praying with our feet

open up the doors and let the music play
let the streets resound with singing
songs that bring your hope
songs that bring your joy
dancers who dance upon injustice
((m. smith/ s. garrard, circa 1994)

years ago i had a conversation with a pastor who disagreed with singing the words above in church gatherings because he contended that no one knew what dancing upon injustice was, so why would we invite people to sing words they couldn't embrace?

one could probably say this about pretty much any congregational song, not because of the inaccessibility of the songs but because the more heterogenous the group of people, the greater the likelihood that someone is there who doesn't have a clue... however, perhaps it's the job of everyone else (as per 1 corinthians 14.24-25) to worship so intentionally, so meaningfully that the individuals in their midst who are exploring the faith are challenged to look closer and ask questions.

but what does it mean to dance upon injustice?

a friend of mine used this phrase "praying with our feet' on another blog to attempt to explain the meaning of a smudge walk. nice- occurs to me we should all be doing this more.

joining with our community in a smudge walk, i prayed with my feet this week.

for me, the most impactive moment in the day took place before the walking even began. to hear a father who had lost his son to gang violence speaking words of peace just days before the one year anniversary of his family's great loss was astonishing. to hear him confess that, while his healing journey had not yet taken him to the point where he was able to forgive...

1) he trusts Creator to bring justice and comfort and

2) refuses to vengefully raise his own hand against another son of another and

3) extols all of his friends and family to do the same- i was deeply moved. romans 12.19 came to mind.

and in this moment, i pondered the cost of peace, checking my own balance in the grace column and wondering if, were i to be in this man's shoes, the cheques i wrote with my mouth might all come up NSF in my heart.

i mean, i get so wound up and passionately intense about things that are really very little of a big deal.

example: at the international tattoo celebration (not what we typically think of when we read the word 'tattoo'... google 'saskatchewan international tattoo festival' for more conext) there was a hoop dancer performing for the crowd. surrounding him were dancers fancy dancing and all of this was accompanied by a band of singers and the drum. awesome. stole the show.

but during the intermission, a guy who had been sitting in front of me turned to me and asked 'so what do you think?'

and i, being an idiot in many ways, told him. i reflected upon how magnificent i felt that this portion of the show was...

(tangent: but left out the bit where i was moved to tears by the moment in the show when all these other cultures with their ring-around-the-rosey dances poured onto the floor taking up all the space that had been so luxuriously occupied by the hoop dancer and his troupe until there was just this mass of people all crowding together waving their hands in the air, pressing in and affording the dancers and the drum no room to do anything but stand... now i know we like to celebrate canada as a diverse mosaic and all, but this portion of the show illustrated the cost of our culturally diverse canadian identity. perhaps this is what an aboriginal friend of mine meant on msn last week when he confessed to not actually feeling 'canadian' at all)

... and how it seemed like this performance had owned the room. to this, the guy began to go on and on about how the men around the drum weren't wearing 'ceremonial costumes' and how it looked as though they 'didn't even care enough to dress up' for this show.

there are two things that challenge my grace reserves with limbic system precision: 'rednecks' and the 'religious right.'

so i was in it now and i knew there was no way out because i was all emotionally involved and yet was trying very hard to speak words of peace, not violence, recognizing all the while the bitter taste of argument rising up like bile in the back of my throat.

it didn't help that i love the sound of the singing and the drum- always have. it didn't help that just earlier that day i had been attending the regina version of 'national aboriginal day of action' at the legislative building and had been served a satisfying dose of drum band singing already. it didn't help that i have issues with people imposing their views upon others as to what to wear and what is appropriate in any cultural context- much less contexts that the opinionated may or may not understand deeply enough to offer their 'direction.'

so i pushed back, challenging this guy with the idea that perhaps this was that chosen 'uniform' for the guys playing the drum. i invited him to look at the orchestra and note that those in the orchestra were dressed neither uniformly, nor in culturally distinctive colours and patterns- that they were dressed as people in an orchestra 'should dress' for an event like this... bla bla bla- who cares?

my wife just rolled her eyes and went to buy a coke for our son. no guilt by association here! ha ha.

now take this ridiculous situation and line it up beside the experience of this father whose home had been broken into and whose son had been killed while sleeping... suddenly all that other stuff feels like far too much about far too little.

we read paul's words in ephesians 6.15 about having our feet shod with readiness to walk the gospel of peace.

we sing about dancers dancing upon injustice in a song called 'did you feel the mountains tremble?'

praying with our feet indeed.