the dance

The Religious can’t dance. I try. That’s the problem. When I am Religious, it is about me. How spiritual can I be? Have I checked off everything on my “this-is-what-people-who-really-love-God-do” checklist? As much as I know the utter loathsomeness of this thinking, I unconsciously slip into it over and over again. White-washed tombs, beautiful on the outside; full of death and stench on the inside. I have played this game much of my life, wanting everyone to think that I had it all together. I laugh as I think about how when I was a kid, the only people who went up front for prayer at our church were those who were really needy and quite frankly, “dysfunctional”. Now, I seek out prayer every chance I get at “ministry” time - I AM really needy and dysfunctional! This is a free place to reside. But how easy it is to slip back into the rigid reality of wanting to have it all together, wanting to get it right for God and anyone else who may be watching. And then I get shaken back to reality by my deadness and I realize that I have stopped dancing with Him. There is no freedom in religion. I can hardly even move my feet. And it is there, in that place, where I have a choice to make. Either continue in the “trying to get it right” where I just keep stepping on my own feet and ultimately crash to the floor...or surrender my trying, lean over against His chest, confess my brokenness once again, and let Him take the lead. His warmth, His love, His forgiveness and security envelope me and the dance resumes. And the knots in my shoulders dissolve and while the outside may not look at “beautiful”, the inside comes alive again and the fragrance of Christ becomes my scent instead of my dead religion. Today I come back to Him, the One who said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” The One who “cried out with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out.‘“ And Lazarus came out. Today I choose to COME OUT to Him and dance, leaving my stench behind for one more day. It's another day of grace.