I used to watch WWII movies, and think ‘There’s a war going on. How can they be dancing?’ It was a perfect mid-summer day, and we sat at a picnic table amid dappled sunlight. So much of what my friend said that afternoon echoed in my heart, but these words came complete with illustrations. Of course I’d seen such movies, too; the ones that expertly cut from the front lines to the R&R. Those are always my favorite scenes. I’d get caught up in the nostalgia of the starched uniforms and the brass buttons, and the up-do’s and the bright red lipstick. The beat of the music is defiant and alive. The people are doing what is good and joyful, even in the face of death.
There is no comparison between those days and ours. There doesn’t need to be. My friend and I agreed that the present moment speaks for itself. She said that despite the weight of it all, this time is deliciously inviting. I said that there has never been a period in my life that in which I have been more alive. These days are long and urgent. They are exhausting and depleting. They break my heart open, again and again, and yet somehow it is beating louder than it did when I was young.
Because the calling has never been clearer than it is now. We need to remain grounded in a time of chaos. We need to care for those who have gone over the edge. We need to protect our neighbors – especially now that it might come at a cost. As Methodists say, we need to resist the forces of evil and oppression in whatever form they present themselves. And in the face of evil and oppression, we also must do what is good and joyful, so that our hearts stay soft enough to be broken and strong enough to keep beating.
What is that good and joyful thing for you? Is it looking at the birds? Is a cup of coffee with a friend? Is it gathering in community? Is it walking with a dog? Whatever it is we need to find it, over and over. Because if we are going to stay awake, we need to remember what makes us fully alive.
The rest of that day was long and difficult. There was more bad news, and there were people who had questions that cannot be answered. But that night when I came home, my wife was listening to a love song on our record player. I put down my bag. I slipped off my shoes. I invited her to join me in the kitchen. If there’s a war going on, we better keep dancing.
Parish on Fire 