Glimpsing the cross
The sanctuary lights dim. The music swells. Onstage, a handful of figures step out and wait. Down the center aisle, nearly a dozen smaller silhouettes line up, waiting for their cue.
The music shifts suddenlyâthe aisle and stage come alive. The figures surge forward, hands raised, each holding lights aglow. I've seen this scene many times in rehearsal, and it still brings tears to my eyes.
Since 2013, I've had the privilege of being part of our church's Easter dramas. Starting with Pastor Eric and The Borrowed Tomb, and now with War in Heaven, directed by Giselle Schultzâthe stories have shaped how I understand Jesus' story.
Each year, we rehearse for weeks. Some of us memorize lines, we block movements, sync with lights and music, and hope not to miss our cues (my biggest fear is running onstage too early, but thankfully that's only happened in practice).
I grew up reading about Jesusâhis life, his sacrifice. And while it sometimes feels meaningful, too often I've seen it as data points on a page. But here, in this place, retelling the story with our church, those words become real. They carry weight.
When I'm on that stage, I imagine that ancient world. I see Jesus among us, bringing hope and joy to his fallen children. And I see myself. I'm the person who misunderstands him, tries to silence his children, condemns the innocent, and runs away in fear. But I'm also his child. His beloved. The one he came for.
Practicing scene after scene, I'm reminded why this story still mattersâwhy we matterâand how even our imperfect attempts to tell it must bring a smile to Jesus' face. I see a tiny glimpse of his beautiful, perfect, non-coercive, selfless love.
Instead of trying to learn about the story from a sense of duty or obligation, Iâm drawn to it out of desire to know more about this Jesus, my savior, my friend. Thatâs why I keep coming back, keep spending hours among other volunteers as we rework, tweak, and practice over and over, trying to catch a tiny glimpse of that cross on Calvary.
As for the scene that keeps tearing me up, come see it for yourself, this Friday or Saturday.