At Least Fundamentalists Sing and Dance

When I was younger and newer to faith my beliefs were simple and my reactions emotional to much of what happened at church. I had no qualms in raising my hands, dancing and jumping around, saying things like "hallelujah" and "yes, Lord" in the middle of worship songs. Call it age (maturity?), call it less faith, call it whatever you want, but I don't do that anymore.

I think in many ways my faith has changed and not always for the better. I miss the emotion; perhaps I relied on it too much in my youth, but I miss it nonetheless. I am smarter now, better read, even a better man in a number of ways, but I still can't help feel like I am missing something.

This was heavily on my mind as I read a section of Chaim Potok's The Promise (a follow-up to The Chosen, a book many of us probably read in high school) this past week. Potok was a Jewish novelist whose novels tended to focus on the collision of faith and the burgeoning systems of thought--sociology, psychology, anthropology, etc.--that marked the twentieth century. I do not know how devout Potok was in his Judaism, but he is a humane writer in the very best sense of the word and has compassion on all of his characters across the spectrum of Jewish religiosity. 

The particular scene that stuck out was an engagement ceremony between the son of a highly regarded Hasidic rabbi and the daughter of a mostly nonobservant family. After the formalities of the engagement are completed, the tables and chairs of the synagogue are moved to the side and the party begins. For hours, these highly devout, highly fundamentalist Jews sing and dance and drink wine. The narrator is more moderate in his beliefs but both he and his father leave the event in awe of what they have witnessed.

In processing the event as they walk home, Rueven, the son, tells his father that despite the beauty of the evening "[w]e can't ignore the truth, abba." In other words, it was fun to get swept up in the emotion of the evening, but let's not get carried away: what these fundamentalists believe is wrong. His father replies: "'No,' he said. 'We cannot ignore the truth. At the same time, we cannot quite sing and dance as they do. He was silent a moment. 'That is the dilemma of our time, Reuven. I do not know what the answer is.'"

I dwelled on those words--"we cannot sing and dance as they do." I feel that way. I cannot sing and dance as I used to, as I know other people now still can. It is not that the substance of my belief has changed dramatically--if anything, I am far more aware of the doctrinal claims I am making these days. It is simply that whatever emotion bound up in simple faith allowed those expressions in my youth is mostly dried up. What good is liberation to a higher truth if it prevents you from singing and dancing?