To Dance with God

It takes a lot of imagination to be a Christian. If I believe Christ, then I am one with him just as he is one with the Father and the Spirit, yet they are three persons in one. Still more, if I am in Christ I have been brought into the Trinity itself, that whirling pas de trois of the three-in-one which the early church fathers called perichoresis (dancing around). This is perhaps one of the most imaginative realities that we engage as believers: our being united with the dancing Triune God.

How transformative it must have been for Christians in the early church to make this theological "discovery", though it was hotly, even violently, debated among scholars, clergy and laity alike. When at last the belief was crystallized at the Council of Constantinople and confirmed in the Nicene Creed, there must have arisen a new and existential sense of the relationality of God, a deeper glimpse into who God really is. If you believed in the Son, you became part of the dance of the Trinity and the reconciling power of the gospel was realized!

It's the difference between being at a party together with someone but doing and being altogether apart, or else being found with that person in the center of the dance floor entangled in a heated, writhing knot of dynamic knowing. I dare say that this is closer at least to the relational reality to which we have been invited in the gospel than many of our current ways of imagining what it is to know God. Do we know him as Trinity? Can we conceive of our own sway and leap and dip and grind as we are animated within the dance of divinity? Is it of any consequence in our concept of worship and of vocation?

As artists, we are especially equipped to enliven the awareness of God's people to his perichoretic imminence. The Wild One, the Holy One is dancing among us. He is within us and we are in Him through Christ. How does this truth transform the way we approach art-making or collaboration and even how we relate to our audience? The God of creation, who hovered over the waters, the God of the Exodus, and He who died and raised from the dead is now become your dance (Father), your dance partner (Son) and your music (Spirit).

The people of God have justly been accused of having an atrophied sense of imagination and a scarce appreciation for mystery. We cannot change the past, but let us not tolerate a lack of imaginative exploration in the midst of such wonderment, such mystery and beauty, as the gospel and the Spirit present to us and to the world. Let us look to the dancers and the dance makers. Let us look to the Spirit who calls out, "Shall we dance?"

Kenyon

* Holy Trinity, Andrei Rublev

Embodied Soul Work

Through Christ, love took form as a body. Jesus, the ultimate love offering, is the foundation for a theology of embodiment. How does this theology relate to artists? Since we will soon relaunch a dance industry vocation group let’s refer to a dancer’s work. Hours of discipline result in wounds and pains to the body; artistic activity can be physically challenging. Yet through the bleeding and bruising we are able to witness the wonder and awe of patterned movement and physical elegance. Beth Felker Jones speaking of Christ, but a fitting remark for a dancer, proclaims, “If we want to know the shape of a holy life, we look at the wounded body.” (Mark of His Wounds, p.111)

Stanley Hauerwas commenting on the disciplined life of the artist writes, “Artists, who must learn to submit to the medium in which they work, demonstrate the kind of training necessary for any of us to see the world rightly.” (Hauerwas, “Fully Human; Art And The Religious Sense.” Image Number 60 (2009): 103) But the regiment of an artist is not just an analogy or a paradigm for the well-ordered life of a Christian, it is reflective of true Christian embodiment. Just as the ascetic directs the body to God, the dancer can likewise make room in the body for God to nourish self and others. What makes anyone want to exert such effort? Love—therefore, Jones is correct, “Love must have a body.” (Mark of His Wounds, p.108)

A theology of embodiment is crucial for our technical age, with our rational ethos. The Church needs dancers, painters, and actors to teach us how to inhabit our bodies. Christians are called to be present in space and know how to move in space with real presence in order for love to take shape physically. Let us, then, offer up to God our bodies and our bodies of work and begin to praise him. Let’s dance.

--Maria

The Dancing Life

We named our dance performance project Perichoresis. Even though no one could pronounce it, we thought it was a really great name. Maria – our resident theologian (she’ll correct me and say “seminarian”) – used the term one day, and I had no idea what it meant. But I like playing with where words come from and how that influences the nuances of their meaning. So, I started looking:

peri- means “around,” as in peri-meter, peri-scope, etc.
chor- means “dance,” as in chor-eography, from the Greek chorea, which also gives us “chorus,” reminding us that, in Greek theater, the chorus danced as well as chanted or sang.
-esis, is a suffix that makes a word about action or process.

The word perichoresis means, in Greek, “to dance around.”

But the really interesting use of “perichoresis” is theological – it’s used to describe the relationship of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Wikipedia says it “refers to the mutual inter-penetration and indwelling within the threefold nature of the Trinity” – but I much prefer the image of God, Jesus, and the Spirit dancing around all day. Their enjoyment of one another is expressed through movement, and rhythm, and harmony; and their presence in our world and in our lives grows out of that creative act. [Note: some scholars state that the theological term "perichoresis" relates to a different Greek root word that emphasizes the "unity" of the Trinity, and doesn't relate to dancing. I think that's boring and choose to disregard it. :-) -lj]

I think we have an image of God the Creator as a sculptor (he created us from clay) or as a director (he sets situations in motion and shapes them as they unfold). But maybe he’s also a choreographer and, in making us in his image, wants us dancing too.

Isn’t life in community a dance? We have to rehearse a lot to get everyone in the right place and on the same steps. We bump into each other and step on toes. But, when we get it right…it’s gorgeous.

Shall we dance?
--Luann