender,
willingness and attentiveness from one person and gentle guidance
and skill from the other.
My eyes drew
back to the word GUIDANCE. G-U-I-D-A-N-C-E. When I saw “G”
I thought of God, followed by “u” and “i’.
God, you and I dance.
Just as the
ballerina mirrors the steps of the lead dancer, so we are created
in God’s image. Already in the Garden of Eden, that dance
got messed up. Adam and Eve gave up the beauty of “being in
the image of God” in order to “be like God” (Vernard
Eller, War and Peace). In contrast, ballerina theology is knowing
that God must lead the dance. God is the choreographer, the partner
who supports and guides our dance of life, and God doesn’t
mind taking the supporting role as long as we are aware and attentive
that God must lead. As the old Shaker tune, “I am the Lord
of dance,” said He.”
Three Stories:
#1 Kevin was
taken to the ballet by his grandmother. He had never been to a ballet
before and was interested in the way the ballerinas stretched their
hand high into the air and danced on their toes. He wondered why
they did that. So he leaned over to his grandmother and whispered,
“Why don’t they just get taller people?”
*
* * * * * *
#2 A rational,
intelligent sort of fellow goes to the bookstore and buys a how-to
book on dancing. He takes it home and begins studying. He does everything
it says with meticulous care. When the instructions say sway, he
sways. When the instructions say lean, he leans. When they say spin,
he spins. He even cuts out paper footprints and arranges them on
the family room floor so he will know exactly where to step.
Finally, he
thinks he has it down pat. He calls his wife in and says, “Honey,
watch this!” With book in hand and reading aloud so she’ll
know he’s done his homework, he follows the instructions,
step by step. He steps with his right foot, he turns slowly to the
left. He keeps it up, reading and then moving, reading and dancing,
through the whole thing.
Then he collapses
exhausted on the sofa and says to his wife. “What do you think?
I executed it perfectly! To which she replies. “You executed
it, all right, You killed it!”
The befuddled
husband says, “I followed the rules, I laid out the pattern,
I did everything the book said . . . “
“But,”
she sighs, “you forgot the most important part. Where was
the music?” With that she puts on a CD. She holds out her
hand, and he takes it. The music starts, and the next thing the
fellow knows he’s dancing—without the book.
*
* * * * * *
#3 There’s
a Hasidic tale about a famous rabbi who accepted an invitation from
a small village to come visit and answer questions about the Torah.
The long-awaited day finally came. The excited villagers ushered
the wise man into a large room, where they had all gathered.
Rather than
inviting the people to ask questions, the rabbi walked slowly and
deliberately around the room, silently looking each villager in
the eye as he softly hummed a religious tune. So engaging was the
rabbi’s gentle manner that, before they knew it, the people
found themselves humming his tune. Slowly, the rabbi started to
dance. Soon the people found themselves dancing with him. The movements
grew wilder and more frenzied, and the people of the village soon
lost themselves in the dance. Together, they moved as one.
When the dancing
finally ended, the rabbi took one more walk around the room, looking
deeply into the eyes of each person in turn. “I trust I have
answered all your questions,” he said.
What do we learn
from these stories?
1. From the
boy at the ballet we learn: We don’t need to be taller or
wiser or more important—the invitation to dance is for all
of us. Reach up, reach out and follow.
2. From the
man who learned to dance but forgot the music we learn: The music
of the Holy Spirit is what gives life to our dance.
3. From the
rabbi who led the dance rather than answering questions we learn:
Knowing everything is not a prerequisite to joining in the dance.
Hum the tune and follow the Leader.
Myriads of Bible
people demonstrate the art of following God—Abraham, Noah,
Moses, Joshua, Samuel, David, the prophets, and even Jesus’
disciples. What if they were invited to join Christianity and made
excuses instead?
Andrew: I don’t
think my family would like me to get involved. Besides, my business
is booming.
Peter: I don’t
know. At times the leader of Christianity makes me feel uncomfortable.
Matthew: I can’t
jeopardize my important position as a tax collector.
Mark: I am too
young to make such an important decision.
Luke: I have
too many sick people to look after. Besides, I’m a scientist,
not a religious person.
Thomas: Christianity
seems so unconventional. What thinking man would believe it? (Barbara
Jorgensen, You're Out of Date, God (Zondervan, 1971), 65)
Too busy. Too
risky. Too important. Too young. Too old. Too uncomfortable. Too
unscientific. Too uneducated. Mary could have said, “No thank
you. What will people say?” Joseph could have divorced Mary.
The boy Jesus could have returned to Nazareth, too timid to ask
questions of the temple elders. Instead, each of them recognized
God’s authority and moved in sync with God’s purposes.
I think it was
Jill Noffsinger Brenneman who once illustrated “giving our
all to God.” It went something like this. Jill stood behind
the communion table and looked at the offering plate in front of
her. After some consideration, she put in some coins. After more
pondering, she put in her Teddy Bear. More pondering. More pause.
Finally, she climbed up on the table and put herself in the offering
plate. She gave her all. It’s what God wants.
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.
We are called to Love the Lord your God with heart, soul, strength
and mind.” Cary will be leading us in #512 in Hymnal: A Worship
Book. Because these words are so striking and dramatic, I invite
you to read them together with me aloud. Please join me in unison.
