Dancing in the aisles.

I watched the people in my Parish dance at Mass last Sunday. No, they didn't boogie in the aisles or cha-cha around the altar. They simply did what they do every week, but this time, I watched them with different eyes.

The idea of liturgical dance has been around for several thousand years in Judeo-Christian history, at least since King David leapt and danced before the Ark of the Covenant (2 Sam 6). But some religious traditions have a stronger history of dancing in worship than others; think of the whirling dervishes, for example, or the Quakers, Shakers, and nature dancers among Native Americans.

In recent years, some Catholics have tried to revive dance as a way of expressing a joy that goes beyond singing, but they haven't had much success. Here and there, at an experimental liturgy or special Mass, someone will try to dance before the Lord. I have to admit that it usually looks rather odd for women (I have yet to see a man do it), often dressed in diaphanous robes, to prance balletically around the church, and I know I'm not alone in that assessment. But then I wonder: Is our hesitant, even scornful, reaction the dancers' problem, or the scorners'?

Why is it strange for someone to dance in church, but it's not strange to break into song? Aren't these both ways of physically expressing feelings of love of God, happiness in worship, and involvement in the liturgy? When Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers switch from singing about their love for each other to dancing about it, no one finds it puzzling. So why should it be disconcerting for us to watch as someone uses her body in motion to display her affection for God? Maybe we would be more receptive if we realized that dancing of a less formal sort goes on all the time in church, as I discovered when I opened my eyes at Mass recently. All of us are dancing in the pews already, using our arms and legs in rhythmic motions, often to music and sometimes a cappella. If you don't believe it, then look around you next Sunday. You will see:

* People rising in unison from their seats as the Mass begins, the way a line of dancers leaps together in a ballet;

* Catholics moving their arms and hands in graceful (and grace-full) gestures as they make the sign of the cross together, their limbs moving in arcs around their bodies;

* Parishioners touching their foreheads, lips, and hearts at the gospel, tracing a line of small crosses along their upper torsos like Balinese dancers;

* Congregants reaching out at the sign of peace the way square dancers perform a do-si-do, their arms outstretching and their bodies leaning;

* Worshipers rising, kneeling, sitting, and rising again throughout the Mass in a series of choreographed maneuvers that unite them physically and spiritually.

The problem for most of us is that we never have the right angle to notice all of this Sunday dancing. The priest does; he is looking out at the movers (if not the Shakers) as they go through their routines like dancers at the bar. If you have ever stood on the altar as a rector or eucharistic minister, then you too have witnessed the Catholic cotillion that goes on every weekend, undetected but real.

If we think about it, we are all part of a chorus line of Catholicism, which has always included body movement as part of its worship and sacraments: chalices being lifted up with all the grace and adoration of a male dancer hoisting a ballerina; babies being held out over the baptismal waters, suspended in air like miniature Gene Kellys; seminarians stretched prostrate along the sanctuary during ordination, the way a line of tap dancers falls to the floor in splits, only to rise again to applause.

All of this movement is as common as stillness in private prayer. We don't think of our action as dance, but that's what it is. Every Sunday, we lift our hands, shift our feet, and move our bodies before the tabernacle of the Lord. As he watches us, I'll bet God doesn't think it's odd. After all, God's probably saying: "That reminds me of David before the Ark, and I find it very pleasing."

By James Breig, editor of The Evangelist, the newspaper of the Albany, New York diocese, and author of The Emotional Jesus: How to Feel Good About Feelings (23rd Publications, 1996).