Sunday, September 8, 2013


I guess I have never loved my body much. Taking that from a societal place, I have never felt like I had the body the market driven economy celebrates (yes, we could go on about the validity of that celebration....but this really is not so much about that).  One of the joys I take from running is sort of a body joy, a hey-lookie-what-this-body-can-do kind of pride.  And I recognize that ability as God-given. I am grateful.

Similarly, I spent a lot of years sort of non-plussed by my body as something to share in intimacy. My own insecurities about my physical self, paired with a lot of lifetime messages rooted in Puritanism, seasoned with some relationship woes make for something of a lackluster sex life. Frankly that didn't enhance my understanding that this body is beautiful, unique, wonderful, created for purpose.

This weekend has reminded me of the joy and opportunity of being embodied. Today, we set yoga to a piece of praise music (please take that descriptor as it is meant - a piece of music focused on praising God. Period. The end. No genre cliche implied). I found myself crying. I have never felt the freedom or the call, come to think of it, to embody praise. And doesn't that possibility turn worship on its ear in the average mainline Protestant church! 

Now I "know" this on some level. I "know" that worship well-planned engages people's hearts, minds AND bodies. 

And I know that the ability for an entire congregation to embrace any single physical form of worship is limited, possibly impossible.  

But I was transformed. I suddenly "got" liturgical dance. I understood in a whole new way how my body was an expression...of love, of joy, of power. And sometimes of grief, anger, or fear. And I think I have spent far to much time inside a body trying to hide or better at expressing fear and pain than one expressing joy and thanksgiving.

So bring it on. This body is made in love, for love, for the good of the Kingdom.

Thanks be to God.

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