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Miroslav Volf relates a story from Julie
Taymor, the director of the movie Frida, the story of
the Mexican painter Frida Kahol. She tells of a visit to the
island of Bali many years ago. One day, alone in a secluded
wooded area of the jungle at the edge of a clearing, she
heard the sound of distant drums and music. It kept coming
closer, and suddenly, into the clearing came thirty or forty
old men, dressed in full warrior regalia, each carrying a
spear. They started to dance, unaware of her presence. From
a bit of a distance, she watched them for what seemed like
an eternity. Then, suddenly, she says she had an epiphany:
…they danced to—nobody. They were
performing for God. They did not care if someone was paying
for tickets, writing reviews; they did not even care if an
audience was watching. They did it from the inside out and
from the outside in…they were dancing only for God.
Volf concludes, “Do we need to be
reminded that our primary audience is God?” He then
relates a similar experience on a spiritual retreat in the
hills of Vermont. At the end of the retreat, the
participants were in pairs, praying for each other. He says
he will never forget the prayer his partner offered for him,
“I pray that he will always play to the audience of One.”
And so, of course, he titles his article “Dancing For
God.” (Miroslav Volf, “Dancing For God,” Christian
Century, Sept. 6, 2003, page 35)
I love
that image…“Dancing for God as an audience of One”:
I can’t say I always manage it. Someone
once asked, “Do Methodist preachers dance?” And the answer
was, “Some do and some shouldn’t.” At the Ice Cream Social,
after Judy and I danced a polka, one of my endearing church
members said, “Well, after watching you dance, I am awfully
glad you are a good preacher.” I can’t say I manage to live
by it all the time, but I’d like to think that once in a
while, I experience it—dancing before God, living my life
for the audience of One.
You have already heard the story of the day David danced
before God.
The Ark of the Covenant was coming to
town! It was the gold-covered box crowned with angels, which
carried the stone tables of the law. It was the sign and
symbol of God’s presence, traveling with the people. There
was a great parade and joyful festivities. King David was so
delighted, he danced his way down the street; so overwhelmed
he ended up dropping his drawers and dancing naked,
literally in front of God and everybody.
The Bible says he was wearing an “ehpod.”
So I did a little research to see what an “ephod” looked
like. A typo took me to the site of the “eh? Pod,” an iPod
designed for Canadians, as in “music, eh??” It is an iPod
mounted on the side of a moose and powered by maple syrup.
(http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/EhPod)
An ephod could also be the elaborate
vestments of the high priest, all filled with jewels and
fine fabrics, or another source says it was more like a
woman’s corset or girdle. But more likely it was a simple
loincloth, not much more than a bath towel tied around the
waist. I’ve always said, 1972 was the worst time in men’s
clothing since the loincloth, and I have pictures to prove
it! (www.wikipedia.com)
King David got so excited, he ended up
dancing in his skivvies, naked in the streets, much to the
embarrassment of his wife, former King Saul’s daughter, who
chided him about it. But nothing could stop David’s
full-blown, overwhelming joy at the presence of God in their
midst.
Now I am not a Biblical literalist, so
don’t expect me to try the same thing. But I would like to
praise with that kind of joy:
-
to worship with that
kind of spirit
-
to perform for our
“audience of One”…dancing before God
-
to praise God in all
things
In the context, David had been through
some tough times. He had faced civil war, internal strife,
murder, grief and deception, as well as external enemies and
battles raging, then finally David’s victory over the
Philistines. In the midst of it all, David learned to
praise…praise in all things.
Let me tell you the story of Rev. Adam
Kuczma. He was the Superintendent of the Methodist Church in
Poland in the ’80s, in those days before the end of
communism and the fall of the Wall, when the church was
struggling to exist under oppression and constant
persecution. In 1986, before anyone could have imagined that
the end of communism was in sight, he managed by nothing
less than a miracle to attend the World Methodist Conference
in Kenya. There he told his story. He was 18 when the
Russians took control in Poland during World War II. One
evening while his family was having dinner, soldiers barged
into the house, looked around, pointed to him as the
youngest and strongest person in the room and, with a wave
of a hand, told him to come with them. Not knowing if they
were taking him to his death or drafting him as a soldier,
he had no idea if he would ever see his family again. As he
rose to leave, his father squeezed a small Polish Bible into
his hand.
He was taken to a Soviet labor camp.
Through years of hard labor, day after day, his only
strength was the Word of God, until a guard grabbed it from
his hands and tore it to shreds before his eyes. He wondered
how he would survive without his Bible. Then, one day before
dawn, he was ordered outside to shovel snow. As he stepped
from his barracks, he saw something dark lying in the snow.
It was a Bible, this one in Russian. Since he was fluent in
both Polish and Russian, he picked it up and used it to
witness to some of the guards during his time in prison.
After the war, he returned to become a
pastor in Poland. His life was often threatened and his
ordination was delayed for seven years because the Methodist
Bishop of Central Europe was not allowed to enter Poland to
ordain him. Several times he had the chance to immigrate. He
could have gotten out of Poland, but he stayed. And even in
the midst of such oppression, he could smile as he gave
thanks for God’s care for him, and with a broad toothy grin
he said: “I have never regretted my choice. Our only weapon
is the Word of God.”
Praising God in all things.
Why did
David dance?
He
danced because of the evidence of God’s presence in their
midst.
He
danced at the sign and hope of God’s final victory.
He could
dance, regardless of grief or sorrow, because he worshiped a
God who would be with them in all things.
