Soapbox'd

The words of Amy Brenneman are echoing in my head. On a morning which I had awoken wondering, "What now?" and how on earth to use theatre to nudge the arc of the world just a little closer to justice, Amy Brenneman spoke of "soapbox art," "us and them," "preaching to the converted," "pushing the envelope," and more. The words of Amy Brenneman are echoing and echoing and echoing through my head.

My faith and my ego (sometimes referred to as "intelligence") are at war, and have been at war for many years. And now, as I recount Sunday, the warring seems even greater. Ego is losing more and more it seems, but it is not without gore. After this past Sunday, when every word which reached my ears seemed to be meant entirely for my ears at that very moment, my faith holds proof of God, of a higher power, of the power of prayer.

The words of "Matthew" (let's not have an authorship debate right now, 'kay?) are echoing my head: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened." (Matthew 7:7-8.) Ego screams baloney: asking the invisible guy up in the sky for anything is downright stupid and just a waste of time. But could it all really be just coincidence?

I am afraid to be wrong. I don't want to sound crazy or irrational through having blind faith, but I don't want to be blinded by my insistence on physical proof either. Either way, I risk being blind.

The words of Sunday are echoing through my head. I can see the look on Amy's face when I spoke to her (rather briefly) about my own recent theatrical endeavors and her immediate eagerness to point me along the path I was searching for that day. And I can hear the words of my rector, speaking of the place where the world's great hunger and one's deep gladness meet. Another priest speaks of Biblical interpretation and literal versus historical/critical. Ordinary conversations with ordinary people repeat in my mind. A perfectly timed suggestion for theatrical collaboration with the youth group. Sunday won't leave my mind.

I am tired of preaching. I am tired of saying and not doing. I am tired of soapboxes and "us and them" and preaching to the converted and to ears that refuse to listen. Enough preaching. Sunday will not leave my mind because Sunday was vocation Sunday. What now? What next? Where am I called? What must I do? The truth is, I don't completely know. Sunday told me a lot, but I still don't really know where my path is headed. All I know is that I am tired of soapboxes, and yet I am tired of not speaking either. I want to preach, but I want to preach through the life I lead, not the soapbox on which I stand.