Dancin’
I have admitted to, and have written about, my lack of
musical skills. Both of my parents
played in their respective high school bands.
My mother even played in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade in the 1930’s
– a feat duplicated by my youngest son and my daughter when they were in high
school. I have musically inclined
grandchildren who play the violin, piano, sax and trumpet.
I can’t make music in any fashion. I personally admit that my voice is
officially baritone monotone, and perhaps not even as soothing as that sounds. When I was younger I used to be able to
whistle a recognizable tune or two, but about the best I can do these days is a
single note that trails off with my breath.
I also used to “play my hands” – a semi-odd ability to cup both hands
together and blow into them though a small gap between my thumbs. I used to be able to sound enough like a
mourning dove to call real ones in close, but arthritis has robbed me of that
talent as well.
As I have no feel for music, the one thing I have definitely
avoided most of my life is dancing. Every
attempt has left me feeling awkward and embarrassed. I do know that my wife wishes that I was more
interested and willing to dance, but the best I’ve ever managed is to sway to a
slow love song. Unfortunately, at most
dances the majority of people want to dance to something upbeat, so even our
sway opportunities are limited.
The last couple of weeks have been challenging in the
diaconate community of the Diocese of Green Bay. I wrote a couple of weeks ago (see Holy
Ground, July 18) about a deacon who I was ordained with 16 years ago who is in
hospice and is on his final journey to the Lord. Today I attended the funeral of another
deacon who was ordained 49 years ago. He
was a model of faith and service.
A fellow deacon and good friend has written, A
Glimpse of Heaven on Earth, to share his own spiritual encounters with Jesus,
especially with Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament. One of the images that he has shared is being
able to see angels gather around the altar as the priest is praying over the
gifts to change them into the most precious Body and Blood of Christ. He describes the angels as sparkling,
glittering and yet transparent enough that he could still see the gifts on the
altar. The angels he describes dance in
unison, something that he describes as swaying.
In the years that I have heard that description I have
always been especially aware at the moment of consecration of the presence of
the angels around the altar. I have
never seen them, but I believe my friend that they are there. And one of the little spiritual gifts that I
have received is to be more aware of the reflections of the priest and I in the
gold of the outside of the chalice.
Today, because of the deacon’s funeral, there were two
deacons and several priests at the altar.
At the elevation I noticed that the whole outside of the chalice was
filled with the reflections of the ministers in the sanctuary. It was as if the chalice was reflecting the
entire gathering of swaying angels. As the
celebrant prayed for the repose of the soul of the deacon, it was easy for me
to imagine him now, gathered in spirit with those dancing angels. I smiled.
There may be hope for me yet. By
the grace of God, maybe there will come a time when I can smile and confidently
shout to Michelle, “Look Shelly, I’m dancing!”
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash
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