Three women performing a traditional Rwandan dance at a wedding.
We’re in a room of 200 people, maybe closer to 300 as the service gets underway. The vaulted ceilings are brought low with ribbons of pink and green fabric draped from beam to beam. An African anthem is rising around me; complete with foot stomping, hand clapping, questionable keyboard, and the most beautiful harmonies. Since I’m preaching today, my vantage point in the front of the room just off to the side of the platform let’s me soak in the whole celebration of dancing, singing and rejoicing. There’s freedom here that’s hard to come by in western churches.
I watch as a woman in a knee length, white and red patterned dress comes forward and takes the mic for a time of testimonies—a space to share with each other what God is doing in our lives. She begins speaking in Kinyarwanda and as her words are translated into English I hear her heart for Jesus overfow.
She doesn’t have much, she says.
No money for an offering.
No material gift she can give to the God who has been so good to her.
But, what she does have, is a dance.
As I soak in this moment, the church begins clapping a steady beat, two women stand and start singing a song of praise on behalf of the woman in the white dress. She smiles wide and her body twists in the most beautiful ways as she rejoices with literally all that she has. Her arms raise high on either side of her head in imitation of the wings of a crane—she’s offering the Lord a traditional Rwandan dance.
I love that when words fail, dance provides unique language for stories to unfold. Like the brush of a painter, or the clay of a potter, the movements of our bodies express what our words sometimes fail to convey: intense joy or severe sadness, moments of excitement and celebration, remarkable moments or mundane moments—all translate through motion.
As this sweet woman danced, as she offered all she had to the Lord, it turned into an overflow of praise, spreading throughout the entire congregation like a rush of blood through vains. As this woman danced, her joy and deep love for the Father became contagious, pouring out of her fingertips. When she stepped out in obedience, deeper connection with the Father was found; and she helped others find it, too. When she gave what she had, the Lord multiplied it.
You know that story in the Bible about the loaves and fishes? Jesus was up on a mountain with more than 5,000 people who followed Him there, because they knew He had good stuff to say and they wanted to hear it. Jesus wanted to feed them, but neither Him nor the disciples had the resources to provide food for that many people. There happened to be a boy with a meager dinner of 5 barley loaves and two fish. We always say the boy “offered” up his lunch, but the story doesn’t explicitly say this, so maybe it was more of a, “Hey kid, can Jesus have your dinner?” situation, and what’s a kid supposed to say to that? I don’t really know the details, but I do know Jesus ended up with the 5 loaves and the 2 fish and made it enough to feed over 5,000 people plus leftovers.
Because that’s just what Jesus does; He takes the little we have and makes it more than enough.
I heard a wise pastor share about this story once, saying,
“When we put all that we have into God’s hands, it’s no longer our responsibility to make it enough. It’s God’s responsibility to make it enough—and He will.” -J.K. Warrick
When the boy gave up what he had, his loaves and fishes, Jesus made it more than enough. When the woman in the white and red patterned dress gave her dance, it became more than enough, because she offered it to Jesus. When we give the Lord what we have, we can trust that He’ll make it enough.
His fullness always covers our lack.
