The Only Dance There Is

I have an old book titled "The Only Dance There Is" by a eastern mystic called Ram Dass. I don't like the book much anymore, but keep it because I still like the title a lot. It reminds me of You.

Lots of folks talk about how the Christian life is a walk and in many ways it is, but that walk can sometimes feel like a plod or a trudge. I don't think You mean it that way. In fact, I am sure You have more. You want us not only to travel together, but to dance.

When my dad first taught me to dance, I stood on his feet, and while he moved, I automatically followed him. Later, I stood my own ground, but had to learn to follow him or our feet would become hopelessly tangled. He always seemed to know the way and when I got it right, our movements flowed like smooth water. Gentle pressure guided me in the right direction so that we made something beautiful. Moving through the steps did not feel like work. With practice, they came effortlessly and felt like flight, light and full of clear air.

In all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. For those God foreknew, He also predestined to be confirmed to the likeness of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brothers.--Roman 8:28-29

The Greek word for "good" here is agathos, which means moral goodness, eternal goodness, Your goodness. It does not mean a new car, the job I want, or even good health. And, in context, You tell me that You have the plan. You have had it from the beginning, conceived it before I was born, for the sole purpose of making me look like You.

In the same way as I practice dances according to a fixed plan drawn beforehand, I need to rise up everyday with clear understanding that I have a purpose to fulfill before You. I need to step onto the tops of your feet and learn to follow until I can do it effortlessly, without thinking. You have the dance, and it is beautiful.

The Sincerest Form of Praise

A few weeks ago, we went to see an illusionist. We had seats in the third row center, about ten feet or so from center stage. We were sure that, from there, we could figure out how he performed his tricks. But, when the curtain opened, the stage was empty, and the first person to walk out was his wife. She welcomed everyone, strolling back and forth, then took hold of a banner-like cloth, about four or five feet high, and drew it quickly across the stage so that we couldn't see anything behind it. As soon as she reached the other side, she dropped the banner to reveal, where the stage had been completely empty a moment before, sat a stunning Lamborghini, a bright red sports car, engine revving, and her husband climbed out.

It looked like it came from nowhere. We knew better, but darn, how in the world did he do that? At the time, the whole experience seemed little more than entertainment, but then today, a song rose in my heart:

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful. I know that full well.--Psalm 139:14
Sovereign Lord, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you.--Jeremiah 32:17

What You did when you created was no trick. You started with nothing--Adam's lump of clay an unnecessary prop--and turned Your infinitely variable imagination into everything from rising sun to living cell. "Look!" You said. "I did this for you!" And You daily drop the curtain to reveal Your work.

Then You do something else:

This is my prayer--that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight so that You may be able to discern what is best and be pure and blameless until the day of Christ--Philippians 1:9-10

You reveal Your creation not only for my enjoyment, but for me to share. You put me in a place that reflects You and tell me to see You in it, to become as much like You as I am able. You tell me that patience, kindness, faithfulness, self-control, obedience, submission, and love in my life make me look like You. As I wear these, I not only resemble You, but learn to know You, to become pure and blameless before You.

You want me to imitate You, not so that I flatter You, but so that I understand the magnificence of who You are and what You do. You want me to praise You, and once You drop the curtain, how can I help it?

Time Out in the Big Chair

Most people understand that children need discipline. Without it, neither manners nor morals take hold and the resultant adults range from selfish to sociopaths. We want more, both for the sake of the forming human and for our own. We do, after all, have to live together.

I accept the need for childhood discipline, even when I have to administer it. It's harder to accept the need for my own. I am far from childhood, and when discipline comes from authorities in my own life, its source is often younger and less experienced. I don't like it one bit.

When someone feels the need to correct me, I also often find that the discipline's severity or emphasis outstrips the nature of the offense. We just want to control each other, to impinge our own wills on one another. We want our way. We want to win. I am just as guilty of this, but feel it most when I am on the receiving end.

Human authorities rule out of a need to prove their superiority. You do not do that. You have complete confidence in Your own rule, so You discipline for another motive. You do not discipline for Your benefit, but for mine.

Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best, but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in His holiness.--Hebrews 12:10

Adults correcting one another do so in full knowledge of their mutual imperfection. We often fear another's competence and confidence. As a result, we grind down one another's spirits, deflating and destroying, lacking love and redemptive goals. We fear exposure of our deficiencies.

You, however, do not need to prove anything. When You discipline, you teach with one hand and lift up with the other. You do not desire less for me, but more. You want me to learn and grow. Even more, You want me to know holiness. I welcome a time out for that.

Love Letters

Your word holds so much, God, that parts of it get lost sometimes. It's easy to remember the big stuff--the ten commandments with their shalts and shalt-nots, the blessings of the sermon on the mount, Moses and the ten plagues, Your tragic and triumphant walk to Calvary, but some parts of the Bible are almost embarrassing:

I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness and you will acknowledge the Lord.--Hosea 2: 19-20

For your Maker is your husband. The Lord Almighty is His Name. The Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer. He is called the God of all the Earth.--Isaiah 54:51

These declarations of love come down from heaven, from You. Hosea married a harlot and made these statements to her as an example of your promise and bond with me, and a good example it is. I am as unfaithful as she, but You are not. Yet You declare Yourself as my husband, close as flesh, intimate as an embrace.

