Have you ever had enough of people? Have you ever wanted to distance yourself, not from anyone in specific, but people in general? It’s as if, suddenly, we reach our limit of social interaction.

It happens to me about once per year. I arrive at my office and declare that I am taking a day free of human interaction. Please don’t misunderstand me, it’s not that I don’t like the people in my parish, in fact I deeply love them. I delight in my church, and I feel a deep call to journey with them. Furthermore, I believe that we uncover our deepest Christian life within a community of people. But every once and while I reach my capacity for interpersonal closeness. And so, to live out my love and care for the people in my life, to offer myself unreservedly to them, I step away for a moment.

I have learned that loving others well necessitates times of distance. The constancy of interaction, as good as it is, can drain my reservoir of life and energy. I find myself exhausted, irritable, and cranky. Such times are not helpful to anyone. Thus, as odd as it may sound, a time of perceived distance is an important expression of love.

Henri Nouwen writes “Intimacy between people requires closeness as well as distance. It is like dancing. Sometimes we are very close, touching each other, or holding each other; sometimes we move away from each other and let the space between us become an area where we can freely move.” Nouwen writes these words about interpersonal relationships, but I wonder if it also applies to our life in God. Might the times when we feel God’s distance in our lives actually be an expression of God’s deep care and for us?  Could God’s perfect love for you and I necessitate times where a full realization of divine presence is limited?

Have you ever considered how exhausting it would be if we lived our lives in perpetual, full-blown, divine inspiration. Imagine waking every morning to a burning bush encounter, one that demanded you remove your slippers in recognition of the sheer glory that surrounded you. What if every afternoon involved a Mountain of Transfiguration, where the Lord’s magnificent presence was so glorious that you could do nothing but fall facedown. And what if every evening you had your own personal Damascus Road experience, a moment where God speaks in loving conviction. What if this happened every single day. That’s right. Every. Single. Day.

I can only speak for myself, but I dare say it would be too much for me to handle. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with sheer volume of spiritual vibrancy encircling me. I would feel overwhelmed. In the end, I suspect I would feel be so exhausted by the continuous onslaught of divine awesomeness that I would long for a reprieve. Could this be the reason scriptures say that no one can see the glory of God and live?

In a famous story Moses asks for a vision of God’s brilliance. He wishes to see God’s magnificent presence, fully displayed before him.  Yet God limits this interaction. Hiding Moses in the cleft of a rock, he allows only the backside of his glory to pass by.  The brilliance of God is shielded, the shining glory only a reflection off the rocks. Maybe this divine limitation is not about Moses’ unworthiness, but about his (and our) inability to bear God’s glory.

We tend to look at any perceived distance between us and God as some divine dismissal. We think that divine closeness involves the constant infusion of divine awareness. But this isn’t the case.  The life of faith is a dance with our creator, where distance serves our wholeness and restoration. Could it be that God “steps away” to maintain our dance, not to end it? Could it be that God limits God’s own glory as an expression of love not judgement? God knows that there are times where we reach our capacity for closeness. God sees these times coming, even when we do not, and begins to dance at a distance.

So, dance on, dear Christian. Dance in joy, in hope, and in freedom. Dance with daring faith and reckless conviction. Dance in the knowledge that there is never a moment when God stops dancing with you.