He Danced

Mark 6:14-20; 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19

President Bartlett’s White House, the setting for NBC’s “West Wing,” was in turmoil last week.  On an especially bad day, Jeb Bartlett’s nominee for the Supreme Court was jailed in as small town on his way to a meeting in the Oval Office.  He was guilty of no more than driving while Hispanic, but two assistants dispatched to defuse the situation got lost on their way up the Merritt Parkway. The Chief of Staff had to rein in the Secretary of Commerce after she made disparaging comments about the opposition party’s leadership and their motives.  The White House press secretary had an emergency root canal, which led to the assistant chief of staff’s total meltdown in a news briefing.  Last, but not least, after a trip to the West Coast, the president returned to the White House and tumbled into bed at three in the morning.

It was no surprise, therefore, that when his personal assistant gave him his wake-up call at 6:30 the next morning, he was in a bad mood.  After listening to the president’s displeasure, Charlie tells him: “Sir, it wasn’t a nightmare.  You DID win the election.  And now you actually have to BE the president.”  It was a bad day, and there was no joy in sight.  (As seen on The West Wing, Thursday, July 9, 2009.)

In today’s gospel lesson, King Herod finds himself in a similarly uncomfortable juncture of leadership.  Having promised, in a moment of excessive excitement brought on, we suppose, by the joy of the feast, by overmuch wine, and by the enticingly erotic dance performed by his wife’s daughter, he foolishly writes her a blank imperial check:  “Whatever you ask of me, I will give you….”  (Mark 6:23, New Revised Standard Version)  He’s offering jewels, perhaps, thinking he knows the mind of the young.  “Diamonds are a girls best friend,” after all.  But coached by her mother, the dancer asks instead for the life of John the Baptist. 

Caught by his promise, knowing that to back down now would mean losing face, Herod, the anointed king of the land, gives in to the bloody demand.  His story also lacks joy, in spite of the feast, in spite of the food, or in spite of the dance.  And Mark is telling us something of the character of this king, the one anointed by the world, who is so different from Jesus, whom Mark believes is the one truly anointed by God.

This darkness looming over King Herod in today’s gospel story contrasts directly with King David’s playful exuberance in the Hebrew Bible lesson.  It’s hard not to be thrilled as we hear the story of David’s dance before the Ark of the Lord as it is brought into Jerusalem.  David is so ecstatic, so caught up in the wonder of the moment, that he loses himself.  He also totally misses the embarrassment he’s causing his wife, Michal.  He’s living the admonition, “Dance like no one is watching,” that most of us have heard often, but that so many of us have such difficulty following.  The thought of looking foolish keeps ME from dancing.  But not David:  He dances like no one is watching.  He dances in spite of the fact that his detractors are watching, for wherever there’s a leader, there is bound to be opposition to leadership.  Or, as I read this week, the second of Murphy’s Laws for preachers (or leaders) is:  “For every action, there is an equal and opposite criticism.” (Leadership, Spring, 1983, page 37.)

And note that David is not merely the king.  David is the king who is living his truly human vocation.  That is to say also that because he lives in the moment, David is a man fully living his holy calling.  This is his destiny, to establish Jerusalem as the capitol, and to joyfully enthrone God alone as the highest authority.  The people gather; they dance; they sacrifice to God; and at the end, as the text says, “Then all the people went back to their homes.”  (2 Samuel 6:19, NRSV) The clear implication is that all go home in security not only because King David is on his throne, but because the Lord is enthroned in their city, David lives his divine calling, and the people are living their divine calling.  Or, as poet Robert Browning said,

“The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in his Heaven –

All's right with the world!”  (Robert Browning, Pippa Passes.  See, among other references, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pippa_Passes.)

