What is Life but a vast performance as on a stage? Who are we but scriptwriters, choreographing our moves in a dance of beauty each to their own? The rhythm of us stings our ears as we strive this dance… giving, taking, now delivering grace.
Or was it spite?
There is a sacred space between us… actor and acted upon… crowd and performer… me and you.
That space is the Spirit of God, not in entirety but at least in part. We might not like it much, in fact we often don’t. It is easier and more comfortable to label and judge than it is to dwell there for long. It is easier to label and cast aside than it is to dwell in that unstable place where much is risked and little is guaranteed.
But dwell there we must; or surely we will die. And I’m not just being poetic.
Life is a stage and we all are actors. Every refusal to engage this sacred space is a refusal of the dramatic rendering of life as God intended; which is a certain kind of death (and we choose death far more often than we might admit).