The Spirit of God Dances...

I love this piece by one of my favorite authors, John Fischer, at The Fischtank :)

The Spirit of God dances. He can't be tamed. He won't be contained. He refuses to be confined to a weekend retreat, an evening meeting, or a moment of devotion. He doesn't follow schedules, programs, or agendas, and He doesn't wait for His name to be called. The Spirit of God dances.

He dances right under the noses of those who don't believe in dancing; and He dances right on by those who do. He dances through the assemblies of the keepers of the dance, and right on out the door—and no one sees Him go. And as the dancers continue their pantomime, the Spirit of God dances in the streets.

His favorite dancing places are those where the keepers of the dance don't want Him to go, like on smoky stages with microphones that smell of whiskey. The Spirit of God loves sinners and dances best where life spills out on the floor.

Occasionally He dances on the clean, sweet-smelling stages of the keepers of the dance—but not as often as He would like. He dances there when there is pain or grief—whenever life spills out on the floor. But usually the floor is clean and the dance is simulated, carefully choreographed by the keepers of the dance to use only those steps with which they feel secure.

The Spirit of God refuses to be choreographed. His dance is raw, new, and jerky. It's not always pleasing to the eye, but His dance is fresh in the lives of those whose floors have not been cleaned up. It isn't well rehearsed, polished, or perfect; it slips and slides, sometimes innovative and shocking and at other times just exhilarant, but it's always real.

Sometimes the dance turns to mourning, but always there's the dance. Happy dance or sad dance… the Spirit of God always dances. Most people, even those who pride themselves in their dancing, are afraid of this unpredictable dance. They're afraid of anything they can't control; and His dance is wild, unmanageable—even mad.

But most important, it's vulnerable, open to criticism—the quality they fear most. So they must create their own dance of predictable steps and prescribed routines and send all their people through dance school—or outlaw dancing altogether. But this should come as no surprise. It has always been this way.

The Lord of the Dance himself was here once, and it was the same way then. He danced on the keepers' holy days and broke their holy laws. His timing—if not His whole dance—always seemed offbeat. He wanted to turn their empty religious movements into heartfelt, joyous dancing.

He wanted them to exchange the grip of the Law for the freedom of the dance. But they thought He was a clumsy dancer, always bumping into their traditions and stepping on their toes. He even danced with the wrong crowd, in smoke-filled rooms, with messy floors.

Once, describing His generation, He declared, "We played the flute for you, but you would not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn. For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, 'He has a demon.' The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, 'Here is a glutton and drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.' "

…and the Spirit of God dances on.

Lights Out

The other day I popped into to local library to check out a book. While I was there I logged onto the public computer to check my e-mail. Boom! Instant darkness. The monitors were blank, and all the patrons let out a collective, "Awww" along with a few whispered expletives.

Frustration at the inconvenience was soon forgotten as we heard children screaming. They were trapped in the elevator. No sooner had they begun their ascent than the power went out. Imprisoned in their pitch-black container, they were panic-sticken to the point of hysteria.

I rushed over and called out to them hoping to bring some calm to the situation. The unfamiliar voice in the darkness only added to their terror. The three boys were so loud they couldn't hear the people who were trying to help them.

Their mother arrived (she had been in the restroom when the lights went out--oh, joy) and although she had been down a long hallway some distance away, she recognized the screams of her children the second the electricity failed. She called each one by name, and the instant they heard their name, and recognized the voice of the one doing the calling, they began to settle.

"Sit down. Sit close together and hold hands. Be quiet so you can hear me. Got it?!" She turned and explained that they knew they were forbidden to ride the elevator without her, and she had half a mind to leave them threre until the power was restored in order to teach them a lesson.

A search of the maintenace room failed to turn up the emergency key for the elevator. The fire and rescue unit was summoned and they arrived within about ten minutes. After another ten minutes of searching the same room for the same misplaced key, the rescuers had a key brought over from the fire station.

Finally, the siblings were extricated from their dungeon. The looks on their faces told the mom that the ordeal had been punishment enough. It would be awile before they would be riding an elevator without adult supervision. As they embraced the tears began to flow uncontrolably. They were safe, but shaken.

I sat there thinking about what I had just witnessed. God whispered the lesson to my heart. "When you are in a dark and frightening situation, trapped and without options, do not be afraid. I will come to you. I will call you by name. Sit still and be quiet so you can hear me." A smile crossed my lips and a whispered 'thank you' rose as a prayer.