Godspell
Thanks to all who sent Amy a message yesterday. She was thrilled to hear from so many friends, old and new. What good is a birthday except to let the honored know you're thinking about them? And what greater honor these days than to let someone know that in the crush of postmodern life, space in your cluttered mind (no, that's my cluttered mind, not yours--right?) has been made.
Godspell is an odd little play. I don't mean Youth Theatre Northwest's production of it, running through the weekend, which is so full of youthful energy it'll make you want to run to the nearest playground and hit the swings with a dozen of your favorite people. I mean the play itself. I saw the play in back in high school: a traveling company played the Civic Center in Abilene, Texas, and I remember being moved by Jesus' parting gestures to his disciples, as well as the stunning crucifixion at the fence. And invariably, something about the play always gets me in the gut.
I guess Jesus always surprises me. Since reading Dallas Willard's The Divine Conspiracy a couple of years ago, I think of Jesus as a brilliant man, and here we were last night, in a crowded theatre on Mercer Island, listening to young people proclaim his words again, running, laughing, dancing, celebrating. These words of his that changed everything. And of course, they killed Jesus again. No "Passion of the Christ" bloodbath here, just the simple act of a clown standing beneath a basketball goal, a long, bendy pole across his back. Still, it hurts to see it.
But almost more stunningly, as these young actors entertained us, Jesus stood there among them, simply, declaring again that he is, indeed, the least of these.
Amy was great, by the way. Like Jesus, surprises me all the time.
6:59:30 AM 
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