This one’s for you, Passion Play family! And companions from small group. And friends from Women Together. I know it’s a bit long. Stick around (or skip around) for a poem at the end!
Our small family is gearing up for another Passion Play summer. Two years ago, I convinced a somewhat reluctant gem to help me pack up a 2-year-old lily with all her paraphernalia, and all of ours, into a ramshackle old tent trailer so we could spend 9 weekends camping and volunteering as actors in the annual Canadian Badlands Passion Play. It was the fulfilling of a childhood dream of mine. I am excited to say that now two years later, gem, lily and I are embarking on our second summer of Passion Play.
I know that the first time we re-unite with Passion Play family members, there will be hugs and good-natured teasing about the things time does, and maybe some happy tears. And when we part there will be hugs and pain and sorrow tears. And in between will be prayer and learning and exchanging stories. We’ll have potlucks and campfires and late-night philosophical conversations over bread and wine. I won’t have time to maintain regrets or obsess over whether I made dinner safely or what invisible dangers went into my pocket along with my keys. Hugs and words and the love and acceptance of a human community will go a little further in convincing me of the steadfastness of divine love.
The first few weekends are often bitterly cold. The last few can be unbearably hot. There is always a rain- and thunderstorm or two or three somewhere in between, that threaten to wash away friends’ homes from tent city, swirl up black bentonite mud to cling to sandaled toes and heavy linen hems of our costume robes. In all probability, the threat of one of these summer storms will cancel a performance at the last minute. There will be mosquitoes and ticks and sunburn and sunstroke and heat rash. There will be dirt and animals and mud for lily to sit in and cover herself with and I’ll pick her up and then I’ll have to re-adjust the headpiece of my costume with those same hands, and the folds of the veil will blow over my mouth, and I might be obsessed with the thought that I mustn’t lick my lips and I might feel compelled to run to the bathroom at first break in rehearsal and wash my lips and chin until they crack from the water and friction and dry air. And I’ll get a front row seat to watch this most breathtaking story take its first breaths, and I’ll get to be part of the rhythm of that breath.
I’ve already decided that I’ll take the optional audition. It will be nerve-wracking. I’ll probably be awkward. I’ll hate that I wonder too much what the directors think of me and my emotive choices. My stomach will be in a pathetic ball when I check the casting list. I will feel jealousy. I’ll feel dissatisfaction and disappointment, because I’m not the actor I wish I could be, because I can’t do everything perfectly or even “good enough”. Rehearsals will be long and tedious and technical. Lily will get cranky and defiant and uncooperative, and make a fuss in the middle of rehearsal, and I might have to run off stage, face burning, to try to calm her outburst. I might have lines like the ones I choked on last year: “Crucify! Crucify him!” and worry that I said it a little too convincingly or maybe too entirely became the character that meant those words and maybe would be damned. But I won’t have time to be consumed by the worry, because I’ll be consumed instead by the driving force of my intention: to serve this story, and this Story-Giver.
Francis Chan talks about the goal of Christian marriage being to drive each other to the kind of life that leaves no time for arguing. There is no energy left for anger or bitterness; it is all spent toward the single goal: the kingdom of God on earth; pouring out our lives and hearts to hear the words, for our spouse to hear the words: well done, good and faithful servant.
Marriage is of course just a part of what life in Christian community is all about. Christian siblings are all called to love each other with the kind of sacred love that drives action. And when we all join together with a single goal--the glory of God--the results could be awesome. And in between, the love shared, the care and concern shown for one another, the communion and the soul-out-pouring prayer could very well be part of the miracle God will use to heal all our diseases.
With deep gratitude to fellow passion-players, here is a poem I wrote for my Passion Play family 2 summers ago:
Jesus is at the Passion Play
Jesus is at the Passion Play
You mean the man in blue.
Who is the man in blue? you ask
As we wait in the wings for our cue
To search for him, and find Someone Else-
The Painter, the Poet, the Reason, the Pulse.
The man is just a picture.
Who is this guy with loud morning hugs?
This man wakened to early prayer?
These starlets who forget themselves
This one, who wipes feet with her hair?
They’re pictures of Jesus, fair.
This man in his dark disguise-
Dark-white saint, serving the Story
He faces my fear, so I can see
There is more grace, even to me
A Jesus picture--drawing me free.
Who are these people, earthy and drab
Their veils shot through with glory
Who run into the house of mourning
And weep to tell the story?
Who give their life to seek for Life
Who care so much as to hold us dear
Brothers, sister, strangers, pictures
Of Jesus, in body, here.
Come and see, Behold the Man
Picture Life, and what Jesus could do.
The one in blue pictures Jesus the Man;
But all the others, in black and brown
Are pictures of Jesus too.
We’re painting a picture of Jesus
You with the brown, him with the blue;
All of us image-laden pieces,
And I so desperately need you
To paint that picture anew….
