A new poem: The Dance

A celebration of dance and prayer and how the two relate to one another...




I slouch

Knees inverted

My back against a wall

That is tall

In a hall

That is dim.

A wall flower

That is dying

And crying

And vying

For a chance to be noticed by Him.

My palms sweat

Brows wet

For someone I’ve rarely met

Who I’m sure won’t remember me.

He is well known

Well liked

Well loved

Well received

And I am

Well

No One.

The wallflower

A girl who is dying

And crying

And vying

For a chance to be noticed by Him.

He enters

I listen

My pulse races

As he paces

Closer to my side of the wall.

The girls he passes

Are more lovely than anything

I could dream

With skin made of cream

And eyes that gleam

Burst of blue, brown and green

And hair with glimmering sheen

And a body that seems

More schemed

Than natural.

He passes

These splashes

Of perfection

And glides closer to my side of the wall.

He sees me

The wallflower

That is dying

And crying

And vying

For a chance to be noticed by Him.

My palms sweat

Brows wet

For someone Ive rarely met

And he sets

His hand on mine

Pulling me onto the floor

Which is no easy chore

He powerfully whisks me into his arms

I blush

As a rush

Of adrenaline

Takes my feet into the air

Others stare

As we soar beyond time and space

I see only his face

When the ground crumbles beneath us.

We continue our dance

Until every circumstance

And the sorrow

Of tomorrow

Fade into oblivion.

In his arms

I am supported

No longer contorted

And defined

By my spine

Against a wall

But a fall

A fall into my lover’s arms

That disarms

Every fear

And tear

bringing cheer

As my dear

Pulls me in closer to his heart.

He calls to me

And I speak.

In his presence

I am no longer weak

And I finally reach my peak

I am who I want to be

I am who He made me to be

I laugh out loud

In the clouds

That shroud

The crowds below us.

The crowds yell at me from the valley.

They reach for me there.

I want to let go

I feel myself falling

But He is holding me still

He takes me to the mountain

And we dance on a fountain

Walking on water

My feet fodder

Making splashes

As I crash and

Bask in

All that He is.

I love this day

And the way

That we play

And we dance

And I say

Why can’t it always be this way

I hear him say

It is always so

When you pray

Because to pray

is to open the door

to the floor

where the one you adore

stands

waiting for a dance.

The Theologian

During a recent visit to the Midwest, I was sitting with a friend as she was telling me about her husband. As newlyweds often do, she went on and on, recounting every AMAZING detail of her lover’s persona. Then she said the strangest thing. Something that unwittingly made my stomach shift uncomfortably. As if reporting “the icing on the cake” trait in her beloved, she triumphantly stated “and he’s obsessed with theology too”.

Im not sure why it is, but every time I meet a Christian who is obsessed with theology, my spirit rolls its eyes. Something about that statement absolutely stupefies me. I have no doubt it’s me who’s to blame. Im not very holy. I daily border on the corner of irreverent and impatient. I am an admitted ragamuffin who’s untidiness makes it difficult to shuffle along from one day to the next. Theology has little tolerance for untidiness. Theology has no patience for loose ends.

Now I enjoy a good book every now and again that shows us a new aspect of God. I applaud authors who can take old scriptures and make them burst from the page. But in my short Christian life, most of the people who are excessively passionate about theology are like those who arrive at the theatre and miss the show.

I liken such individuals to my third grade English teacher, Ms. Mimms. I remember three things about Ms. Mimms. She had incredibly oily black skin and she spit when she spoke. The third thing I remember is that she was a by-the-book grammatical teacher. Ms. Mimms was very memorable to me because she helped me understand proper grammar and sentence construction. Most of what I know about grammar today is based on the exercises she taught me so long ago. Ms. Mimms taught me how to put a sentence together, but she couldn’t teach me how to make it memorable. With what she showed me, I was able to construct a story, but she did not teach me how to give it meaning. The only thing she could offer me was structure, but she could not take me to beauty. Good writing transcends grammar, transcends rules. It sends you to a new world, where images are turned inside out, rules are often broken, and sends you diving into a new experience.

