As a boy in the early 70s I was sent to ballroom dancing lessons, and was part of a formation dance team for a short while.

It's something I wish that I'd kept up.

I remember the thrill of getting the timing and the footwork just right, and the ease with which we crossed the ballroom floor.

Sometimes, worshipping my Creator and Saviour can feel like an intimate, flowing dance - spiritually more than physically.

I wrote this poem trying to capture that sensation.

Gospel dance

I know a God, almost
too lovely to behold.
He stirs in me
in more ways than one
wonder. I gaze into his face
and I can gauge his grace
in the way his body moves
with mine and by how
he embraces me bone and soul.
His gentle, generous whispers
infuse within me and he strokes
my spirit back to life.
Then at my dawn in his arms
I’m turned and immersed
in gifted innocence as I’m sated
by his thick milk and the sweet fruit of his vine.
Together, we sway
to slow angel-song
and he tutors me in timeless arts, 
teaching me sweeping steps
and arousing in me
old senses. And so, 
hand in hand
I’m released,
liberated to know him
and to run with him
and to dance in step
- for - an - eternity.

So good people of Ealing,  do you want to dance? If so, I've found the perfect partner.