Turn and open. Turn--real action--then assume the posture of welcoming, receiving--an action of a different kind. Turn and open. I’m imagining the movement of faith, not just the direction but the flow, the choreography of this particular dance. We learn all kinds of dances in our lives. Young children enter the dance of their particular family and learn how to move around a problem or to move into the middle in efforts to mediate it. Or, they simply learn how to claim center stage ... and hang on! Then they go off to school and learn the steps there.

In formal settings, like an awards banquet, or a clear hierarchical structure, like the military, the dance steps are written out and the order is clearly established. You may not like it all the time, but you are usually clear about where to stand and what steps to take. Clear rules and strict hierarchy are maddening for some, comforting for others. And if you ever wonder about the pull of these dances, consider the fact that some Russians are nostalgic for Stalin.

The movement of faith: more of a dance or akin to a march? Is it a mad dash or a walk?

Years back I remember being in a reception to meet the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church. After the formal line and greetings I thought that the event shifted into a less formal gathering and, acting like a Protestant American, with all our egalitarian values, I was prepared to move through the room and extend some additional greetings. Then I noticed that all the Orthodox priests, while no longer in a formal line, were still situated in the room in hierarchical order; metropolitans closer to the patriarch, then bishops and other priests more at the edge. I was mistaken in the supposed informality. “So,” I thought to myself, “this is how you do the dance, Orthodox style.”

I don’t think that the choreography of the faith calls for a march, even though there are times when part of church life feels like a long march. Some make it out to be a run, taking on the more frequent gait of the culture at large. Many do seem to be on a breathless kind of run. This became clear to me this week as I had a series of phone calls with a particular (not to be named) set of offices within one institution. Everyone I talked with had a similar harried breathlessness in their voice. It wasn’t just that they were busy (my, most of us are busy), it seemed that they had taken on a particular dance, a way of doing work--running, breathless. I judged that it was a dance that had its own life and wasn’t driven by the necessity of the moment, so I took a different pace. I slowed down, was deliberate, careful, even friendly and, what do you know, persons on the other end of the line slowed down as well. I felt a bit sorry for them, what with being all caught up in a race that seemed out of proportion to the demands of the moment. Certainly, there are times when any one of us needs to run, but a never-ending dash ... not the best way to choreograph the movement of life or faith.

I trust, as well, that faith is not the endless grind of pushing an impossible weight up a never-ending hill. It is not the dance of Sisyphus that we are about.

I’m imagining a movement that is based upon a turn and an opening. Actually, that is what baptism is all about. We turn, then we stand open. We have to turn towards God and literally show up, whether it be Jesus at the Jordan or all of us at the font. We need to take the effort to turn towards God. In the midst of a day when we are surprised by an idea or startled with a moment of beauty, we need to decide if we’ll turn towards it or simply let it go by. The movement of faith involves a turning, a showing up.

Then we take an open posture. A key to the dance of faith is that we stop doing, forcing and trying to create and simply open up--open ourselves to what can come from God. For all of us who are pretty good at doing, acting, planning or producing, this is the hard part.

In the account from Matthew we are told that Jesus sought out John the Baptist. He went to John at the Jordan and presented himself for baptism. In the history of the church there have been great debates about the greater (Jesus) presenting himself to a lesser (John), a debate that doesn’t interest me at all. Hierarchy seems to miss the point. Rank isn’t the issue. The movement, modeled by Jesus, is what interests me. Jesus’ movement was a turn towards God and then a posture of openness to receive from God. In the story of Jesus’ baptism there was a remarkable blessing: “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

This sense of openness and grace-filled receiving is the reason why we baptize babies. When a little one is presented at the font it is more than obvious that this child has done nothing to earn or deny the love of God or the love of this community of faith. The child simply exists; and because of her existence as a child of God we stand at the font making promises and seeking God’s blessing. For us, it is about showing up; for the child, it is all about receiving.

Similarly, the movement of faith is to turn and to open. We turn towards God, then open ourselves to receive. We turn and welcome, turn and ... let’s stop for a moment. This sounds good, but isn’t easy! We do all kinds of things other than stopping and taking an open posture. Some of you might well remember the dance called “duck and cover.” It is a dangerous world out there. When the sirens ring, duck under the desk and cover your head. And, when the other sirens sound - anger, hate, fear--many still duck and cover. Deep within our DNA there is the natural response to fight or flee when there is trouble. If not a fight, then there is just plain ol’ running ... to be a step ahead ... of the opposition, of the bills, of the dark side of one’s own soul. Turn, stop, and open? That is a bit risky. What happens if no one is there? You can get blind sided if you’re staring off to the heavens in the midst of a race.

I know that the Bible has a positive reference to running the good race, but I fear that we Americans are stuck on racing as the only way to live. We need a new step, one that includes the turn and the open. But that is risky and fear gets in the way; fear, our biggest enemy.

John Buchanan takes a broad look at fear in his opening essay of the current issue of “The Christian Century.” Since 9/11 we have perfected the posture of running in fear. Certainly the dangers are real but look what the race of fear has also produced: a rush to war based on inaccurate information; the isolation of America in the world; a justification of torture that even a conservative like John McCain reminds us that we would never tolerate in our enemies. Yet fear pushes and we run, even when we know that running in fear is not the most helpful posture. This past September Thomas Friedman wrote that “9/11 has made us stupid.” He continues: “I honor and weep for all those murdered that day. But our reaction to 9/11, mine included, has knocked America off balance and it’s time to get things right again.... In the wake of 9/11 we need new precautions. But we also need our old habits and sense of openness.” It was Robert Frost who once said, “There’s nothing I’m afraid of like scared people.”

All of us know of fear... of conflict with a loved one, of poor health, of troubles with work, of opposition or real enemies. There are a variety of ways to script the movement when in trouble, stress or fear. Duck and cover is one. Run, run, run is another. And Jesus went down to the waters of the Jordan. He turned towards God, then opened himself to receive.

Openness is the key posture of faith--open to learn, to grow, to receive. It is not the most natural response: fight or flee are first reactions. Running, fixing, doing are the next most common. But the movement of faith, as Jesus showed us, is to turn and to open, turn towards God and stand ready to receive. It is the way we script the dance: turn, open.