Does the gospel make you dance with joy?

When our family watches social media reels together, there is one clip that reliably makes me groan: The Forrest Frank dance.

Perhaps you know the one; it’s a viral Christian dance that has spread across social media complete with arms flailing, legs bouncing, and faces radiating a grin so wide it seems smug. My children smile at me every time it pops up. I, on the other hand, mutter something about the true nature of Christianity and scroll on. For reasons I cannot quite explain, the sight of that carefree jig makes me a bit grumpy. My kids see joy. I see silliness. They laugh. I roll my eyes.

But my annoyance tells on me. Why should I, a middle-aged man who preaches the gospel of the resurrection of Jesus, find spontaneous expressions of gladness irritating? Why do I instinctively equate seriousness with godliness and joy with immaturity? Perhaps I have confused the gravity of faith with the absence of fun. It was one of my son’s go-to prayers when he was a child: “God, help us have fun today.” Maybe he had it figured out in a way I needed to!

A brief history lesson

Christian history does not share my suspicion of dancing. In Kerala, India, the ancient Margamkali tradition saw Syrian Christians circle together, clapping and stepping in rhythm as they told the story of the apostle Thomas. Their faith was choreographed into communal memory. Medieval Europe, too, was alive with festivals and processions where revelry spilled out of the churches and into the streets. Joy was not merely tolerated, it was expected. The people of God moved their bodies because the gospel moved their hearts.

Somewhere along the way, though, many of us grew stiff. We sat in pews, folded our hands, and decided that any outward display of exuberance was suspicious. Perhaps we feared the excesses of enthusiasm, perhaps we simply became too dignified. Either way, we baptised our caution as maturity. The result is that when Forrest Frank bounces across my phone screen, I scowl while my children instinctively grasp what I forget: that joy belongs at the heart of Christian life.

This is not to deny solemnity and sorrow of course. The Bible knows lament, exile, and grief. Yet the Psalms that cry “How long, O Lord?” also burst into songs of praise. David danced before the ark. Israel sang even in Babylon. Paul and Silas sang hymns in prison. Joy does not erase suffering, it seems to defy it. It insists that despair will not be the final note in the song. My problem is that I can treat joy as optional, an add-on for sunnier personalities. Scripture will not allow me this however! Joy is fruit of the Spirit, a mark of life in Christ. It cannot be postponed to heaven or reduced to carefree optimism. It is the Spirit’s testimony that death is defeated, Christ is risen, and the kingdom has already broken in.

Rejoicing in the gospel

Which brings me back to my sofa grumbling. Perhaps my kids are better theologians than I am. They do not need to parse the cultural value of Forrest Frank’s dance, they simply delight in it. They recognise that unselfconscious gladness, even through a goofy viral jig, rings closer to the truth of resurrection than a father muttering about triviality among "kids these days."

So maybe the joke is on me. Perhaps the Spirit is using a man dancing on my phone screen to expose my own joylessness. Maybe my children’s smiles are closer to the kingdom than my frown.

After all, the gospel is not just news to be believed, it is music to be danced to. And if the risen Christ has already struck up the tune, then even a middle-aged dad might need to get out of his chair and shuffle a little.

Indeed, that’ll truly wipe the smile off my kids faces!