Angels Dancing

Advent begins. How to mark the moment? One of my friends meets me for coffee and conversation, and treats me to a dance concert held at Charles Finney School. It was liturgical dance representing the birth, death and resurrection of Christ. I have never attended such a presentation, wasn't sure what to expect. Many dance companies were participating, each one telling their part of the story in their own way, to their own music.

What a wonderful variety of colors, costumes, ages and stages of dancers, types of music. We entered the small auditorium, and selected seats in the balcony so we would be able to see everything. There was a buzzing excitement in the room as dancers tiptoed about, holding hushed conversations with family and friends in the hall. The place was packed, and we were glad to have arrived early to avoid ending up standing in the back.

The lights dimmed, the narrator stepped to the microphone, and the story began. Between each group, a reading of Scripture (to give the dancers time to exit and the next group to set up) and to thread the presentations together along the continuum of the life and purpose of Christ, our light in a dark world. There was ballet, tap, interpretive dance, modern dance - so many choreographies, so many ideas, so many ways to pour the love of God into the air. The youngest dancers were darling, cute, coy; the oldest confident, secure, graceful.

During one song about Mary, about what she had to endure, while the piano gently felt the emotions and the lush warmth of the singer brought clarity to the text, the troupe dancing suddenly moved in such a way that it brought tears to my eyes. How can I describe it? First, these young ladies clothed in dark blue, floating frocks (neither the youngest nor the oldest dancing), danced apart. They moved in the same way, their arms lifting, their feet turning, swirling in unison (or mostly so), going through the same motions, but separated by space. It was nice, yes.

But at one point, the words spoke of Mary needing help, needing support, of God holding on to her, bearing her up. And the dancers came together to help one who wavered, to support one in the center who was falling, caressing her, lifting her arms, keeping her safe. Words can't convey the intensity of those motions, the impact they had. Is that not what Christians do for each other? Do they not see one going through difficulties, and suddenly rush to their aid, unbidden except by the word of God, to support, to uphold, to comfort, to just be there when the going gets tough?

At least, that's how its supposed to be. I thought of the roughest places in my cancer treatment. Yes, it was like that. People came to help me, to support me, to lift up my hands, to pray for me, to just be with me. I didn't ask, but they heard the whisper of God, and they came. Many of them did not know me. They heard, and they came.

Today I heard of a young pastor just ordained. Just pronounced sick with late stage lung cancer. Not a smoker. No reason for that. She may be wavering, she may feel as if she is falling. Regardless, she needs the words of Christ, the comfort of God. I ask God if I can go. Let me have some small part in bringing comfort through music, through prayer, let me be used of God to bring cups of cool water to this thirsty sister, to be the arms of Christ. She will be my second one to minister to if I am allowed.

Tears roll down my cheek, and I try to be discreet in wiping them away. I do not wish my friend to think something is wrong (not that she would). I am deeply touched with honor and humility that God would allow me to be used in some small way. Will He? Will He let me? Can I be one of the dancers glide across life's stage in order to hold up a hand, to stand beside, to help?

I have always wanted to dance. Let this be the moment I begin.