Sirkulo: an Afterword

Music: Chocolate by Snow Patrol

It was one hell of a ride, that’s for sure.

Except that we’re not actually going to hell, but the opposite direction. And no, I’m not talking about purgatory either, mostly because I don’t believe in it.

I still have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, I’m close to furious about the kinks and mistakes that happened—line bloopers by actors, lapel microphone and other technical difficulties, and the feeling that we’re not ready, damn it! On the other hand, I’m happy it’s finally over…and the audience turnout was really good. Add that to the fact that it was an evangelistic play that (hopefully) was able to touch countless lives—then darn it, I’m willing to be forgiving.

Three months of late-night rehearsals, of sweat and blood (literally and figuratively), of hunger pangs and headaches. Half of the time I wanted to give up, walk away and never come back, but of course I never do. Sometimes I want to throw chairs at my actors; instead, I throw them a slipper or two. Once or twice I cried without them knowing, just hid in the comfort room (not much comfort there, I tell you) and wiped away furious tears.

But then I remind myself over and over again that I am not doing this for myself or for anyone else—I’m doing this for the Lord. More than a thespian, more than a director of a play, I am a minister, a servant of God, tasked to lead a bunch of, uhh, diverse young people into producing a play that carries a message about salvation. And I revel in that privilege—that opportunity to serve Him using the talents that He has so graciously given me. I mean, seriously, how many people get the chance to do something they really love and serve the Lord at the same time?

I love theater. I used to tell my friends that if going full-time in theater would give me a stable source of income, I’d do theater all my life. I’m generally shy, more of an introvert, really, but when I’m on stage, saying lines I know by heart, or when I tell an actor how to deliver a line or block a scene, I feel content, like everything and anything in the universe is in its proper order. And working with those young people—no matter how many times I wanted to bite their heads off for always being late for rehearsals or inattentive to my instructions—really, honestly, inspires me. It reminds me of how I was once back when I was just starting to act for a church play (although I can say, sans false humility and all that, that I almost always come on time and I rarely do things that would make my director want to throw a shoe at me), of how inexperienced and so much of a noob I was, and how by God’s grace and the patience of my director, I developed into a half-decent actor who could face a crowd of fifty-or-so people to perform a character that is nothing like me.

I love my actors. Headache-inducing bunch and all, I love them with all my little broken heart can take. And yes, I love myself too. But more than that, I love the Lord. And if theater is the way to serve Him best, then I don't pretty much care about anything else.

If anyone asks me if I’d be willing to do all of that all over again, I’d answer with a resounding YES.

And what do you know? We have another production this coming December. I don’t have any material yet, just bits and pieces swimming in the wasteland called my brain, but with God’s help, I’m sure I’ll figure something out.

After all, that is my job.