Mourning and Dancing

There is a time for everything... "a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." (Ecclesiastes 3:4).

It had been a long seventy years, but finally the dark days were over. The people, or some of them anyway, were back home in the land God had promised their forefathers. And, best of all, the place of worship—the Temple—was now going to be rebuilt. It seemed as if everyone had turned out for the ceremony led by Ezra, the priest. Everyone wanted to be able to say they had been there when the foundation stone was laid.

But many, when they arrived and learned what the plans for the new Temple looked like, were concerned. It wasn't as big or as grand or as glorious as the one they had before, the one Solomon built. It felt like a downgrade. But it was what they could afford. It was what they could build at this time. Others were just glad that there was going to be a Temple, any Temple, as a centerpiece for their worship, a home for their faith. And so, as the foundation stone was laid, as Ezra read the liturgy, as the trumpets, cymbals and singers celebrated, some wept loudly. In fact, it was said that the mourning and the rejoicing were difficult to distinguish, so loud was the sound from both. There was weeping and laughing, mourning and dancing, all intermingled. And the sound was heard far away (see Ezra 3:7-13).

There is a time to mourn. And there is a time to dance.

Friday was a time to mourn. The disciples all knew it. They felt it in their bones. Their teacher had been taken from them suddenly the night before, while they were praying in the garden, and now he was on trial. He had slipped out of sticky situations before, but this time, somehow, they just knew he wouldn't be able to this time. The grip of Rome was too strong. The intent and desire of the Jewish leaders was too pronounced. Besides that, they had had Judas helping them all. And sure enough, as the day progressed, their fear turned into mourning as they watched the last moments of his life ebb out on the cross. When the spear pierced his side, and blood and water flowed, they knew it was over. The women made sure he was buried, but the arrival of the Sabbath, a time when they could do no work, prevented them from the hard work of mourning. That would have to wait until Sunday.

Sunday.

The day when their mourning would turn to dancing. The day unexpected things began to happen. The day new life began to break out unhindered into the world. The disciples knew then the truth of Psalm 30:11: "You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy" (NLT).

There is a time to mourn. And a time to dance.

My daughter is a dancer. She has been since she was three. For twelve years, I've been to dance recitals and showcases and practices and competitions. I can't tell you the number of times I've seen her dance. And she doesn't just dance. She is a dancer. It's in her blood. I believe even if she quit participating on her team or taking any sort of dance instruction she would still dance. Because she doesn't just dance. She is a dancer. It's who she is.

And I've noticed something. She can have the most difficult day, the greatest challenge (to her) in her life...and there is still the dance. There is something soothing, comforting, helpful in the predictable routine of the dance. Don't let anyone fool you. Even those who dance "free style" are still following a pattern, deeply ingrained patterns and movements they have learned over many years. The order of the dance may be different, but it's the dance itself, locked up inside a person, that longs to come out. It's the dance, the predictable routines, the beauty and the grace, that brings joy out of mourning, hope out of sorrow, life out of death.

There is a time to mourn.

And there is a time to dance.

Thank God for the dance.