“I Hope You Dance” Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church on November 5th, 2017 Scripture: Revelation 7:9-17 I’m excited to be preaching from the book of Revelation today. It’s not often that the Revised Common Lectionary provides this opportunity, with only a few carefully selected readings from the book listed for the lectionary’s three year cycle. Hmm, I see you looking at me a little funny. I wonder if you’re thinking “are you serious?” Revelation hasn’t the greatest reputation among mainline and progressive Christians. Quotes from this book often bring to mind the dire warnings of the biblical literalists, threatening those “not saved” with tortuous “end times”. We hear that we will be “left behind” while the true believers who remain at the end of all times will be “raptured” to heaven. Less literal scholars of the Bible, remind us that the book of Revelation was written by John of Patmos. John is said to have written the book from exile by the emperor Domitian to the island of Patmos. The intent of this text was to encourage Christians persecuted by Rome in the 1st century. They were persecuted for their refusal to adopt the Roman religion. This crime was punishable by death, and so many Christians became martyrs for the faith. Rome required complete conformity of its citizens, diversity was seen as rebellion and a threat to the uneasy stability of Pax Romana. In order to avoid naming Rome and Caesar directly, John of Patmos envisions a great cosmic battle between God and some fantastic beasts, including one actually name the beast, another the dragon, another the whore of Babylon. The early Christians were to be encouraged by seeing their persecution as participation in this great battle, knowing that ultimately good, and God, will triumph. In my view, this scholarly explanation of the book is the most accurate. But taking an allegorical approach to the text can leave us feeling a little disconnected. We are not persecuted by the long-gone empire of Rome. So, why my enthusiasm today’s reading from the book of Revelation? What do I think that this book, and this passage for today, has to say to us, here and now in the 21st century church? One reason I enjoy the study of Revelation, because it is full of imagery, it is a work of imagination. I particularly like the passage we read today on All Saints Sunday which tells of the great multitude of saints coming before the throne of God. How else are we to understand the final victory of the irresistible love of God, except by means of imagination? And I think that if we choose to engage with this scripture at the level of our imaginations, it may very well speak to us today. Speaking of imagination, one image that I enjoy sharing on All Saints Sundays is a wonderful imaginative icon from St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco. The colorful picture you see here is just a fragment of the icon which wraps around St Gregory’s entire sanctuary. The icon depicts 90 saints, from many centuries, many cultures, many walks of life. You can see ancient saints like St Francis of Assisi, and living saints such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the South African civil rights leader. There’s Anne Hutchinson of our own tradition, puritan preacher and midwife. Then there are those not traditionally associated with Christianity, such as Charles Darwin who proposed the theory of evolution. John Coltrane, who was canonized by the African Orthodox church, plays saxophone There’s Anne Frank, famous for her teenage diary written while she was in hiding from the Nazis. And there’s Gandhi, Indian civil rights leader. It’s clear from the picture, these saints are not only singing or marching, they are dancing. In fact this mural is called “The Dancing Saints” icon. It’s not surprising that the members of St. Gregory’s often dance during worship. How wonderful for them to be surrounded by these 90 saints dancing with them each time they gather. I am convinced that some aspects of our reading today are reflected in the icon. The “great multitude” who gather in front of the throne of God, come from every nation, all tribes, peoples and languages. They wave palm branches and sing loud and long, “blessing and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever.” Revelation says that the multitude are clothed in white robes, the symbol of a martyr’s courage. But why not imagine them in their more colorful outfits? People from such a diversity of cultures and backgrounds always bring color to community. We can imagine that the music of their singing first takes on an African rhythm, transitioning to a Latin beat. Lilting Celtic melodies blend with the majestic European works of praise. John Coltrane’s saxophone complements the swell of angels’ trumpets. The saints respond to the rhythms, chords, and shifts in key with waving arms, tapping feet, swaying hips. No one is made less for their cultural contribution. Everybody, from the limping and creaking to the limber and lithe, adds to the creation