Theology is a system that can help create meaning, but it is no end in itself. I believe truth is a person, and that person is Jesus. He dies again and again when he is dissected and put into jars. Though we appear to “understand” Him better, we are just looking at parts soaked in formaldehyde. He is alive. He is breathing. He is pursuing us and I want an encounter. I want to continuously experience Him on a human level. A level of true living and spiritual grandeur. I want to walk with Him in His kingdom on earth, and be His princess. I want to wear a crown and my favorite socks with the faded stripes and the hole in the middle. I want the freedom to experience His kingdom on earth, the perseverance to pursue justice and conquer violent oppression. I want more than grammar, more than words on a page. I want my life to write a significant and meaningful story of wanting Him, and wanting to want nothing else.

Im sure this won’t sit well with those of you who are learned scholars; those who are able to lose themselves in the abundant mysteries of God. I applaud people who are impassioned with their academic interest. There is indeed much to be gained from such knowledge. I think there is a subtle beauty in the tireless pursuit to study God. I also know in that beauty is a mess of arrogance and pride, ready and waiting to devour. God isn’t a punch line in an argument; can’t be diminished to a rebuttal in a debate. He is the period at the end of it all.

Buyers Remorse

So there I was in a small resale shop on the east end of Costa Mesa in Southern California, fingering through a row of books that smelled of moth and urine. While the prospect of being in such an environment may sound ill-fated and undeserved, I was in heaven. I love finding things that were once special to someone, a specialness that was forgotten and tossed aside. Whenever I find such treasures, I feel like a god who is redeeming beauty from the rubble. Maybe that’s an arrogant and ostentatious kind of statement, but it’s the way I feel.
Anyhow, as I was browsing through the stinky and crusty titles, an elegant and brightly colored book cover caught my eye. It was decorated in a bohemian color palette, and paisley printed patterns that were raised from the page. The design of the book immediately invoked a sense of appeal in me. Of course this would be the book to accompany me on my plane ride tomorrow morning. This book would be a fictional account of a gypsy who traveled the world in search of love and self. Or maybe it would uncover in grave detail seven practices to uncovering my spiritual self and inner child. It could also be Deepak Chopra’s latest effort, which is equally tantalizing but not as exciting. Man I hope its not Deepak Chopra. I look down. Ruth Graham? Boo…
Yes, a devotional by Ruth Graham. Now, I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but come on? Ruth Graham? I’m not going to read a book by Ruth Graham. Im sorry. Its not happening. I threw the book down and bought flats instead.
I know what you are thinking. Ive disappointed you. I disappoint myself every day. And Im okay with that. What Im not okay with is being someone Im not.
Im not a spiritual super-hero. Im not a girl who reads devotionals written by Ruth Graham. Im someone who prays in their closet and would rather ditch church sometimes to have coffee with a friend. Im someone who never laughs at televangelists and who always gives the street preacher everything in my wallet. Im a walking contradiction. Sometimes I want to be more like someone else, but more often than not, Im happy with me. I feel like one of those knick knacks you find at a resale shop, something hidden under a deteriorating candle and a corrugated frying pan. Many people will throw me down and go buy flats. Some will pick me up and see what was forgotten and tossed aside.
After a week and a half with my dad, it was easy to remember how it feels to be forgotten and tossed aside. Thank you to everyone who saw what was special and decided to take me home.
Man I feel bad for not buying that Ruth Graham book.

