My Body Prays
by Vanessa Carlisle
The first time I ever saw liturgical dance in a worship service I remember feeling suspicious. This can't possibly be real church, I thought, because it is way too beautiful and entertaining. There must be something wrong, because I'm really enjoying myself. That Sunday morning, it may have been around Easter, a woman in a white leotard and skirt came down the center aisle of the church. A man with a deep base voice stood in front of the congregation and sang an old spiritual about laying down his burden in front of the Lord. Every time he said that phrase, "I'm gonna lay my burden down," the woman would spin with her head down and her body slack. It was mesmerizing. Her movements were fluid, lovely, emotional, and earnest. I realized that she was praying the whole time, talking to God with her arms, her bare feet, and her heart.
I was a senior in high school. I was active in my church youth group, but nearly always bored by Sunday morning services. I usually daydreamed for the hour, doodling in my church bulletin or counted the blue squares in the stained-glass windows. My real time to worship was with the other high-school kids, at our night meetings. I was often teased for having so much "kinetic energy" — even during those fun high-school meetings I couldn't sit still, and my favorite time was when we sang our worship songs. I played the tambourine and sang loud, and I always ended up dancing, swaying in rhythm with (or often without!) my other friends in our group. I was a dancer outside of church too, taking classes and performing with a Polynesian dance troupe on the weekends. I felt happiest when I was moving.
I always felt that my energy was inappropriate when it came to worship time, because I would get so itchy that I couldn't concentrate on what the pastor was saying. I loved hymns because I got to stand up. I had a difficult time with sermons or lengthy prayers. When I saw that dancer in white, it was revelatory. I realized that there was a way to use my gift for dance to honor God. I had always thought that when it came to worshiping with other people, I'd just have to suffer in stilted silence, doing my best to hold still. That spirit-full dancer showed me that it can be just as beautiful, just as meaningful, and just as communicative to pray in motion, like a hug can mean just as much as the words "I care for you."
I was so excited. I started praying silently before my dance classes, "Please let this next hour be in honor of you, God, and know that I am glorifying your creation with my dance." I was able to make more personal offerings in my prayers by dancing them. I was never worried about what to say or how to say it. And just as a spoken prayer affects those who hear it, my dancing became stronger and more joyful for my audience, because I was dancing from my heart.
Some people find that they are most spiritually alive in silent meditation. Others must sing to feel the power of the Spirit. Then there are the dancers, whose whole bodies can carry a prayer. How beautiful it must be for God, to watch us all.
Vanessa Carlisle danced professionally in Los Angeles before entering the Creative Writing MFA program at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts.
| Book Review: Prayer and Our Bodies | My Body Prays