That’s the point of the Hebrew lesson, and the holy truth toward which our whole faith seeks to lead us as well:  we are well when God is enthroned in the very center of our lives, as we, as God’s faithful followers, accept the calling, the invitation, to be about that part of God’s work here and now that God has given to us alone. When I live my truest calling, my life naturally and spontaneously emits praise – whether that praise takes the form of music, or dance, or worship, or merely a smile.

This deep peace with life is something we all seek, individually and collectively.  Like many of us, I noted the overwhelming reaction to Michael Jackson’s death recently.  Jackson’s life touched many a heart, and deeply.  Partly it was his music.  Partly was our compassion for a boy who lost his childhood and therefore variously lived as a child and in search of the innocence and wonder of children all his life.  I don’t claim to understand it, but I’ve come to believe that at least part of our fascination with the vibrant talent that Michael Jackson exhibited was his very exuberance, his capacity to dance, in the face of such adversity.  The “moonwalk” was not merely a wonder; it was also a testimony to an indomitable human spirit.  In spite of his many losses and his many flaws – both of which made him more human and therefore more accessible – Jackson’s joy was both untarnished and infectious.  With everyone watching, still he could dance.

An equally flawed David was equally engaging.  With everyone watching, even his critics, David took up his calling, passionately entered the life God had set before him, and danced the holy dance of joy.  His joy was born in his own willingness to do what God had called him to do, to be all God invited him to be.  He listened for God’s music in his life, and in the life of his country.  He accepted his own role as the anointed one, the leader of God’s people.  He took the part God offered him, and lived out of the deep integrity that comes from knowing one’s true self and following one’s truest heart.  He brought the ark of the Lord home to Jerusalem, and in, doing so, he found his own home as well.  Caught up in the holy passion, his body broke out in praise.  He danced.

As I read this story of David, I suppose I’m remembering a friend from another church, years ago.  His life was flawed, too.  A success in his career, he grew closer and closer to the state’s power elite, and flitting to that power like a moth to a candle, he finally fell wounded from the sky.  Addiction overcame his judgment; he lost his family, his business, his health, and, ultimately, he lost his life. The story was sad, but it had grace, too.  My friend retained to the end such hope, such vitality, and such energy.  Though, like each of us, he had his faults and his flaws, he also retained his verve, his smile, even most of his joy. The day before his funeral, one of his neighbors, who had remained his friend through it all, said that she wanted everyone to know that, in spite of his flaws, he was a good man.  I asked her what she would say about him, if she were doing his eulogy.  “I would say just two words about my friend:  he danced.  He danced.”

We are called to dance, too.  Our lives will be imperfect, for imperfection, failure, and even sin, are the tragic marks of our humanity.  But in spite of our flaws, God calls us to serve, each of us in our own ways.  God calls us to build, in our own lives, a corner of the kingdom of God.  God calls us to accept with excitement our own ministries.  God calls us to celebrate our own special gifts.  And when we do, we come to a place of joy, harmony, and deep peace.  Our purpose as a people of God is to attend to our own callings, and to live our callings as fully and as faithfully as possible.  My calling as a pastor is to lead us all to that place of vibrant, energetic, toe-tapping faith, where we the rhythms of God’s music in our hearts picks us up and gets all of us moving.  We’re called to do more than merely exist; we’re called to thrive.  We’re called to know the joy of the Lord’s presence among us, and respond with praise.

At the end, I want to leave you with this anonymous blessing, an invitation to each of us to share the faith of David, who models for us all an exuberance unashamed: 

“Work like you don’t need the money,

love like you’ve never been hurt,

dance as if no one were watching,

sing as if no one were listening,

and live as though heaven is on earth.”  (Anonymous, as far as I could discover, and variously printed on the internet.  See www.worldprayers.org/frameit.cgi?/archive/prayers/celebrations/dance_as_though_no_one_is.htmlas just one example.)

Jesus said something quite similar to his followers.  He said: “The Kingdom of God is in your midst.”  So it is.  David knew it.  He danced for the sheer joy of the Lord’s love and grace.  And so can we.  So can we.

Amen.