Brush with Stardom

The air was warm and thick, and filled with the daytime sweat of dancers bearing their soul on the studio floor. I had seen shows from all over the world, but this display of performance was unlike anything I had seen before. However, the most unique part of this experience was not the fierce tenacity and unmatched technique demonstrated by the dancers. The most interesting aspect of this story was that only moments earlier I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the deli next door, completely unaware of this underground world of dance.
I was in New York City this past April with Project Dance Times Square. Project Dance is a concert that currently takes place on four different continents that inspires and uplifts audiences with positive works of art. My dancers were performing in the concert which takes place out doors at 44th and Broadway. While waiting for them to enter the stage, I decided to take a break from the cool air, and enjoy a cup of coffee at the adjacent deli.
Shortly after purchasing my favorite brand of Columbian decadence, I decided to go outside and find my friend Jessica, another dancer, who had accompanied me on the trip. I walked downstairs to find Jessica’s eyes wide, and filled with a level of excitement she couldn’t express. She quickly grabbed my hand and began running ahead.
“What is going on?” I asked as I bumped into irritated New Yorkers while unintentionally jogging along the sidewalk.
“I just saw someone famous”, she whispered loudly and she continued to run ahead. “It’s the red-head just in front of us.”
I couldn’t see anyone ahead, and began to think Jessica was confused. Just as I started to confront her and convince her she was imagining things, Jessica came to a sudden and complete stop.
Standing in front of us was a short, red-headed woman who was fishing through a ring of keys, trying to get into a building. She must have heard our footsteps, because she quickly jolted and turned around to look at us. Jessica and I were frozen solid. Upon seeing her face, we knew exactly who this was.
It is impossible not to recognize Melanie LaPatin, the fiery red-head whose work has been featured on stages from all over the world. Not only is she a choreographer for the television phenomenon So You Think You Can Dance, but she is in high demand as a coach for top dancers and actors in film, television and Broadway. She has choreographed and appeared in such major motion pictures as Dance with Me, The Thomas Crown Affair, Let It Be Me and The Last Days of Disco. As a dance coach and choreographer, she has worked with some of the most renowned film and television personalities including Pierce Brosnan, Renee Russo, Vanessa Williams, Tim Robbins, Mary Steenburgen, and Susan Sarandon.
Jessica seized the moment by whispering a nervous and broken, “Hi.”
Melanie looked at us, frozen in amazement. She gave us a questioning glance, but before she could speak, we turned and began to walk quickly in the opposite direction. She probably thought we were stalkers and we wanted to escape her judgmental glimpses before the police were notified.
After walking about five steps forward, we could hear someone quickly catching up with us.
“Hey”, we heard someone call to us. We nervously turned around to find Melanie LaPatin standing only inches away. Our hearts skipped a beat. We knew we were in trouble.
“Are you two dancers?” she asked.
We quickly nodded, still afraid of what her reaction would be to our stalker-like behavior.
She smiled. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Suddenly Jessica and I were pulled from our reality and ushered into an alternate universe. The next five minutes felt like we were on the set of a movie. We followed her back to the door she was attempting to open earlier, and were escorted inside. We immediately stepped into a rusty, steel elevator, and went to the top floor.
“Where you girls from?” Melanie asked.
“Texas.” We nervously replied.
She smiled. She knew the next moment would blow our minds. Girls from Texas don’t usually find themselves in situations like this.
We tried to apologize for stalking her, but she just smiled. She proceeded to tell us that what we would see next would change our lives. The dancers she was working with were using new techniques in ballroom that no one had ever seen before. They were all amateurs, but she was sure they would take the world by storm.
When the elevator door opened, dancers immediately began to fly into our faces. There were several couples dancing around the room in what seemed to be improvised routines. The dancers had a way of staying in the moment that was intoxicating. They dazzled us with their speed and poise, and we couldn’t help but move with them. The room was dark and the curtains were drawn. The experience felt like a private performance created just for us. I found myself holding my breath. I didn’t want this moment to end.
Jessica managed to snap a few pictures, but nothing caught on film could describe the hallucinogenic vibe of that studio. We thanked Melanie for being so generous, and she invited us to come back anytime. She walked with us back downstairs and we said our goodbyes. After walking about ten steps forward, Jessica and I made eye contact and released an exhilarated squeal of delight. We were both shaking with excitement.
After returning to Texas, we would tell our tale to anyone who would listen. Those five minutes of bliss challenged us to dedicate ourselves more passionately to our work and our students. Melanie and Tony LaPatin continue to work with students at their studio in Times Square. For more information on their choreography and studio, please visit www.dancetimessquare.com.

From Chris Weirsma

Once in every life…
It would be good to lose everything we have in order to discover the true value of things (or lack thereof). Only those who’ve experienced loss can be unafraid of it.

Every one of us needs to have our dreams die so we can learn our life does not subsist in them. Rather, they are the “trinkets” and “candies” of thought.

Once in every life, we must stand on our ideas, alone, to see that they are the things which drive the universe.

Every person needs an enemy. The fight makes the outcome more meaningful.

It is good to listen to someone else’s story as though it’s the only story we’ve ever heard. To be completely lost in someone else’s tale is the only way outside ourselves.

