United Church in the Valley: Sept. 11, 2016

Student Minister: Matthew Heesing

“We Keep Dancing!”

Scripture Readings: Psalm 30 and 2 Samuel 6: 1-5, 12-22

Psalm 30 (Voices United #757)

Response: Though tears flow for a night, the morning brings new joy

I will extol you, O God, for you have lifted me up;

you have not let me enemies triumph over me.

O God, my God, I cried to you for help,

and you restored my health.

You brought me back from the dead;

you saved my life as I was going down to the Grave.

Let all your servants sing praises to you,

and give thanks to your holy name.

Your anger is but for a moment,

but your kindness is life eternal.

Refrain.

In my prosperity I said,

“I shall never be shaken;

your favor, O God,

has made me as firm as any strong mountain.”

You turned your face away from me,

and I was greatly dismayed.

I called to you; I made my appeal:

“What profit is there in my death,

in my going down to the Grave?”

Will the dust give you praise?

Will it proclaim your faithfulness?

Hear, O God, and be gracious to me;

O God, be my helper.

Refrain.

You turned my mourning into dancing;

you stripped off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

so that my heart will sing your praise without ceasing.

O God, my God, I will give thanks to you forever.

Refrain.

2 Samuel 6: 1-5, 12-22 (Adapted from multiple translations):

“David gathered all the chosen men of Israel, thirty thousand in total.

Together with his soldiers, David headed out to recover the Ark of the Covenant.

He wanted to bring it from Baalah, in Judah, to the city of Jerusalem.

They carried the Ark of the Covenant on a brand-new cart,

and brought it out of the house of Abinadab.

Uzzah and Ahio, the sons of Abinadab, were driving the new cart with the ark of the Covenant. Ahio went in front; Uzzah remained behind.

David and the whole community of Israel were dancing before the Lord with all their might, singing at the top of their lungs,

playing mandolins, and tambourines, harps, castanets and cymbals,

forming a great parade.

[But along the way, a tragedy occurred:

Uzzah, son of Abinadab, died, right beside the Ark.

So David refused to take the Ark one step further.

Instead, he removed it off the road, and brought to the house of Obed-Edom.]

After three months, David returned to bring the Ark of the Covenant

from the house of Obed-Edom and continue to Jerusalem.

With great joy, and wearing only a linen cloth around his waist,

David danced before the Lord with great abandon.

The whole country was with him,

joining along with shouts of celebration and the sound of trumpets.

But as the Ark came into the city, Michal, Saul’s daughter, looked out of the window,

saw King David leaping and dancing, and she despised him in her heart.

They brought in the Ark, and set it in its place, inside the tent that David had pitched for it,

and David offered sacrifices and fellowship offerings to the Lord.

When had finished, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord and handed out to each person in the crowd a load of bread, a date cake, and a raisin cake. Then everyone went home.

Afterward, when David went home to greet his family, Michal came out to meet him.

“The King of Israel made a big name for himself today!” she said,

“He looked like a fool, even in the eyes of your servants!”

David answered,

“In God’s presence, I’ll dance all I want!
I did it to honor the Lord,

who has blessed me, and kept me, and made me the ruler of his people.

And I will keep dancing.

I’ll become even more undignified than this.

I’ll gladly look like a fool, and even my servants will look at me with honor.”

Sermon:

The year was 2011.

The setting was a stadium in South America—

Bogota, Colombia, to be exact,

where I had been living and working for almost four months.

The occasion was the Under 20 FIFA World Cup,

the quarter-final match between Colombia and Mexico.

Thirty-five thousand, five hundred fans

filled the arena for the sold-out event,

the soccer game of the season,

and I was there, taking it all in:

the overwhelming anticipation,

the national pride of the players and the crowd,

the incredible array of Colombia’s colors,

yellow, red, and blue.

And the unbelievable noise:

the buzz of excitement,

instruments and noise makers,

enthusiastic cheers and chants,

spectators singing at the top of their lungs.

The atmosphere was filled with life,

a contagious energy,

where you couldn’t help but get caught up

in the joyful jubilation,

the optimistic outlook,

the dancing in the aisles,

and the deep sense of hope,

that anything was possible.

And then, something happened.

Mexico scored—and again, and again.

In the end, Colombia lost.

The stadium fell silent.