When our kids came home from Ghana, they
had the same reaction of most Americans who visit with
Christians in Africa…how can they be so happy with
so little? How can they be so joy-filled when their life
is so sorrow-filled? How can they worship with dance
and song when they seem to have nothing else, while we, who
have so much, seem to have everything but joy; while we, who
have been so blessed, seem to know not how to praise?
Dancing before God as the audience of One.
Praising God in all things.
One more Wesley story. We’ve spent much
of the summer talking about the hymns of Charles Wesley, but
this one is about his brother, John, the founder of the
Methodist movement. Those early Methodists were desperately
poor. Many of them were simple coal miners, common laborers,
out of the slums and the inner city. But they loved to sing.
One historian says they sang on their way to meetings. They
sang at their meetings. They sang on their way home from
their meetings. And if they weren’t singing, Wesley assumed
they had a spiritual problem.
One of the hymn writers who influenced
Charles and John was Isaac Watts, and one of his hymns was a
particular favorite:
I’ll praise my Maker while I’ve
breath;
and when my voice is lost in death,
praise shall employ my nobler powers.
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
while life, and thought, or being
last,
or immortality
endures.
(U.M. Hymnal, page 60)
Years later, at the age of 88, John
Wesley lay dying on his bed. Brother Charles had died
earlier, but the close friends and companions who gathered
around him said his last words were, “Best of all, God is
with us,” then he whispered the words from the Isaac
Watts hymn: “I’ll praise, I’ll praise, I’ll praise…”
A follow-up to the story comes from Louis
Albert Banks, Methodist preacher and one-time candidate for
governor in the state of Tennessee. He told the story of a
man in one of his churches, a fine singer with a strong
voice who was told he had cancer of the tongue and that
surgery would be required to save him. As they were
preparing him for surgery, he asked his surgeon, “And you’re
sure I will never be able to sing again?” The doctor
confirmed it once again.
He said, “I’ve spent my life singing
praise to God, and now you tell me I may never sing again.
Well then, my last song will be a song of gratitude and
praise for all God has done for me.” And as they wheeled him
to the operating room, Banks says you could hear him singing
down the hall:
I’ll praise my Maker while I’ve
breath;
and when my voice is lost in death,
praise shall employ my nobler powers.
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
while life, and thought, or being
last,
or immortality endures.
Praising God in all things.
Dancing for God as the audience of One.
My friend, Michael O’Bannon, was my
pastor while we lived in Nashville. In one of his sermons,
he reminded me of my childhood experience of singing in
church. It was the time my brother and I, probably no older
than first or second grade, were supposed to sing in the
Sunday night service in our church. We were sitting on the
front pew; our mother was at the grand piano. When the
pastor introduced us, brother Jim was the first to move. I
was lagging behind, so he grabbed my hand to pull me up. He
yanked, and I ended up on the floor under the piano. We
recovered. We sang, but I don’t remember what.
Well, Michael tells a similar story from
his childhood. In Vacation Bible School, he had worked all
week making a drum out of an oatmeal box. Those were the
days before plastic, when the Quaker Oats box had a paper
top. He had spent the week decorating it with red
construction paper, crayons and paper doilies. On the day of
the performance, the teacher was hustling the kids into the
sanctuary, handing each of them an instrument, and someone
else got Michael’s drum. He says he broke into tears and
pitched what they call in Tennessee a “hissy fit.” He says,
“The only solution was for the teacher to give the fat
little squaller the drum he claimed was his and march them
into the sanctuary to sing their praise.”
Praising God on an oatmeal box.
Praising God in all things.
Dancing for God as an audience of One.
Why did
David dance?
He danced before the ark, the sign of
God’s presence with the people.
He danced in joy and praise for God’s
goodness in the face of all things.
He danced to God as an audience of One.
And so, in the end, he would write the
last poem in the Book of the Psalms, calling us to worship
God with all we’ve got:
Praise God in his sanctuary.
Praise God for his mighty deeds.
Praise God with the trumpet.
Praise God with the lute and harp.
Praise God with timbrel and dance.
Praise God with strings and pipes.
Praise God with loud, crashing
cymbals.
Let everything that has breath, praise
the Lord.
(Psalm 150)
One final story. It’s the story of Evan
Evans, the Welsh Methodist. The Welsh are known for their
singing, and the story goes that Evan Evans had a dream. He
dreamed he went to heaven and was singing in the angel
choir. Evan said it was a wonderful dream. There he was with
all the angels of heaven. St. Peter conducting. King David
himself playing the harp. There were 1,000 sopranos, 1,000
altos, 1,000 tenors and, Evan said: “I was the only bass. We
sang, all 3001 of us, until St. Peter stopped the show. He
turned to me and said, ‘Ah, Evan Evans, you’ll have to tone
it down. You’re drowning out the rest of the choir.’”
I can’t say I’ve always managed it, but
once in a while, I’ve known the overwhelming joy of worship,
the ability to praise God in all things. Dancing before God
as the audience of One.
Praise
God!
Praise
God!
NOTES:
The story of Rev. Adam Kuczma comes from
a sermon by Rev. James A. Harnish, “Good News from Nariobi:
Dancing at the End of the Parade,” preached at St. Luke’s
United Methodist Church, Orlando, FL, August 17, 1986.
The story of Rev. Louis Albert Banks and
the account of the oatmeal box drum come from a sermon by
Rev. Michael O’Bannon, Belle Meade United Methodist Church,
Nashville, TN, May 4, 2003, entitled “Praise Him with an
Oatmeal Box.” It is obviously the source of the title for
the sermon, as well.
And the story of Evan Evans? Who knows. I
heard it somewhere along the way, and it’s a wonderful
story, even if it never happened!
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