The Holy Dance

I have a signature dance move. It has become well-known in my circle of friends. I should trademark it, except Taio Cruz may consider that copyright infringement.

Yes, I have been known to, “throw my hands up in the air, sometimes.” I’ve tried to learn to love other dance moves, but my lack of coordination has made that very difficult. However, I love watching people dance. It’s not just the passion with which they do it, but more so the emotions they invoke in my heart. To me, that’s the moving part about art – the feelings it brings out in me.

As Lent kicked off yesterday, I’m reminded of a holy dance, the dance of the Christian, and the one that we remember

as we pass through this time of year and reflect on Christ’s sacrifice on the cross 2.000 years ago.

At the foot of the cross, life and death meet each other in a sacred dance. It is here where death and life are but one, occurring simultaneously. Death leading life and then life leading death. The boundary between the two is so thin it is almost non-existent, as two bodies hold themselves closely while keeping with perfect rhythm. Here where glory and humility intertwine. Here where you can lose yourself in Him and where His spirit comes alive in you.

I must tether myself to the foot of the cross. If I start to go too far, I hear the whisper calling me, “Come back, Beloved, don’t wander too far. Here is where you belong.” It is here where the distance between my head and my heart seems to be non-existent. It is here where His glory is what I’m focused on, and not my own. It is here where I find myself wanting to myself humble as I fix my eyes on His humility. It is here where His death and resurrection remind me of the need of death to myself so I can live in Him. It is here where truth and grace balance each other perfectly. It is here that I remember that grace is both costly and freely given to those who believe. It is here where surrender and submission are all He wants of me.

It is at the foot of the cross where I can confidently say, “Your scars will bring my healing, Lord. Your suffering has become my freedom. I will obey and I will follow.” Because as I fix my eyes upon the marvelous cross, I cannot bring myself to do anything to surrender it all – fears, failures, hopes and dreams. Here it isn’t about me, but about Him.

My temptation is to wander. Sometimes I wander so far that I start to believe it is about me, about my success, about my reputation and my selfish desires. As soon as I start to wander, I try to prove myself worthy of grace and fear that one misstep and I’m out, fallen, and forgotten. Thankfully, when I wander, I am not forgotten, and instead, His love, mercy and grace beckon me back. Back to the foot of the cross. Back to where I belong.

And there, at the foot of the cross, instead of throwing my hands up in the air and saying, “Ayo,” I lift my hands in surrender to a God whose humility brings glory, and I marvel at the holy dance of death and life.

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