The crowd was stunned,

taken aback with disbelief

at the failure that unfolded in front of their eyes.

It was a national upset, a tragedy to many;

defeated on the field,

disappointed in their dreams,

countless Colombians went home broken-hearted.

But the next day,

a billboard appeared.

Now, throughout the tournament,

there were plenty of signs promoting the World Cup,

and even more advertisements in support of the national team.

But when Colombia was eliminated,

the message on many of the billboards changed,

suddenly proclaiming a simple statement

Written in Spanish, here’s what it said:

“We keep dancing.”

It was true:

almost overnight,

the entire city seemed to shift

from sadness to gladness,

from silence to celebration—

as if the party, the pride, the anticipation,

instead of being cancelled,

had only been paused.

For a short period,

there was pain of loss;

a time to mourn the desires that didn’t come true,

but “though tears flowed for a night,

the morning brought new joy”:

as the billboard proclaimed,
the people kept dancing,

even if it seemed ridiculous,

nonsensical, counter-intuitive,

and kind of foolish,

to keep looking forward when faced with defeat,

to find reason to sing in the midst of sorrow,

to continue dancing, when filled with despair.

“We keep dancing.”

Over three millennia earlier,

another individual also kept dancing:

a man named David.

You might recognize the name from

David and Goliath,

the story of a boy with his slingshot,

who struck down the scary giant.

The story today takes place decades later,

during David’s rise to power as the ruler of Israel—

the chosen people of God.

And part of leading God’s people,

meant protecting and honoring

the Ark of the Covenant,

the place where God was said to reside,

the portable location of the Ten Commandments,

a holy symbol of God’s provision, presence and power.

If you’ve ever seen Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark,

you can picture how important this artifact was

to the identity and future of the Israelite community.

So after a time of political upheaval,

as David consolidates and establishes his kingdom,

he gathers “all the chosen men of Israel,

thirty thousand in total,”

and “together with his soldiers,

[heads] out to recover the Ark of the Covenant,”

to “bring it from Baalah, in Judah,

to the city of Jerusalem.”

Jerusalem is David’s newly-conquered capital city,

and soon to be the central place

for the Israelite people to worship:

to sacrifice, and share, and praise the source of life.

So “They carried the Ark of the Covenant on a brand-new cart,

and brought it out of the house of Abinadab….

David and the whole community of Israel

were dancing before the Lord with all their might,

singing at the top of their lungs,

playing mandolins and tambourines,

harps, castanets and cymbals,

forming a great parade.”

It’s a party!

Like a soccer stadium in South America,

there’s an unbelievable buzz of excitement:

shouting and cheering, chanting and singing,

instruments and noise makers,

moving and dancing,

and a deep sense of hope.

And then, something happens.

As we heard in the reading,

“Uzzah, son of Abinadab, died,

right beside the Ark.”

And we don’t really know why—

the Ark almost tips over,

Uzzah reaches out to touch it,

and the text says that God got angry,

striking him down,

but that’s simply one way

to interpret the incomprehensible,

to answer the unexplainable,

because in the end,

it’s not clear what happened,

or how or why or for what reason,

Uzzah, son of Abinadab, suddenly died.

But as a result,

the holy parade comes to a halt.

“David refused to take the Ark one step further.

Instead, he removed it off the road,

and brought it to the house of Obed-Edom.”

Because sometimes,

tragedy stops us in our tracks.

In the midst of our most marvelous times,

we can falter and fall, stumble and misstep,

we receive bad news, sad news,

a gut-wrenching story;

we experience defeat and disappointment,

a sudden diagnosis

or unexplained suffering

or unexpected loss

can silence us, stun us,

and send us home broken-hearted.

We’ve all been there.

And we’ve all wondered, what to do next?

In today’s reading,

David returns to the Ark of the Covenant.

Three months later, David comes back:

though tears flowed for many nights,

the morning brought new joy:

“With great joy,” we read,

“and wearing only a linen cloth around his waist,

David danced before the Lord with great abandon.”

David keeps dancing.

And he doesn’t dance alone:

“The whole country was with him,

joining along with shouts of celebration

and the sound of trumpets.”

The party, the pride, the anticipation continues—

and at the front of the procession,

leaping and dancing,

David leads the people onward,

and shows them the way.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes:

a single person’s faith,

the first person to trust,

to take a step forward,

to remember God’s promise

and play the music once more—

reminding us all, in the process,

there’s a reason to keep dancing

with courage and hope and exuberant joy.

