Reflections from the curtain slot
For three years running now, our family spends much of the Easter season (and the preceding four months or so) heavily involved in our church's Easter drama, The Cry of Christ.
Shameless plug: PSA: If you are at all close-by, please come. Even if it says all the shows are full when you read this. Come anyway.
My role during the performances involves doing small jobs backstage. Feeding lines, getting props in the right spots, getting people in the right spots, and working the curtain.
When not in a frantic sprint to find some lost actor, I am most often found in the curtain slot. A hot, dark, 18-inch by 18-inch (32 when the curtain is closed!) hole. That I reach by climbing a crudely-fashioned ladder.
Glamour, thou art achieved.
Seriously, I love it. Er, love may be too strong a word. But I would stand in the curtain slot any day over being one foot forward, lights blaring down, 700 eyes staring at me. Vomitous.
I've lost track of the point.
My location has its disadvantages. By the end of this year's shows, I will have sat through 19 performances. I have never actually seen the whole drama. Glimpses here and there. Every single word. But never the whole visual picture.
It is a disadvantage. I would love to just sit and watch the finished product one day. They say it's amazing, and not because of anything we do. The Lord rains down His blessing through the telling of His own story.
But it is also an advantage. I think I've been blessed more by the glimpses and the words than I ever could be by the whole.
Our second rehearsal of the 2011 season, back in January. Everyone is in plain clothes. No one (except my Dad!) knows their lines. We are stumbling through the movements and laughing our way through the script. No effective lighting. No dramatic music. No curtain, so I get to watch!
As the soldiers are leading Jesus up the road to Calvary, He falls hard and cannot get up. The soldier grabs a man from the crowd - Simon of Cyrene - and throws him to the ground beside Jesus. "YOU! Carry His cross!"
Simon and Jesus lock eyes.
I cannot tell you what that did to me. Maybe it didn't happen that way. But something tells me it did.
Simon, looking into the eyes of his Savior. Did he know? Surely he knew the immediate future of this poor man. His encouraging words to Jesus along the Via Dolorosa, "Almost there", would have been comforting if "there" hadn't held even more suffering.
But did he really know? That he was playing a supporting role to the God of the universe, wrapped in battered flesh, nearing the culmination of the greatest story of all time? That stumbling along beside him, bruised and bloody, was the sacrificial Lamb, who would bridge the gap between God and man forever?
Then Jesus, looking into the eyes of the one for whom He was walking this torturous road. One of the billions. Who didn't understand Him. Didn't love Him.
I don't know, it just got to me. Still does. The small slit of stage view that I have, basically four inches in front of the curtain, allows me to see the soldier grabbing Simon. I hear him throw Simon to the ground. And in my mind I see their eyes meet.
Another blessing of not being able to see much is that the words - the Word - carries the story. Most of the dialogue is straight from scripture. And, particularly as Jesus is on the cross (when the curtain is open and I can see absolutely nothing), His last words come alive to me.
Forgiving those who condemned Him. Spit upon Him. Nailed Him to a tree.
Forsaken by God.
Finishing the plan.
How I praise You, Lord, for Your sacrifice. Thank you for allowing me to be part of telling Your story to thousands, but not allowing me to see it. For - as usual - blessing in the most unexpected of ways.
My role during the performances involves doing small jobs backstage. Feeding lines, getting props in the right spots, getting people in the right spots, and working the curtain.
When not in a frantic sprint to find some lost actor, I am most often found in the curtain slot. A hot, dark, 18-inch by 18-inch (32 when the curtain is closed!) hole. That I reach by climbing a crudely-fashioned ladder.
Glamour, thou art achieved.
Seriously, I love it. Er, love may be too strong a word. But I would stand in the curtain slot any day over being one foot forward, lights blaring down, 700 eyes staring at me. Vomitous.
I've lost track of the point.
My location has its disadvantages. By the end of this year's shows, I will have sat through 19 performances. I have never actually seen the whole drama. Glimpses here and there. Every single word. But never the whole visual picture.
It is a disadvantage. I would love to just sit and watch the finished product one day. They say it's amazing, and not because of anything we do. The Lord rains down His blessing through the telling of His own story.
But it is also an advantage. I think I've been blessed more by the glimpses and the words than I ever could be by the whole.
Our second rehearsal of the 2011 season, back in January. Everyone is in plain clothes. No one (except my Dad!) knows their lines. We are stumbling through the movements and laughing our way through the script. No effective lighting. No dramatic music. No curtain, so I get to watch!
As the soldiers are leading Jesus up the road to Calvary, He falls hard and cannot get up. The soldier grabs a man from the crowd - Simon of Cyrene - and throws him to the ground beside Jesus. "YOU! Carry His cross!"
Simon and Jesus lock eyes.
I cannot tell you what that did to me. Maybe it didn't happen that way. But something tells me it did.
Simon, looking into the eyes of his Savior. Did he know? Surely he knew the immediate future of this poor man. His encouraging words to Jesus along the Via Dolorosa, "Almost there", would have been comforting if "there" hadn't held even more suffering.
But did he really know? That he was playing a supporting role to the God of the universe, wrapped in battered flesh, nearing the culmination of the greatest story of all time? That stumbling along beside him, bruised and bloody, was the sacrificial Lamb, who would bridge the gap between God and man forever?
Then Jesus, looking into the eyes of the one for whom He was walking this torturous road. One of the billions. Who didn't understand Him. Didn't love Him.
I don't know, it just got to me. Still does. The small slit of stage view that I have, basically four inches in front of the curtain, allows me to see the soldier grabbing Simon. I hear him throw Simon to the ground. And in my mind I see their eyes meet.
Another blessing of not being able to see much is that the words - the Word - carries the story. Most of the dialogue is straight from scripture. And, particularly as Jesus is on the cross (when the curtain is open and I can see absolutely nothing), His last words come alive to me.
Forgiving those who condemned Him. Spit upon Him. Nailed Him to a tree.
Forsaken by God.
Finishing the plan.
How I praise You, Lord, for Your sacrifice. Thank you for allowing me to be part of telling Your story to thousands, but not allowing me to see it. For - as usual - blessing in the most unexpected of ways.
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