The Dance June 22, 2008

Dressed in a simply shift dress, she stepped onto the stage. Behind her, the man dressed in white, representing God. Her expression was pure wonder and innocence, she looked to him as he stepped forward, pointing to some aspect of his creation. He stood close behind her, helping her lift her hands, twirling her round, looking at her with pure love and pure tenderness. He knelt down to a flowing stream, scooping up fresh water for her. She drank deeply, knowing real refreshment. A look of wonder and discovery radiated from her as she moved across the stage, radiant in his presence.

The music spoke of the search, of the beauty found in him, of the purity and vulnerability in their communucation. It was tranquil and soothing.

Then onto the stage crept a figure in a dark suit. His dance was dizzying, fast. She was nearly swept off her feet. He put a rose between her teeth and spun her repeatedly. The music sounded exciting, but gone was the natural fluidity of her movements. She became stilted somehow, Led by this new figure and his strange intoxicating dance.

God reached out to her. She tried to keep his attention but the pace was too quick. He looked pained and she looked confused and yet they just had to keep spinning. The next figure carried a bottle, transfixed by the light refracted in its contents, she drank deeply. Her movements becoming erratic and wobbly.

Still spinning they fought for her. Joined by a figure of beauty, handing her a mirror and urging her to compare herself, we watched as seeds of doubt and self-contempt were sown. Soon she didn’t dance at all, caught in a spiral of destruction and pain.

The last figure was dressed in a black hooded cloak. He glided around her, attempting to cover her and shut out the light entirely. His movements were choreographed carefully – he seemed alluring, yet we knew he sought to trap her, to remove all traces of the dance and end its melody. She fought him, but fell to the floor, overwhelmed by the despair and temptation, the numbing ache of emptiness, exhaustion from their endless, ensnaring rhythms. 

Still God waited at the side. Calling out to her, reaching out, a pure white light darting between the writhing black figures. They tried to push him back, violent they surrounded her. Still she didn’t move, still he fought to get closer. With the last of her strength, she got to her feet, seeing a flash of his purity through the black fog. She reached out for him, and he stepped closer yet. Holding out his hand for her, reaching into her bleak reality.

They weren’t prepared to give up without a fight though, the figures shrouded in darkness. They grabbed her and pulled her back, out of his reach. For a few tortured moments she was pulled between the two. Eventually God pushed in front of them, held them back as she fell to her knees again, placed himself between her and their frantic frenzied grasping. She lifted up her hands to him, in a statement of pure need, of desperation to feel his touch and his wholeness once more.

In a flash the black figures fell, motionless. The music slowed to its earlier peacefulness. He helped her to her feet and held her in a long embrace. The scene spoke of redemption and reconciliation. A daughter in her Father’s arms.

The dance finished as it had begun, with soft notes and gentle movement, with her rediscovering the wonder of him. Her focus was wholly on him, they were entirely connected. It was a lovely sight. In those moments, she and we forgot the dark stages of her journey, transfixed by the glory in their dancing. In those moments all of our hearts swelled as we considered the Divine Dancer who swept onto the stages of our lives, showing us wonder and then waiting patiently as we spurned him for steps that tripped and enslaved us, before rescuing us from the dark places and dark moments and continuing the dance.