| Sunny Side Up Feb. 15, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Bring back the dance Our church service would soon begin. From my place on the piano bench I noticed Liliana enter, skipping. This tiny child who sports a perpetual twinkle and grin skipped into the overflow seating section, between the banks of pews. Then she danced by the older folks sitting in their customary places, in their customary way (arms folded, with pious look) past the five pews at the back, and down the aisle to the place her family usually occupies at the very back. She reminded me of a spring lamb. Have you ever stood at a pasture fence and watched the dance of the lambs? It happens most often after the last snow melts and the sun begins to warm the damp grass. The shepherd opens the gate of their winter paddock and they shuffle out in a group, albeit a little reluctantly. Sometimes he has to encourage them to leave. The ewes stick together - they've gotten used to their confined winter place. So much space makes them edgy and irritated. They walk slowly, bleating nervously, their lambs Velcroed to their sides. They don't get far into the open pasture before the lambs notice the difference in venue. Rather than trampled mud and tired hay, beneath their feet the grass is fresh and greening. The sun feels delightfully warm. There's a water trough - with no ice - and not a fence to be seen. I'd like to hear a lamb talk. I think it would lisp. On days like that, we may hear, "Oh my goodneth graciouth me ithn't thith the abtholutely bethteth and motht thurprisithingly thuper and thtupendouth day?" Then, as though overcome by more joy than their wee wooly souls can contain, they begin to dance. If you've seen them you can picture this exactly. Watching from the edge of the pasture, those lambs look like popcorn kernels on a hot burner. They skip about a bit first, skittish at everything unfamiliar, but then they spring. Leap into mid air. Sometimes they manage an entire rotation before landing, then they tear off as though chased by a thousand butterflies. The ewes watch, perhaps remembering their own lamb-hood. As a new-born child of Christ, I entered church like Liliana. Like a spring lamb. Skipping, at least in my spirit. Church was where God gives parties. Goodness and mercy, and the table set with a place for me, no matter what enemies of my soul watched and chafed. I wanted to stay there forever, and I looked forward to it all week. But somewhere between my own lamb-hood and ewe-hood, I've lost it. The beauty of the dance. The 'anything's possible at God's place' spirit that twirled little Liliana into the house of the Lord that Sunday morning. Like too many others, I sit, staid as an old ewe. Arms folded, face blank. Torn. Wondering what right that child has to skip into the house of the Lord, but wishing I remembered how. Lord of the dance, bring back our dance. Respond Home |
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