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| ..SundayService at 10:30 am ........................... ...........................................Rev. Catherine MacDonald | |||
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Special Events at United Memorial Church Come to Church Sunday Liturgical Dance Liturgical Dance, A Moving Experience By Belinda Ferguson
I have danced on and off since I was five years old. I have been on the stage with a symphony orchestra, with a single drummer, danced in restaurants, homes, public venues, a train station, malls and once was pulled up out of the audience during a concert I was attending to dance with guitarist Jesse Cook. Why would I have such trepidation over a two minute interpretive dance to a simple and beautiful hymn? Clearly it is because I had never danced in church. This would require some thought and research. I am a spiritual person, but not a regular church attendee. I have strong beliefs with regards to God, I love to sing, though not particularly well, I enjoy a good sermon and I say my prayers every night. But I have never had the opportunity to apply my dance to my spiritual life. Unless I can count the “circle” we do before every performance of my dance troupe. But that somehow seems more superstitious than religious. I spent tons of time looking at video online and reading everything I could about liturgical dance. I asked other dancers if they had ever seen or performed Liturgical dance. None of my current friends had. Though I remember a short conversation with a colleague years earlier, regarding liturgical dance. Her mother was being consecrated a bishop and she was going to dance for the service, to that end she was borrowing some white toga-style costumes I had left over from a production. When I asked her what one does for liturgical dance she said, “It doesn’t matter, you just make something up.” Not unlike many folks approach to belly dance. It’s not true about belly dance, is it true about Liturgical dance? My heart hoped so, but my brain said, “Highly unlikely.” Although I am classically trained, my professional dance career has been in Belly Dance and my friend had to reassure her worship committee that I would not appear on Sunday morning in a beaded bra and belt ensemble with a slinky skirt and Cleopatra makeup. I made it clear that I would opt for a long, full gown with big sleeves. I think that went a long way to easing their minds, but not mine. So, armed with what information I could dig up, my faith and a type-A personality, I agreed to give liturgical dance a try. I was frankly terrified. . I added wanting to do it exactly right to my list of expectations of myself. Having no idea what was exactly right in the first place. God expects perfection, doesn’t he? Luckily the Reverend chose a piece of music that spoke to me, a beautiful violin arrangement of a very simple hymn: O, Sing to Our God. The song had a decidedly gypsy sound and was heartbreakingly beautiful. The first verse quiet and slightly sad, the middle verse upbeat, romping and joyful like a quick waltz, and the third swelling to burst with longing and the sweetness of surrender. I spent a week working with the music, trying out sequences of movement that the music inspired in me. I downloaded the lyrics, to avoid misinterpretation on my part. I played the song on repeat while I did housework. The swirling of violins from sad to happy to sad again causing my husband to surface from his writing office looking for the band of bi-polar gypsies he was sure I had invited into our home. I finally came up with a loosely choreographed structure with room for momentary inspiration and left the rest to God. Because I was so nervous I wanted Reverend Catherine to vet the piece, to make sure it fit with the vision she had for the service. I did not want to offend the congregation’s sensibilities with something too avant-garde. I did not sleep the night before I was to show it to her, and I stressed myself into a lovely cold sore. Nice. That should improve my looks for Sunday. Apparently, God has a sense of humour after all. When I was obsessing about this to a friend she noted, “You know, God sees you dance every time, no matter where you are.” Which got me to thinking, since I do believe that God does see me whenever I dance, or do anything at all for that matter, what was my problem? It finally hit me during a coffee conversation with my husband, it wasn’t God’s reaction I was afraid of . . . it was his followers. Having identified the source of my fear, I decided to dance for God alone and let the congregational chips fall where they may. I danced the piece for the Catherine on the Tuesday before the special service, that way if she hated it, or it was completely unsuitable or even if she only had a few notes for me, I would have nearly a week to fix it. I wanted that perfection, still. I felt like I was going to an audition. I confessed my nervousness to her, and she was so supportive and kind that my reluctance gave way a little. She liked the piece. When she said she found it very moving the weight of the world fell away from my shoulders. How easily she relieved me of my self-imposed burdens with that simple phrase. Suddenly I was looking forward to Sunday. Sunday dawned crisp and sunny. I was so excited to be dancing today! I got to church early to do a sound check. The Reverend checked in with me, asking if I was nervous, I seemed a little hyper. I told her it was coffee. I had stayed up too late and then compensated with a little more than my usual three cups. I don’t think she believed me, but I was feeling excited and thrilled to be given this opportunity, my resistance to the idea was long gone. I don’t think she even knew she was the one who took it away. Nothing prepared me for what happened at the actual service. The Old Testament reading was about God’s hand covering Moses so he would not be struck dead by seeing the divine countenance. The sermon was about suffering and giving. Catherine spoke about how being a good person does not prevent bad things from happening to one, but good or bad you can live in God’s grace while they happen. She spoke about living your life to a higher purpose than yourself, aligning your will with that of your God. I became lost in listening to the message of the sermon; my friend is a gifted orator, her faith is palpable. Ministry is where she belongs. Then a voice in the back of my head said, “Dancing is where you belong.” I almost looked over my shoulder to see who was talking, as if I didn’t know. All of a sudden it was time for me to dance. With the dazzling autumn sunshine streaming into my eyes through the windows as if between God’s fingers, I let myself be taken over by the music and the moment and the spirit. I danced without fear. I danced without restriction. I danced without hiding behind a fancy costume or heavy makeup. I danced without expectations. I was transported. Suddenly the song was over and I had no idea if I had stuck with the carefully vetted choreography or not. What I did feel was a sweet euphoria of peace and a presence of the divine in my life. I had finally spoken to God in my favourite language. I feel very sure God heard me.
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When my friend, Catherine Mac Donald, who is in ministry with the