18. Habbakuk

18. Habbakuk

Lockstep with my God and King,

Move in perfect harmony

Feel the rhythms of his heart

Know the joy that He imparts.

Hallelujah. 

He is with me.

I am not alone.

I remember my childhood visits to my Dad’s family in the East End. My Grandad would take me and my brother for a walk and buy us sweet cigarettes. The ones with a real packet, edible paper, and a chocolate flavoured filter. I felt like a proper grown-up. In later years the visits introduced me to the world of old musicals with Fred Astaire which I loved deeply and watched many times over. My memories of those films are filled with colour and song and joy. The one thing that seemed strange to me when Fred danced with a partner was that their heads were always so far apart. I found it hard to believe the romance between two people who were touching but looking in different directions. I’ve read that there was great offense when the Waltz became popular in England in the early 19th century. The closed hold of the Waltz was thought of as far too intimate. Far too …well, close.  

I’ve had dancing on my mind since reading Habbakuk. I don’t really know anything about this Prophet. I can find his writings nestled in the twelve teeny books of the minor Prophets and his life is dated around six hundred years before Jesus was born. He wrote, wrestled and danced during the years Israel was teetering on the edge of the threshing floor. (2 Samuel 24:15) 

We don’t really know if Habbakuk was even his name, but it’s a good fit because Habbakuk probably means embrace, and embrace describes well what he did. Habbakuk held onto God tightly in anger, in love, in longing, in worship. 

As a Prophet Habbakuk teaches us by speaking his words to God rather than just relating God’s words to us. He marks the steps out for us and shows us how to dance. There’s something raw and so beautiful in his passion and integrity. He holds the face of God in his two hands and says look at me. He questions, and he rants, and then he listens. And then he loves. And then he worships. In the worship there’s a weaving of all the threads together. Only then does the dance make sense. 

In his three chapter book the first chapter begins with complaint. But the opening line of the book suggests the tempo was set by God, rather than Habbakuk. It tells us that the dance begins as a Paso doble rather than a Waltz:

The problem as God gave Habbakuk to see it. 

(Ch1:1)

The Paso doble was modelled on a bullfight rather than a romantic encounter. God starts the conversation by drawing Habbakuk’s attention to a problem. To dissonance. To discomfort. He waves the red flag, and anger rises up in Habbakuk. 

Habbakuk had been looking hard at the world around him. There was no justice, and he saw wickedness in every direction. His own people rode roughshod over those who tried to live well in the land. He railed against the silence of God, thinking Him unaware of what was happening. God answered his complaint by taking Habbakuk’s words seriously and adding another level of detail. He pulls no punches in acknowledging the ugly behaviour of His own children.

So God lays out His plan to Habbakuk. A plan, He says that aches for the coming. I feel that phrase like a weight in my gut. Waiting and watching is the most painful part of parenting. Habbakuk listens in shock: Babylon is about to tap Israel on the shoulder and move into the arms of God. Standing on the sidelines Habbakuk can’t comprehend the switch: Babylon acting on the behest of God; Israel under the thumb of the wicked. Habbakuk says to God it’s not fair! I’m your partner. Then he realises God is the initiator of the exchange not Babylon. He can’t understand why God would invite them to dance? 

I’m struck by the word meanwhile in the answer God gave to Habbabkuk:

Meanwhile the earth fills up

With awareness of God’s glory

As the water covers the sea (2:14)

In the word meanwhile I hear God say: While my children are dancing with other partners, Habbakuk, while they are ignoring me, I am loving my creation still. I am working out my redemption plan. It was supposed to be something we did together.

Once upon a time there wasn’t Israel and Babylon. There was just a creation waiting to be filled with the children of God and the glory of God. There is only one dance and we were, and are, all still invited. During the Paso Doble it seemed to Habbakuk that the world as it had been presented to him made no sense anymore. Then God spoke again, and he began to understand. Favour isn’t just flourishing. It’s fallow ground, and it’s exile, and it’s loss and it’s rebuilding, and it’s rescue. In all of these things His goodness is tangible. This was enough for Habbabuk to lean deeply into the embrace: a closed-hold Waltz. As he resumes the dance a song of worship spills from his lips. A song he writes with an orchestral backing in mind. A song to teach his people.

The paths God takes are older

Than the oldest mountains and hills (3:5)

I’m not sure how I would handle knowing in detail that a time of loss and pain and humiliation was just around the corner for me and for my people. Habbakuk found strength to run with the knowledge he carried because his head was rested on the shoulder of God. (2:3) 

As I ponder the words Habbakuk wrote, my attention is drawn to how deeply the mystical and practical are intertwined. For this Prophet, cloud-dancing with Yahweh and reformation are one dance not two. The earth feels the impact of the dance deeply. All created things. When we dance alone, careless and indulgent, the ground we dance on hurts. It hurts our houses, our cars, the tarmac, as well as the birds of the air and the fish of the sea. 

The bricks of your house will step up and accuse you

The woodwork will step forward with evidence. (2:11)

I’m sitting in my house wondering what this means and how to respond. I want to listen to the report of the created things around me. I know that if I really listen there will be things I have to change.

Those who do not weep do not see. 

Victor Hugo 

I’m struck that Habbakuk has impacted the world for around 2400 years by engaging in the dance. I believe the romance when I watch Habbakuk and God in partnership in a way I never believed Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, though their steps were perfect. They model an intimacy that begins with fiery and argumentative conversation and flows into abandoned public worship. 

God is the initiator. Always. He calls us to the dance floor. You. Me. Clumsy imperfect partners who often take time to trust and to rest in the closed hold of the Waltz. Who are surprised to discover that we are invited into a wild and angry Paso doble too. Through both we learn to dance lockstep, following the feet of the Lover. Body, soul and spirit in agreement. I don’t want to forget that creation sways to the rhythm of our love and is renewed by the song we share. Everything flows from the dance. It is the sweetest ‘yes’ I can say and the greatest legacy I can leave. So I read Habbakuk and listen. And whenever I hear the invitation….

I run to Him. 

Your Love is sweeter than honey

Your love is stronger than death

Your love lifts me of my burdens

Teaches me to dance.

Will Reagan