The Liturgical Dance
What Fellowship with the Father and the Son Looks Like to Me
In John’s first letter, he describes a fellowship in which he heard, saw and touched Christ. He invites me to that same fellowship. A strong desire rose in me, “I want that!” What does that mean? What does that look like since it seems like I don’t have the advantage of John who actually lived alongside Christ? In what ways can I hear, see and touch Christ? I’ll use the format of the liturgy to give some structure to hang my experiences on.
An intense shiver noticing You’re near.
A thrill at Your presence.
A stirred hunger and thirst to see You.
Your whispered call to come close.
We exchange our loves.
Piercing felt lonliness dissolves. You abandon not.
I become intensely aware of my sin sickness.
From a place of deep acceptance, I blurt out my sins.
I feel so naked and vulnerable.
A hand grasps my shoulder.
My advocate pleads.
My fingertips touch His wounded hands.
I thrust my hand into His side and know.
O to see. To hear. To handle my Christ.
Life surges upward within me like water surges upwards in a tree.
From a hidden source.
It rolls out of me and looks like worship.
I notice glory revealed in nature around me.
I’m in the picture.
I’m in the story.
I dance out my praise like the silage dances on the auger.
My vulnerabilities are shared vulnerabilities.
My labor is shared labor.
My prayers are shared prayers.
I feel the hand holds on a rock worn smooth by clinging.
Christ. My Rock!
I offer up deep signs and groanings from the pain of circumstances.
Palpable suffering is shared.
Quiet like a weaned child.
No angst to demand answers.
Binding together by twisting.
Tears of joy gazing on bread and wine.
Knowing I’m gazing on Christ.
A divine comfort like placing my head on the warm cow flank.
We exchange our loves.
Affirming voice reminds me I was born to praise.
I practice “noticing.”
You reveal Yourself to me like stars appearing.
One by one by billions.
I direct my work, which feels like shepherding, to You.
I pray for transformation in me and the many.
Like changing seasons, it’s slow. Beautiful. Costly.
I pray the Lord’s Prayer.
I remember songs and Psalms.
I look for your redemptive ways in my relationships.
I stretch out my hands to receive your blessing.
Your face shines on me.
I watch for another sunrise with the anticipation of doing liturgy, again.