the dramatic

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago after Maundy Thursday, and I distinctly remember saving it with the thought that I needed to come back and finish it. Coming back to it now, though, I really have no idea what else I was trying to say…

“People really might be too uncomfortable to do that.”That statement, or a variation on that theme, was made to me repeatedly this week. Good-hearted friends, concerned, trying to let me know that this idea might not work. And while I appreciate their concern, anyone who knows me well know that this type of statement, made about something that I really want to do? Only makes me want to do it more…

The idea - washing each others’ feet (and yes, I just heard you go ewww…) - is hardly claimable as my own; it’s a centuries old tradition finding it’s roots in the actions of Jesus at the Last Supper. In fact, it was not even my idea to pull it out this year; there have been times that I’ve rooted for it before, but this time it was completely my partner in crime who suggested. But once she did, I was in. And so, with quite a bit of discussion (and so, do they put their foot on a stool, or do we actually touch it?) and a few bouts of changing our minds, we pressed on. It became part of our Maundy Thursday experience at church this week. We set the whole thing up to be a sort of self guided, personal tour of sorts - something you walked through, by candlelight, as you remembered the events of Holy Week. Very reflective and peaceful.

Not at all like the setting up of it.

We hung fabric, dragged tables, focused lighting, printed posters and arranged all day Thursday. Like crazy people. Friends came and helped make things beautiful. As the day wore on, we walked different people through it - this will happen here, then this is over here - trying to cast a vision for what would happen that evening. We ran home to change out of our table moving clothes. We tweaked until people started coming in. Actually, we told the first few people to just wait right here while we finished the tweaking.

And then, finally, we got to watch, to see what would actually happen. Because, in something like this, you never really know until the people you’ve designed it for actually show up. A few years ago, I read in a book or heard in a class a quote by someone that goes something like this (really, I tried to look it up, but no luck. Then again, you’re not reading this for my incredible research skills, are you?):

The cast is not complete until the audience shows up. They are the final member to arrive, and the only one who is completely unrehearsed.

It’s part of what is fun and beautiful and exciting and occasionally disastrous about live theater. And it’s absolutely one of my favorite things, whether performing or directing or simply being in an experience like we hosted the other night. Watching other people have their experience often is my experience - and while written out like that it can sound a little creepy and stalkery - it’s not. Anyone who works at crafting something like that will understand - you try to open a door for people, and when they walk through it, somehow that gives the gift back to you, opens the door in your heart.

this time last year: green, green grass (09. 04. 2007)