For David,

we find his reason in the words of Psalm 30,

written after he arrives with the Ark at Jerusalem.

With this prayer—which we read together—

David dedicates his new temple,

now containing the Ark of the Covenant.

“I will extol you, O God, for you have lifted me up;

you have not let my enemies triumph over me.

O God, my God, I cried to you for help,

and you restored my health….

You turned my mourning into dancing;

you stripped off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,

so that my heart will sing your praise without ceasing,

O God, my God, I will give thanks to you forever.”

David keeps dancing,

for he knows God is faithful,

that God has—and will—lift him up,

that he—and we—are not alone,

for God is with us, and for us,

transforming our mourning, stripping off our sackcloth,

and clothing us with joy,

so that just like David, we too can keep dancing.

“But as the Ark [comes] into the city,

Michal, Saul’s daughter,

[looks] out of the window,

[sees] King David leaping and dancing

and she [despises] him in her heart.”

Without going into detail,

there’s many reasons why Michal, daughter of Saul,

might despise David and his dancing.

Regardless, when the parade comes,

she doesn’t participate,

but watches out the window.

Because it’s easy, isn’t it?

It’s easy to be a skeptical spectator,

staring out with suspicion,

barricaded by our own biases and bitterness,

watching the joyful with resentment

while shaking our heads.

“The King of Israel made a big name for himself, today!”

she says to David, “You looked like a fool, even in the eyes of your servants!”

She has a point:

it seems ridiculous,

nonsensical, counter-intuitive,

and incredibly foolish

to keep looking forward when faced with defeat,

to find reason to sing in the midst of sorrow,

to continue dancing, after dealing with despair.

Some days, it’s embarrassing to hope.

In a world blitzed with tragic sound-bites,

constant reminders of calamity and corruption,

to proclaim God’s presence feels out of place.

Dancing with the spirit doesn’t make sense

when mainline denominations are all in decline;

it doesn’t add up, to announce good news,

when day after day, we are drowned out and ignored.

To dance with great abandon,

to believe in a better future,

to know we go with God—

definitely, without-a-doubt, to the world,

will look foolish.

But in the face of tragedy,

in the aftermath of sorrow,

how will we respond?

Will we stand at the window,

or head to the streets?

Will we jeer and judge from a distance,

or will we join the eternal dance?

David chooses the latter:

to dance with abandon before God, with God,

even in the face of loss,

even if it makes him look like a fool.

“In God’s presence, I’ll dance all I want!”

he proclaims to Michal,
“I did it to honor the Lord,

who has blessed me, and kept me,

and made me the ruler of his people.

And I will keep dancing.

I’ll become even more undignified than this.

I’ll gladly look like a fool,

and even my servants will look at me with honor.”

People of God,

last night we danced.

We held the first—annual?—Old Time Family Dance,

and what an amazing evening it was!

We came together as a community,

filling the Flare and Derrick,

full of the Spirit,

an unforgettable evening of irresistible joy.

And whether you worked up a sweat

or waltzed in spirit,

whether you shawteeshed

or shouted from the sidelines,

whether you sat and listened,

two-stepped or polka’d,

you were part of the dance,

and my question to you is this:

will you keep dancing?

When tragedy hits,

when we are slammed with sorrow,

when something unspeakable, unexplainable occurs,

will we still dance?

Because down the ages,

for millennia and more,

God’s people have always found reason to dance:

to hope and sing,

to celebrate the source of love

who lifts us up,

gives us life,

leads us onward in the dance without end.

We keep dancing.

Even after September 11, 2001,

or shootings in Orlando,

or overseas crises,

we keep dancing.

From floods and wildfires,

failures, fall-outs and financial cuts,

we keep dancing.

Amidst political messes,

personal loss,

struggles of all kinds,

stress and confusion,

we keep dancing

When it looks ridiculous,

when the world stares out the window,

when we are called foolish,

crazy, naïve,

we keep dancing.

For we know that God is with us:

we have reason to hope,

we trust in the one who turns our mourning into dancing,

who strips off our sackcloth and clothes us with joy.

Just like David,

may we dance with abandon,

always, forever,

for we are not alone.

Thanks be to God.