Opening Night

Last night, I felt at home in the role of God.
Tonight, I couldn't even find the address.

It was a thrill to actually be facing an opening night, but I couldn't find God.

The day itself had been odd.

I hadn't slept well. And it seemed a very odd, almost surreal exercise to need to attend classes today. I would have liked to move from dress rehearsal to a day of rest to opening night.

Instead I had to interrupt creative energy with head-based, left brain discussions of theologies of religious pluralism, Paul Knitter's models of religious theology and James Fowler's stages of faith. Which stage do we think Noah is in? I say, Stage 3 -- Conventional -- "a stage where authority derives from the top down." And Noah's wife? I say Stage 4 --Reflective -- "a stage of angst and struggle, in which one must face difficult questions regarding identity and belief."

Then, I had to do a site visit in vocational discernment to a high-end assisted living facility, where the marketing director made it clear that they have to protect their assests by turning away people who aren't well enough to live there. It was depressing, even a bit disgusting. Maybe I should have channeled my ire at their callousness into my portrayal of God -- but then, I wasn't playing wrathful God.

We assembled at the theatre, put our props in place, finished our costuming and makeup, walked through our bow, the one thing we had not rehearsed and then hung out for what seemed like forever in the green room. There was lots of chat, all pleasant, but I found it an odd place to be to try to prepare for performance.

When we entered the set, I sat down to read as I had in rehearsal, and I found myself being distracted by the magazine. I kept going to head places, I kept being distracted by random thoughts or ideas triggered by text on the page. So, I started running lines in my head. Even my nervousness was head-based, I wasn't feeling it in my body as I sometimes do before I read scripture from the lectern. The lights went down and then came back up with a spotlight on God.

Noah's Flood had opened.

God's first speech is the one I have known the longest, and I thought it was the one I knew the best. But I tripped up on pieces of it. And, when you drop lines in rhyming verse, you have to figure out how to get to the next rhyme. You can't really just make stuff up. Once I had flubbed some lines, I was terrified of messing up some more. And I did, blowing some lines in each speech.

The result was that I spent opening night THINKING the part of God, not ACTING it.

But the sacrifice scene was amazing. In many ways, I felt as if I was part of the audience. Even in rehearsal but especially during the performance, I did not feel that this sacrifice was to me, even though I was in the role of God. I was watching the transformation of these individuals and their humility and grace. By dress rehearsal I was in a mental space for the sacrifice scene. What it became, for me, was a time of worship between God and Noah's family. So, each time one of them dropped their head in a bow, I had God bow God's head, too. This was mutual worship, mutual transformation, mutual grace.

One of the gifts Melinda gave the cast in her direction was her voiced sentiment that the play would be what it would be. It was her way of trying to get us not to stress. Nevertheless, I felt horrible about blowing lines. Melinda told me she hadn't noticed that many flubs and that I must have covered well. And then, she gave me another gift. She said that the audience is rooting for us. The audience is with us and wants us to do well. The audience is graciously willing to receive what we offer. Two members of my home congregation drove up from San Diego to see the opening performance, and their reaction proved Melinda's words true.

There is grace, even for God.