In saying this to me, You inspire shame, but I cannot shrink from You, because You also offer an irresistible hope, and a compelling exultation at the same time. You have written an instruction book, but You have also written a love letter. I cannot part one from the other, and I will gladly take the correction if I can cling to Your perfect faithfulness and Your everlasting love. I run to You, arms wide, not because I am free of care, but because only You know who I am and still receive me. Only You stand glorified before all creation and still cast kind eyes on me. I cannot resist You.

Who have I in heaven but You? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.--Psalm 73: 25-26

Sinking Feelings

I don't think it says anywhere in the Bible that I am supposed to feel my way to You. You want me to know You, to love You, to obey You, to follow You, to fear You, but how I feel will not lead me to You. Yet, my feelings seem so urgent when they arise in force. When I feel something powerful, like joy or hurt or anger, those feelings stand up front and center, demanding notice. "Pay attention," they cry, and then grab hold of my actions with both hands and drag me down into the quicksand they have prepared for me.

You say that You are a solid rock, a firm place to stand. You have led me to a safe pasture, to a secure, fenced area where you stand near and on guard. The quicksand of feelings lies outside that place, and I keep running to it.

Lord, You have assigned me my portion and my cup. You have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.--Psalm 16: 5-6

Wherever I am, You either put me here or allowed me to come here on my own. Either way, you effectively assigned me to this place, and it is safe because You stand beside me. You erected a fence around it to keep me in not because you restrict me, but because this place guarantees my well being, and this place holds me up on the firm ground of truth.

Every time I begin a thought or a statement with "I feel...", I charge those fences. When I act on feelings, I break through into unsafe ground. No wonder they are called sinking feelings.

Becoming the Hammer

Last week, my husband taught three six and seven-year-old boys how to use a maul for chopping wood. The tool they attempted to lift weighed around twelve pounds and they weighed only forty or fifty, so they struggled through their task, but they also gloried in the result--a satisfying crack, then the clatter as the wood parted, and they stood tall in its aftermath. They had mastered a powerful tool and done something worthwhile with it. Had my husband given them a small axe, they would have eventually achieved the same practical result, but not the same satisfaction and accomplishment.

Tools figure large in most of our lives. Almost anything I put in my hand to accomplish a task is a tool--a pen, a can opener, a paintbrush, a broom, a hammer. Almost everyone uses a succession of them every day. They make our lives if not easier, then more efficient and, the more well designed and manufactured the tool, the better it can accomplish the task. As I use a tool, it becomes an extension of my own hands, acting at my will as a means to an end I have chosen.

God wants to use me as His tool:

Commit your way to the Lord. Trust Him and He will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun. Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.--Psalm 37:5-6

God wants me to give my ways to Him, to trust Him to use me for His own purposes. The Bible bursts with examples of how God did that with other men, from Moses and Abraham and David to the apostles and Paul. They placed themselves in God's hand and let Him wield them. Sometimes God wielded gently, administering succor and gentle healing. Sometimes, God wielded boldly, cutting down and weeding out, but both accomplished His purpose.

As sons and daughters of the New Testament, we tend to see our purpose most readily as mild tools, feeding and washing and administering sweet help to sad souls, and indeed, that is part of what we are called to do. However, there are times when God requires that we be used for harder work. He gave us armor for that, both offensive and defensive weapons, so that we are not ourselves destroyed in the process because these occasions tax us more heavily, but we cannot shrink from these uses, either.

As I step out, I need to know that God will use me today. I must feel the hand of the Master at my controls, and subordinate my power to His. I settle my will and it begins. He holds me in His hand and raises it. Only He knows whether it will soothe or correct. I can feel the backswing. I am ready.

The Logic of Faith

God makes sense. Philosophy, and even sometimes theology, contend that God defies logic, that miracles operate against the laws of nature, that God functions outside of reason. They are all wrong. God, if He is who He says who He is, who He must be, transcends the laws of nature that bind both the earth and the humans who live on it. God invented reason because only He has ever seen chaos. He constructed His earth to operate according to logical demands, and therefore epitomizes it. God is logic.

No one denies that our world operates according to logical systems: physics, chemistry, biology all specify cohesive systems that are detailed, varied, and consistent. We depend on them so heavily that none of us could conceive of any kind of world without them. I won't even entertain the idea that all this complexity evolved by accident. I know this instinctively--when I dump out my puzzle box, not one piece ever falls perfectly into place with its intended neighbor. I have tried this hundreds of times over the years. It never happens. Never. To conceive that such a chemical or physical event occurred millions of times to create our perfectly ordered world is ridiculous. It violates reason, the same reason God planted in human beings to understand. God wants us to use the reason He gave us and says so:

Come now, let us reason together...Isaiah 1:18

This is a sublime invitation. The Lord of the universe wants us to think. And He has something important for us to think about. This passage in Isaiah has God reminding us of the mess we have made:

Ah, a sinful nation, a people loaded with guilt, a brood of evildoers, children given to corruptions! v. 4
Why should you be beaten anymore? Why do you persist in rebellion? v. 5
Stop bringing your meaningless offerings! v. 13
Your hands are full of blood; wash and make yourselves clean. v. 16
If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best of the land; but if you resist and rebel, you will be devoured by the sword. v. 19-20

This passage is supremely logical. Stop doing what causes you misery and start doing what will result in your benefit. This is God's reasoning. He has the plan that results in our benefit. He begs us to see take advantage of it.

But there is one thing missing from all this. Feelings. God did not ask how anyone feels about any of this. He did not say He wants to make anyone happy nor does He show any concern for whether this plan brings anyone pleasure. He says to do it because it make sense.

Logic goes hand in hand with faith. Reason points directly to God. Feelings work contrary to both.