Balcony Backslider…

I  was absent from the balcony, row 2, center section last Sunday.   Instead,  Betsy and I slept in, then went to meet our daughter and her friend for a brunch in Carrboro.  For  those outside the area, Carrboro is the “hippie” village at the outskirts of Chapel Hill, N.C.   As a friend of mine says, “you know you are in Chapel Hill on a Sunday morning if everyone is out mowing their lawn.”    In Carrboro, you know you are there on a Sunday morning if everyone is under the big shade tree in front of Carrboro Mill Mall jiving to a jazz band.

Kids were dancing, led by a bearded man with flowers in his hair.  He reminded me of the professional dancer I met while I lived in Barranquilla, Colombia.  The dancer had returned from New York for his Uncle Clarence’s funeral.  Uncle Clarence’s ashes had been kept on a shelf for a year or two awaiting the day when the nephew could return to pay homage and dance for his uncle.   Having been Uncle Clarence’s chaplain during his hospitalization, I was invited to be the presiding minister at the funeral service, or funeral dance, as it turned out.   It seems the nephew had prepared not just one dance, but had choreographed Uncle Clarence’s entire life.   Uncle Clarence lived  ninety years  and  I feel certain that the dancer did not leave out a single month of his long, eventful life.   By the time the choreographed life of Uncle Clarence concluded, the nephew appeared close to exhaustion.  Automated electronic defibrillators had not been invented, else I would have gone for one .  The crowd  appeared to need an AED as well, but showed signs of  life as they began drooling at the sight of sandwiches and cold drinks that had been brought to the table in the adjoining room.   I took their glances away from me and toward the food as an indication that enough homage had been paid Uncle Clarence and it was time to move on in life.  Forget the sermon!

I missed the beautiful and inspiring worship and my balcony seat under the rose window at First Baptist Church last Sunday.  It was communion Sunday which I love.   But I have to confess that my spirits were lifted as I communed under the shade tree with the jazz band, my family, the dancing stranger, and the memories of  Uncle Clarence’s funeral dance.  Even though I was balcony backsliding, it really felt a lot like worship to me as the practices of music, dance, community, memory, and a concluding trip to the ice cream parlor lifted my heart and made me glad.