On Dancing Badly--October 31, 2019

"On Dancing Badly"--October 31, 2019

"We who are strong ought to put up with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Each of us must please our neighbor for the good purpose of building up the neighbor. For Christ did not please himself; but, as it is written, 'The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me'." [Romans 15:1-3]

First, a confession: I am a bad dancer.

There is no graceful way of describing my lack of gracefulness. I am just not good at moving my body or limbs in aesthetically pleasing ways to the beat of a song. The style of the music doesn't seem to matter. The familiarity of the song doesn't make a difference. I'm just clumsy, self-conscious, and awkward, and those make for a pathetic combination on the dance-floor.

Someone recently gave me the gift of honesty recently by reminding me that I am not a good dancer, and I have been thinking lately about the lesson to be learned from that awareness. That reminder came at a wedding reception, at which my son was too shy to go out on the dance floor by himself. That's fair--he's eight. But it's also a bit ironic, because my second-grade son is a fantastic dancer, and he just naturally has five times the skill I have, while he has one-fifth the number of years of life. So there we were, wallflowers the both of us for a while. He didn't want to go out and dance to the music by himself, even though he's got a natural groove, and I didn't want to go out and dance, either, because I am a train-wreck of sub-par gross motor skills.

But I'm the grown-up. I'm the one who is supposed to have developed the thick skin and confidence to deal with life, and I'm the one who is tasked with teaching him that it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks of him. I'm supposed to not care about what other people think of me, too. And I'm supposed to be the example. Maybe most of all, as the parent of a primary-grade child, I'm supposed to be the presence that makes it safe for him to step out and do new things... to grow... to experiment. Soon enough, he won't need me to stand at his side when he takes on the world, but in second grade he does.

So here was the resolution to our predicament: I took my son out onto the dance floor, and I danced badly so that he could dance well. Nobody in their right mind would have said I looked cool, but that was no longer the point. I was there so that he could come into his own, because from his vantage point, I was the "strong" one who had the grown-up courage to go "out there" when other people were watching. And once I was out there, making a delightful fool of myself while Abba played in the background, my son could do his thing and find his way.

He did. He rocked it. And I dare say he enjoyed himself once he had forgotten his self-consciousness. And all of a sudden the tables were turned, and his comfortableness in his own skin made if possible for me to stay out there and move uncomfortably to the music, too. Each of us was "strong" in a sense--my son in actual talent, and me in a willingness to do foolish things--and each of us was "weak," too. And it occurs to me now that the purpose of those "strengths" is not for each of our own benefit, but for the benefit of the other. My relatively strong tolerance for personal embarrassment at my own bad dancing is not really a positive if I'm just out there by myself. But when it exists for the sake of letting my son shine on his own, it is a positive. And my son's ability to dance is, in the big scheme of things, not a hugely-useful skill in life--but when he got into it, he made it possible for me to stay there, too, without feeling weird myself anymore. Our strengths are only meaningful when they are used for the sake of one another, and it is a damn shame to use them only for ourselves and our own interests.

The early Christian community knew the same: if you think you are "strong" in some way, your strength is meant for the good of the neighbor, and their "strength" is meant to build you up. The apostle Paul is clever here in his rhetorical move. He writes, "We who are strong ought to put up with the failings of the weak..." and of course everybody in his audience wants to cast themselves in the role of "strong" rather than "weak." Everybody wants to see themselves as strong--and that's how Paul catches us all. Once we have identified ourselves as strong, Paul says, "Then your strength is meant to make life better for someone else." In the wider context of his letter, Paul has in mind those who have different dietary needs or restrictions, or those who have scruples about wine or meat or whatever. These are ordinary kinds of issues--not big deals, just regular, everyday kinds of situations. And yet Paul takes it for granted that the followers of Jesus are called to make special provisions for those who have different needs from our own. Instead of complaining about it, or griping about it, or insisting that the majority of people don't have a problem with X or Y, so we aren't doing anything to change it, Paul says that we are always called to look out for the needs of those who do have particular requirements or scruples or conscience issues.

And that move is radical. It completely inverts the old idea that the "strong" get to use their strength to impose their wishes on the "weak," by saying that those who are "strong"--whether in raw numbers, muscle-power, wealth, status, or influence--are called to use their strength for the sake of others, not at the expense of others. All too often, I hear people complaining about how they don't like making special accommodations for others, because they don't like being inconvenienced: why should we have ramps and handlebars on construction if we don't think there will be many people in wheelchairs who will ever need this? Or why should we accommodate the dietary needs of "those people," because they aren't in the majority? Or why should we accommodate the needs of people whose language is different--who need sign-language interpreters, or Spanish or Arabic or Mandarin, or whatever else? Or why should we go out of our way to help people who are homeless, or people who are newly arrived in this country to get settled and find housing or employment? The variations are infinite, but they all boil down to the same assumption of conventional wisdom: that when you are "weak" (the one without power) you just have to accommodate yourself to the system set up by the "strong" (those who have power). And over against that, the New Testament insist on just the opposite. All the way down to little details of everyday situations, the apostle says that those who are in positions of relative power or advantage (the "strong") are called to use it for the sake of helping those who are not in power or without advantage (the "weak").

There's no way around this--it is bedrock New Testament teaching, because as Paul sees it, it is rooted in the life, teaching, and example of Jesus Christ himself, the supremely "strong" one who did not seek his own well-being, but the well-being of... well, all the rest of us. And Jesus used his strength to make it possible for us, in all of our weakness, to go out on the dance floor and find our own groove. Jesus is the grown-up who is perpetually willing to make a fool of himself so that we can come into our own. And Jesus is the graceful one who makes it possible for us to forget our own awkwardness, too.

In this life, there are going to be times when you are on the "weak" side of the divide, and times you are on the "strong" side, too. Sometimes we are both at the same time in different categories--like being the relatively confidant adult who is also at the same time clumsy in the dancing department. And that means we are going to be constantly putting ourselves out there for the sake of others... and at the same time receiving the gifts of others' strengths. That's what it is to be a part of the Christian community, really: that we can honestly own both our strengths and our weaknesses, the places we have power and the places in which we are powerless, so that we can use what we have for the sake of others, and then in turn to be blessed by the gifts that others have to offer us as well. We are always both at the same time--the nervous kid with moves and the awkward adult willing to look silly.

So in this day, on an ordinary Thursday, let's take an honest look at our own selves--where we are strong, and where we are weak. And instead of complaining or moaning about having to go out of our way for "those other people" if I don't have a problem with something, maybe I can see that the places I have strengths are meant to serve others... and that God has called others who have different strengths to help accommodate me in my places of powerlessness.

It's a never-ending motion of back-and-forth, as strength is laid down for weakness, and power is used for the well-being of the powerless in an ongoing circle.

Kind of like, I guess you could say, a dance.

Lord Jesus, keep us dancing to your tune and laying down our strengths for the sake of others, while we own our weaknesses, too.