Have you ever wondered what it would be like if Jesus came to your worship service? Would you recognize Him? Would Jesus feel welcome? Would you feel uneasy? Or, would the two of you feel at home together? I’ve wondered. He came today and I recognized Him. We both knew we were at home.
Jesus came in the person of my friend, Ronnie. Ronnie is a child of God of fifty-four year of age. He has Down’s Syndrome. As he lives among us he has brought many gifts to our faith community.
He loves to come to church, most often late, for he has lived alone since his mother died. Everyone knows when he enters the church, for he usually comes in talking and greeting various people as he makes his way down the aisle to his front seat. Then he goes though his ritual of removing backpack, glasses on a chain, and his sweater. He hangs them all on the end of his pew. Ronnie’s next priority is to remove his offering from his change purse and to decide whether the offering has been received. Whether it has or not, he walks up the altar, bows, crosses himself and places his offering in the plate.
No matter if the preacher is preaching, the choir is singing, the Scripture is being read, when Ronnie arrives, he follows his regular ritual. He has a way of bringing a presence with him. Apart from his ritual of entrance to the worship service, we are made aware of his presence in additional ways. Some persons become irritated or embarrassed as Ronnie passionately participates in the singing of hymns, or in reciting the creed, or praying The Lord’s Prayer in a loud, piercing voice, trailing several words behind the congregation. Some people feel uncomfortable as Ronnie leaves his pew to greet and welcome people during the greeting time, looks them in the eye, and greets them with a handshake or a bear hug. He says to some of the women as he kisses them on the cheek, “Boy, you sure are pretty.” Others experience his presence throughout the service as they watch, from behind, his body movements coinciding with some of the hymns. It is difficult for Ronnie to be still, for he seems compelled to move to the music within, even when there is no music without.
And some people recognize his presence as a child, remembering Christ rebuked the disciples, saying, “Let the children come to me and don’t hinder them, for to such belongs the Kingdom of God.” Ronnie has been given the gift of opening our eyes to the presence of the childish, selfish child within us. For there are times when we wish Ronnie wouldn’t come to “our” well-designed, well-rehearsed worship service. The service that has become comfortable and does not require much energy, thought, or change!
We don’t want it disturbed!
Yes, Christ came to our Palm Sunday worship service today in Ronnie. I had shared an interpretative dance/movement in the two previous services to the song, The Rose. I seated myself on the second pew near the front and was expectantly awaiting the coming of children waving palm branches as they had done in the earlier services. When the music began and I heard the children, I looked back and what I saw was a beautiful sight! There, in the midst of the children, was Ronnie making his entrance as usual, but today he was waving a palm branch. He was lost in the celebration of Palm Sunday worship. He came and sat in front of me in his usual place and went through his usual ritual. My immediate thought was to ask Nancy (who sits with him most Sundays) to hold onto him when I began my dance, for I felt he would want to dance, too. I know that Ronnie often feels a need to move to music that is within. I momentarily questioned whether it would be appropriate or inappropriate to ask her, and immediately felt uneasy. The matter was decided for me; Nancy got up after the children’s time and went with them to Children’s Church.
As I walked up to the front of the altar where I began the dance, the minister’s words from the two previous sermons rang in my ears. I knew his script well, “Have you ever lost yourself in something? Like the disciples and followers of Jesus did on that first Palm Sunday?” he asked. I was thinking to myself, Yes, I often lose myself when I dance.
In my dancing, I combine some signing as my own personal interpretation to express the meaning of the message in worship I wish to convey with my body. The music and the song began,
Some say love, it is a razor that lead the soul to bleed,
Some say love, it is a hunger, a never ending need,
I say love, it is a flower and you its only seed.
I stepped down from in front of the altar and was on even ground with the rest of the worshippers. As I did, I was interpreting these words:
It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.
At that instant, I became aware that Ronnie was signing what I was singing while he was still seated in his pew. And the song continued:
It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance,
It’s the one who won’t be taken who never learns to give,
It’s the soul afraid of dying who never learns to live.
By this time, Ronnie was up beside me, facing the congregation. He was making every move I made, in sync, in rhythm. It was as though he anticipated; he knew the next move. We were moving together to the music within us.
Our hands touched and momentarily we held hands and the music continued:
When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snow,
Lies the seed that with the Son’s love, in the spring becomes the rose.
The words ended but the piano continued for about twenty beats, like the sound of a heart beating. Our right hands, symbolizing the seed, were extended up and out in front of us, and with each beat of the piano, opened a little more, and more, and more, until they were completely open, symbolizing a rose.
We sat down, but this time I sat on the front pew next to Ronnie. He learned over and kissed me on my cheek and I knew we had been visited by—and I had danced with, and had been kissed by—the Lord of the Dance, Jesus.
Amen and Amen. Let the people of the Dance, say . . . Amen!
Minta McDavid, Author
. . .
When I think of how tough it is for Ronnie to “Get-Up-And-Get-Going” I feel I have found a hero. When I think of how Minta “kept going . . .” I find a model for all of us!
Next week: “Care-giving from Afar.”