of a singular beautiful living whole. They are not all perfect human beings, that is a contradiction in terms. But they have all been through ordeals. Yet they sing and dance in front of the throne of God, filled with joy. I would love to join them but I don’t do that. I don’t get up and sing and dance, especially not with strangers. I don’t do it because I would mess up the parade, I’m a bad dancer, you see. I know because, well because someone told me. As a little girl, I tagged along for ballet classes with my beautiful best friend, Laura. We learned to “point, point, bend and stretch.” But at home my parents would chuckle about my heavy footed steps were heavy and my solemn expression, as I concentrated on each pose. I didn’t let that early warning stop me, though, and I continued to dance. I participating enthusiastically in the concerts and pantomimes at my church. I’d rehearse and rehearse the dance steps and the songs. I loved the costumes and makeup and I loved to be on stage. Until, one day waiting for rehearsals to begin, I skipped across the empty stage, bowing long and low for imaginary fans and great applause. “You’re so stupid!” and older girl laughed. My cheeks began to burn and tears rose up in my eyes. I was deflated. My Sunday School teacher told me “take no notice” but it couldn’t be unsaid. I was a bad dancer, and what’s worse I was foolishly showing off what was in my own imagination. Better to keep it inside. We may not be persecuted by a tyrannical culture like imperial Rome, that requires conformity to the religion of the empire. And yet, I believe that we often feel shamed when we do not conform to our culture’s demands. Who told you that you couldn’t sing or couldn’t dance? Did you have a dream that as an adult you would spend your time making beautiful art, but that dream was over-ridden by those who told you couldn’t draw or paint? In our modern western culture, natural human creativity has been taken away from the people. It has been professionalized. A couple of generations ago, singing and dancing were the activities that bound people together, in the church and in the community. But now these pursuits are reserved for the perfect and the beautiful, Rihanna, Adele, and the other people I couldn’t name at the Trivia Night. We ordinary people are reminded that we will never be good enough or beautiful enough, to earn our place on the stage. We have been silenced and we have been stilled. In the communities and churches of other cultures, such as Latin America, Africa, and their diaspora communities in the west, singing and dancing continues. Perhaps because their members go through the great ordeals of poverty and prejudice, they know their need for expressions of joy. But it seems that the culture of perfectionism has impacted New England mainline Protestantism, earning us the nickname “the frozen chosen.” The joyful spirit that naturally arises among the saints when they are gathered has been damped down over the generations. Perhaps it has to do with our recent history of “all in the head” worship and preaching. We have preferred the rational and intellectual. We fear putting off visitors by getting too Jesus-y. But when the head is not led to connect to the heart, worship is a joyless experience. Like Imperial Rome, I believe our culture has something to gain from damping down our spirits and our joy. When we are contained in our church buildings, anxiously counting heads and patching up leaks, we are kept from doing the liberating and joyful work of Christ in the community. I encourage you to check out the St Gregory’s website (https://www.saintgregorys.org/.) Creativity in the form of visual art, music, song, dance in worship enriches the life of that community. But it has also led to some powerful ministries in their church. A former atheist and writer, Sara Miles, who is now an Episcopal priest, walked into St Gregory’s one day, attracted by their joyful and inclusive communion. She was led to begin a food pantry, taking the excess fruits and vegetables from Californian farms and markets, run directly from the church serving the very poorest residents of San Francisco. One of their website pictures shows Archbishop Desmond Tutu his smile beaming with infectious joy, visiting the food pantry. Just imagine, if we were to get out of this place and invite our neighbors to join the dance. They just might realize that they too can dance. And what a wonderful disruption that would be to a culture that damps down, separating people from one another, demanding conformity. I was told I couldn’t dance. But I am grateful for the book of Revelation, and its imagery and imagination, particularly on this All Saints Sunday. Our saints, the ones we have named today as well as the great multitudes gone before them, are singing and dancing and marching in. We had better get in some practice. As you come up the aisle for communion today, in the words of country singer Lee Ann Womack, I hope you dance. Amen.
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