We need our hearts deeply broken so we can begin to wonder what it’s like to be God.

It is appointed unto each of us to die so we can know what living really is.

-----------

From Orange

What we need is not another sermon or another program. Our education far exceeds our level of obedience. What we need is to have a rabid curiosity and fascination and deep companionship with people who are far from God.---Love it!!!

Mutual Fascination=Mutual Transformation

Christ calls to us...beckoning us to become like a child. It goes back to the Garden. Adam and Eve realize the are naked and are not okay with it. They are immediately aware of another's impression. What will they think of me? This is the original sin. Christ asks us to become a child. To return to the age of three, frolicking without any worry because you are okay with the world and the world is okay with you. This is the freedom we long to feel. This is the freedom Christ wishes for us. This is the last thing we pursue.

To Be Human

It’s noon. She’s finally asleep. I throw myself on the bed, close my eyes and celebrate the silence. Before my skin can embrace the $49 duvet cover from Garden Ridge that is untidily sprawled across my bed, it happens. He calls to me.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I make a list of things that need to be done. He calls again.

Like a nudging from deep within my being, He calls to me. He beckons me to go away with him. Like a teenage love affair, He whispers sweet nothings into my ear. He reminds me of His love letters that remain unread on my shelf. He longs to sit with me. To hear my voice. To finish my sentences. He wants to BE with me. I swallow.

Rather than return my lover’s embrace, I make myself busy. To be with Him now would be acknowledging that I have been with another. I’ve grown bored with the pangs of guilt that surface in response to my infidelity. I’ve learned to ignore my lover.

Still He pursues me.

“Later,” I whisper to Him. We both know what later means.

There is work to be done. Busyness to attend. Meetings to have. These are my loves. These are my gods.

I sigh. I get up from the bed, hoping to motivate myself to prepare for my day. I hear a noise in the distance. It’s a text.

Its Jenn. She wants to meet for lunch. O brother.

Lunch with Jenn is never lunch with Jenn. Lunch with Jenn is ordering food that you mindlessly nibble on while you carry on a life changing conversation. We suck at small talk.

I arrive at the restaurant early, and as soon as Jenn enters she grabs my arm, leans into my space, and gazing comfortably into my eyes animatedly says “Hi”. This is not going to go well. Within twenty minutes, Jenn is excitedly telling me about the new book she is reading.

Jenn is always reading a book she is excited about. She is inherently an easily excitable person. But this time her excitement was coming from a different place.

Jenn talked a lot about experiences she was having with embracing discontent and disappointment. She was unhappy where she was, and was excited about it. Her spark was becoming a flame and she was dying to catch afire. Sitting next to her, you could feel the heat. It was contagious. I felt inspired.

We weren’t talking about church and cool new worship songs. Trends or famous speakers. We were talking about God and justice. Violence and radical change. And it was here that I felt the shadow of my lover looming near.

In truth, it seemed like a great time to pray. Right there in the middle of the restaurant Pentecost-style. But it didn’t feel right to me. I felt a little bit like a wife coming home after an affair with another lover. I couldn’t just jump back into the swing of things, right? These things take time. And that’s when I re-embraced my little god.

Yes, you read right. Many of us have one. It’s our little god. The god that arises from the wondrous invent of imagination. The god who claps when we mindlessly read the bible toward attempts at piety. The god who is more like an imaginary friend than a sovereign being. The god we can explain to anyone who has questions. He is our jeweled cross necklace, and our Easter Sunday. He is a creation that gets boring and predicable with time. He is a god who asks us to be less human and more something less colorful. And while we work to please our little gods, children are raped, people are sold into slavery, and genocide covers the earth. But we don’t notice because little gods don’t expect us to do anything about that.

So after lunch with Jenn, I embraced my little jesus and asked him what I should do next. And my little god gave me the obvious answer. “Go get a book to tell you how you should be!” Duh! Of course-- I need a guide that could tell me how to be more like something else and less like myself. This would make me more attractive to little jesus.

