Movement...a pondering about couch potato-ing in church

You and I were conceived in movement...
Even the sperm delightedly raced
to be one with the egg.
The victory dance began life...
In the womb, we frolicked and squiggled,
our bodies formed and began to explore these dark confines
these strange appendages.
We delighted to imprint our feet on our mother's bloated belly...
and each time we kicked,
we'd feel a warm hand, sometimes two,
come to marvel, delight
receive.
When we came out of the womb we wriggled...
expressing our discomfort, our shock, our exposure
and vulnerability.
We suckled, waggled, learned to smile, cry,
and wave our hands in joyful delight
as some ridiculous human tried to entertain us with cooing and
tickling and unintelligible sounds.
We learned to crawl - sometimes just backwards at first.
We learned to pull ourselves up,
take some steps,
fall,
pull ourselves up,
and before long we were being chased by mom and dad
as we toddled in discovery of our new world.
Within our first five years we delightedly ran,
did cherry drops,
climbed, swung
hop, skipped and jumped our way
on the playground
while pretending to be monkeys, pirates
and Spiderman.
Loud frolic - laughter, breathing, panting...
imagination,
full joy in the present moment.
Nothing much else mattered.

Movement gave us life...and enjoyment of participating in our world
movement gave us life...the ability to express our discomforts
or dreams.

Then we grew up...
and went to church.
And sat
in pews...
sometimes padded, sometimes stiff, archaic benches
seemingly designed for discomfort.
Still and with attentive decorum...
like an incommodious couch potato
observing without necessarily participating...
Unless of course you went to a liturgical church with
standing, kneeling, sitting, kneeling, standing, genuflecting, opening
a hymnal, a prayer book, another hymnal
kneeling, bowing
All in drole unison.
Boredom...for lack of movement...
lack of invitation to discover, laugh, cry
imagine.
Quintessential couch potatoes...
(now if only we had a remote control to fast forward
through
the preacher's homily.)
We sat ...trying not to squirm or swing our legs that
did not yet reach the floor so as not to
incur the wrath
of a disappointed brow.
We dared not giggle at the soloist's mis-pitched high note.
Instead we endured.
Until mom and dad went up for communion,
then Scotty and I would blow up my mom's gloves -
and giggle with a hushed glee
That's what I remember from church...


At church
We are nice...
proper...
orderly
still.

We are conceived in movement,
discover our world and bodies with movement,
are released to play and frolic and get out our energy...
in appropriate places...

I'm confused...when did worshiping the One
Who created us to move
become so staid...
so blandly potato-ish?


mybodyreFresh is a sister blog to www.mysoulrefresh.blogspot.com