Ifthere was anything you noticed right away, it was the fact that he loved to dance.
Blake Hunter was both my friend and my choreography instructor. He was a fire — a bright flame that burned for far too brief a time, and then was extinguished. God only knows why. But I am convinced that Blake would tell us not to ask questions. Because despite all these things, we are more than conquerors through him who loves us. For nothing — no height, depth or power in all creation — can separate us from the love of God. Blake loved to remind his family and friends of this truth.
In all these things, he was more than a conqueror.
God works in mysterious ways. In this case, he worked through my junior-level Bible class, of all things. The weekend I got the news of Blake’s death, the assigned class reading was the first few chapters of a book called “More Ready Than You Realize,” by Brian D. McLaren. Frankly, homework was the last thing I wanted to face during such a difficult time. But as I skimmed the introduction, hoping to find the answers to the study guide questions in the section headers, I realized that the book is actually about dancing.
Let me explain.
McLaren proposes that evangelism is in many ways a dance. Metaphorically, of course, unless you’re just that kind of capering crusader — in which case, more power to you. What McLaren didn’t realize, however, was that this kind of evangelist does, in fact, exist.
Blake was that kind of evangelist.
In all these things, he was more than a conqueror.
McLaren’s theory is that, in the world of choreography, it is difficult to dance fluidly to a song that is completely unfamiliar. Rather, a dancer learns the music’s melody and rhythm, its rises and falls, its heart and soul. The dancer and the song must become one entity.
So it is with evangelism, McLaren says. In order to avoid the rehearsed, mechanical monologues that touch the ears of unbelievers as nothing more than waves of insincerity, the evangelist and the music of the gospel must become one entity.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as these words took shape; I could picture the face of my friend, walking us through Spring Sing ensemble routines, or showing us how to flourish umbrellas in unison as we danced and sang in the rain.
Little did I realize at the time that his teaching was about far more than a simple dance. Blake and the power of the Spirit within him were one entity. He lived life to the beat of a song far more significant than anything Gene Kelly ever crooned.
In all these things, he was more than a conqueror.
Blake taught me how to dance, and he also taught me how to, well, dance. The song that played inside of him is a song that will never cease, as long as we are alive to carry it out into all the world.
My friend is dancing with Jesus now. I know he is. Because in all these things, he was more than a conqueror.
See you later, Blake.
