To be a good dancer,
with you as with anyone else, it's not necessary
That we know where it will lead.
We only need to follow,
To be cheerful,
To be light,
And above all not to be stiff.
We don't have to ask you for explanations
About the steps that you choose to take.
We need to be like an extension of yourself,
Quick and alive,
And pick up the rhythm of the music through you.
We must not desire to push ahead at all costs,
But allow ourselves to be spun, to be moved to the side.
We have to know how to pause and slide, and not walk.
And the steps would be rather clumsy
If they were not in harmony with the music.
But we tend to forget the music of your spirit,
And we turn our life into a gymnastic exercise;
We forget that, in your arms, life is something to be danced,
That your Holy Will
Is inconceivably creative,
And all monotony and boredom
Is left to the old souls
Who play the wallflower
In the joyful ball of your love.
Lord, come ask us to dance.
We're ready to dance this errand for you,
These accounts to do, this dinner to prepare, this vigil to keep
When we would prefer to sleep.
We're ready to dance for you the dance of work,
The dance of heat, and later the dance of cold.
If certain melodies are often played in the minor key, we won't tell you
That they're sad;
If others leave us a little breathless, we won't tell you
That they knock the wind out of us.
And if other people bump into us, we'll take it with a good laugh,
Knowing well that that's the sort of thing that happens when you're dancing.
Lord, teach us precisely where,
In this endless novel
Which has begun to unfold between you and us,
The peculiar ball of our obedience takes place.
Strike up the great orchestra of your designs
Wherein everything you allow
Sends its strange music
Into the peace of your will.
Teach us every day to dress
Our human condition
In the dancing gown you love to have us wear
Adorned with all its details, like so many priceless jewels.
Make us live our life
Not like a game of chess, where every move is calculated,
Not like a contest, where everything is difficult,
Not like a math problem, which makes our head hurt,
But like an endless celebration, where our meeting with you is
constantly new.
Like a ball,
Like a dance,
In the arms of your grace,
In the universal music of love,
Lord, ask us to dance.
Madeleine Delbrel. We, the Ordinary People of the Streets (Ressourcement: Retrieval & Renewal in Catholic Thought) (Kindle Locations 956-971). Kindle Edition.
