SHAKIN’ & STIRRED

They worship without words. By moving their bodies – to the rhythms of jazz, the melodies of classical, the beat of rock and sometimes even hula – they praise and give glory to God.

“Movement can be an extremely powerful tool to proclaim the Gospel,” said Judy Mandeville, a dance educator at Whitworth College and Gonzaga University. “By dancing, by moving our legs, our limbs, our torsos, we worship and pray with all of who we are.”

In some circles, dancing at church might sound bizarre or downright unacceptable. Yet sacred dance – the movement of the body for prayer and spiritual growth – has been a form of worship since ancient times.

Dancing in God’s name or as a means to connect with the divine has long been part of many religious traditions including Judaism, Hinduism and Sufism.

Sacred dance also has a history in the Christian church and is mentioned numerous times in the Bible.

For the last decade, students at Whitworth have experienced sacred dance through Jubilation, a student-led dance club that explores the use of dance in worship. Every week, dozens of young people gather in the ballet loft of Whitworth’s field house to dance together and experience God through movement.

“Dance is a universal language through which we can communicate the love of God to all cultures,” according to Jubilation’s mission statement. The club welcomes dancers of all abilities – from people who have never danced before to those who have been trained in ballet, jazz, tap and other forms from the time they learned how to walk.

“When your mind connects to a movement, it becomes a gesture,” said Mandeville, the club’s adviser, who also teaches a sacred dance class. “When your faith connects with a movement … it becomes a prayer.”

For members of Jubilation, dancing is simply another way to express their spirituality. Some people preach. Others sing. Dancers, like 22-year-old Christine Hill, move.

“Sacred dance is dancing from your heart and dancing for God,” said Hill, a senior and Jubilation’s artistic director.

Before each gathering, members of Jubilation gather in a circle to pray. They thank God for their bodies, the ability to move, the opportunity to dance and the friendships that bind them together.

Barefoot and wearing sweats, yoga pants and other loose clothing, they proceed to move their arms, legs, heads and torsos. They jump, spin, sashay across the room. They let go of their inhibitions and simply move to the music to express joy, hope and other emotions.

At first glance, Jubilation’s sacred dance is no different from the movement often seen on stage during a performance of contemporary modern dance, tap and other genres.

The “sacredness” of their dancing, however, lies within, explained 19-year-old BethAnn Najarian. It’s the feeling in their hearts, she said, and the longing of their souls.

That’s what puts the meaning behind the movement, she said. The focus of the dancing is also sacred: It’s in honor of God.

“When I dance, I often think, ‘I love you, Lord,’ ” said Najarian, a senior majoring in English. “This is my prayer to God. I have to dance in order to get it out. … It’s so much a part of who I am.”

The choice of music also plays a role in the sacredness of the dance, Hill explained. While the songs represent various genres and styles, Jubilation chooses music composed by Christian artists with lyrics focused on spirituality and God.

Sacred dance isn’t easy to explain, acknowledged several members of Jubilation. But once people witness their movement, the concept of dance as a form of worship becomes easier to understand, they said.

Most churches have a “neck-up theology of movement,” Mandeville said. People speak, sing or simply bow their heads.

But in our everyday lives, our bodies play a more prominent role, she said. When a little child sees someone they love, they raise their hands and run toward that person, Mandeville pointed out. When fans watch their favorite team score a touchdown, they jump up and down for joy.

“So why not use our bodies to express our love for God?” asked Mandeville and others.

Besides being a form of worship, dancing in God’s name is also a way to discover peace and healing, according to some of the dancers.

Our muscles have memory cells, Mandeville explained. “By posturing our pain, joy, fear and other emotions, we have access to information in the very cells of our body,” she said.

Through dance, Mandeville discovered her faith.

It happened in 1968, in a dark, loud and smoke-filled bar in Boulder, Colo. Mandeville was 16 with a fake ID. She was dancing the jerk beneath the strobe lights when she suddenly felt a strong presence on her right side, she recalled.

She left her partner in the middle of the dance and followed the presence out the door. She found herself overcome with emotion. “I believe,” she kept telling herself as she burst into tears. “I believe.”

Since that moment, she started using dance to express her love for God. As a dance major at the University of Colorado, her Christian faith didn’t make sense to other dancers. But her chosen form of worship wasn’t always accepted by some Christians, who sometimes viewed dancing as sinful.

Mandeville forged on despite the criticism from both sides. “My deepest time in prayer involved movements,” she said. “I was dancing Scripture. … It was a very intimate way for me to communicate with God.”

She continued to pursue sacred dance on her own, eventually discovering Margaret Taylor Doane, a pastor’s wife and the pioneer of sacred and liturgical dance who lived in Spokane.

Doane, who became like a mother to Mandeville, spent the last decade of her life teaching her everything she knew about faith and dancing. She also inspired students and dancers at Whitworth until her death at age 97 almost three years ago.

Because of women like Doane, Mandeville and others, sacred dance continues to thrive at Whitworth through Jubilation. In recent years, the club has danced at area churches and introduced this form of worship to other Christians in the region.

“Dancing is the way I feel closest to God,” said Laura Force, 23. “It’s a mystical experience.”