“…for these reasons I named my truck Ghost Dancing, a heavy-handed symbol alluding to the ceremonies of the 1890s in which the Plains Indians, wearing cloth shirts they believed rendered them indestructible, danced for the return of the warriors, bison, and the fervor of the old life that would sweep away the new. Ghost dances, desperate resurrection rituals, were the dying rattles of a people whose last defense was delusion – about all that remained to them in their futility.”
–William Least Heat Moon, Blue Highways
There are Sundays when my worship is compelled by confidence in Scripture, Christian tradition and the Godhead’s presence. However, there are plenty of other Sundays when standing to sing, reciting the creed and ingesting Jesus feels more like a desperate resurrection ritual than anything else. My prayer is that, whether I shuffle forward in desperation or step smartly with confidence, I will continue to dance*.
* in a completely metaphorical sense, mind you.