As I fingered through the endless titles of books at the library later that day, that same twinge of disappointment began to resurface. “Thirty seconds with the Master by Dr. Deacon Mega-church”. That didn’t seem right. “One minute to spiritual transformation by Prophetess So and So”. Excuse me? “How to uncover your spiritual destiny in 14 days by Bishop Acclaimed Speaker”, “Dr. Reverend’s guide to becoming like Christ”, “How to lead your church by Minister Business Man”. This is not what I was looking for.

After nearly thirty minutes of searching, I came across a title from Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Page One.

“…God loves human beings. God loves the world. Not an ideal human, but human beings as they are; not an ideal world, but the real world…While we exert ourselves to grow beyond our humanity, to leave the human behind us, God becomes human; and we must recognize that God wills that we be human, real human beings.

Page Two.

“…God does not seek the most perfect human being with whom to be united, but takes on human nature as it is.” This Jesus, a friend of sinners, who embraces humanity as is it, who asks us to be ourselves is looking a lot less like my little jesus.

Page Three

“…Contempt for humanity and idolization of humanity lie close together. Good people… who withdraw in disgust from people and leave them to themselves, and who would rather tend to their own gardens than debase themselves in public life…their contempt for humanity…will stand the test no better than the tyrant.”

Little gods ask us to become less human, to hate what we are. To feel shame and guilt. To make prayer and devotionals base rituals we start and stop throughout the year. But God asks us to be human. Only when we are human do we feel the pain of others and are motivated to change the world. Humans touch and love. Humans speak and do.

The God of the Bible destroys cities. The God of the Bible delivers nations. The God of the Bible is brutal and unpredictable. Maybe this God does care about church building funds. And maybe He is working on getting me that new car. And maybe He did help the Saints win the Superbowl, and Halle Berry get her Oscar. But I’m not convinced that He did. I think He’s up to something more.

I think He is about spreading discontent. He wants to shake the suburbs and rain on soccer games. He wants to take our cul-de-sac Christianity on the road. He wants nice Christians who blend in to speak out against injustice. He wants us to take a stand on politics and fight AIDS. He wants us to feed the orphans and not ignore the fact that Sister Leader is crying during worship. He wants us to be human!

Then why is it that I struggle so much with the desire to become less human?

I think it goes back to that fateful day in the garden. The tree of knowledge of good and evil. The desire to be more like God and less like man. The original sin.

The Bible never asks us to be like God. In the journey of divinity, we find ourselves reaching toward a version of sanctification that will save us from our humanity. And as good and noble as we become, we find that we are still not who we want to be. The journey to become like God will always lead to dissatisfaction or complacency because we will never be like God. But instead, the Bible asks us to be like Christ. A friend of sinners. Comforter to the weak. Meek and lowly at heart. A sufferer. A martyr. To become like Christ is to become more human. To become more of who you really are. Christ is as human as it gets.

I mean, what if sanctification is less about piety and more about justice? What if holiness is less about being noble and more about being human? What if Christian spirituality looked less like the Pope and more like Nelson Mandela?

So what am I getting at?

Before the end of my lunch with Jenn, she started to tear up. Whenever we have conversations like this, she cries. I never know how it happens, I only know that it always happens. She is not an emotional friend, so when she cries, I always feel it. But rather than embrace what I feel, I immediately disengage. During this particular lunch, she called me out on it.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Whenever I start to cry, you steel over.”

“Is it noticeable?”

“Yes. Very.”

I laughed it off, but her observation struck at the core of my existence. Rather than embrace the natural emotion that flows from seeing human vulnerability, I disengage. Become less human. Because maybe, just maybe if I don’t cry, then I won’t feel anything. And if I don’t feel anything, then I won’t have to do anything. And if I don’t do anything, then no one will need me. And if no one needs me, then I won’t need anyone. This is the height of selfishness. This is non-humanity.

The less human you are, the less there is to lose.

The less human you are, the less people expect of you.

I’ve been spit out of God’s mouth before. He wants me hot. He’ll take me cold. But He can’t stand it when I’m lukewarm. When I do nothing, I’m lukewarm.

So what does all of this mean for me? For us?

I’m praying for tenderheartedness now more than ever. I’m looking for opportunities to be human. My eyes are open. Wide and bright. I’m studying justice. I want to experience what it means to fight for people. I will take the words that God gives me and give them away. I want to love violently. I want to do something. I will do something. I WILL change the world.