Sword to the Soul (Lessons from Godspell)
-Hebrews 4:12 (NIV)
"Bless the Lord, all his works
in all places of his dominion:
bless the Lord, O my soul."
-Psalm 103:22 (KJV)
Tomorrow night, Easter Sunday, we close Godspell. For the last seven weeks, I have been working with the Trinity Street Players at First Baptist Church in downtown Austin to bring this 70s musical classic to the stage. After being a part of Godspell in Tulsa, I had hoped to be able to perform in it again, and I am so glad that that opportunity opened up. And tomorrow morning, I get to sing my heart out in the song "Bless the Lord" for First Baptist's Easter service.
I had fun at the performance tonight, and I don't just mean the happy kind of fun. Better: the rich kind of fun. I remember, as an undergrad at Texas A&M, going to a chapel service in which the preacher talked about how life is hard--and about how it is the hard that makes it rich.
And one of the richest moments of tonight's show for me was when my new friend, Josh, playing Jesus, was being taken to the cross, and all of us disciples were crying out to him. There was this moment where Josh's eyes locked with mine and he was saying his lines--my Jesus's actual words--about his death, and there were tears in his eyes and I was yelling out for him to stop the guards, to make it stop, to please not leave us alone.
And at that moment, as in many moments of this show, I got a better understanding of how frickin' much we need this sweet Jesus, and how crazy in love with us all he is.
It has been so rich to observe Lent and Holy Week by being a part of this show, acting out the parables, the last supper, the crucifixion, and the resurrection night after night. Maybe God is just being sweet to me because he knows how much he can reach my heart if I can act something out and have people act it out with me.
This show has been showing me my sin. It is crazy how easy it is to act out all of the bad guys in the parables, how easy it is to act like an immature kid, how easy it is to whine and complain and put people down in silly and not-so-silly ways in this role. It just bubbles right up out of me.
And this show has been showing me my savior. And even though I know that it is an actor playing the character of Jesus and not actually Jesus himself, both times I have been in Godspell, it is as though God has decided to show me himself in a special way as his words are spoken and embodied by a living being walking around on stage with me.
Having grown up in the church, I have read and heard Jesus's words so many times, and have spent so much time digging into their meaning. But when I can see and hear God's words being acted out by a fellow human being, I process them in a different way. They feel like my Grandma's kitchen and my sister's laugh and my parent's living room and like a best friend forever and like the best and most mighty king there ever was. Maybe that's why God decided to come in the flesh--because words alone couldn't reach us. We needed the Word himself, humbling himself to be one of us, the Divine-with-skin who sticks closer than a brother.
Today is what I am calling in my head Waiting Saturday. Between the cross and the resurrection, there was Jesus's little tribe, feeling like orphans.
I had a conversation with my 4-year-old son this week to prepare him for when he comes to see the show. I told him that he might see Mommy crying and then asked him, "But is it real? Or pretend?" "Pretend," he answered. (We have had these talks before.) And then he asked me, "So are you playing Mary?" What an amazing question! I explained to him that no, most of the disciples in Godspell aren't the same ones as in the Bible.
But my son's question inspired the way I decided to play the mourning scene at the foot of the cross. As "Jesus" is singing, "Oh, God, I'm bleeding," I find myself remembering the blessing that Simeon spoke over the baby Jesus to his mother, Mary: "And a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2:35b). The feeling I get, in character, hunched over on that brick ledge, is that my heart needs more armor, that it is falling out of my too-thin skin, and being cut in two. I find myself holding my arms over my chest, trying to keep my heart in place.
That scene has gotten me thinking about what it must have been like on that Friday, how the one who had become the sun to their satellite hearts was being destroyed. Their orbits must have been spinning out of control. I bet they were desperate for something to stabilize them.
And then there was evening and there was mourning: the first day.
And then there was evening and there was mourning: the second day.
And then the Son rose again.
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