Iguana

Time for another theater post!

The community theater I'm involved in, Ephrata Performing Arts Center, is presenting Tennessee Williams' The Night of the Iguana in a few weeks.

Over the last few years, I've become a real fan of Williams' work. I always knew that he was considered a great American playwright, and I remember enjoying The Glass Managerie in high school (although I now doubt that I fully understood it then). But this will be my second (small part in a) Williams play in four years. And even though they have been small parts, I am still involved in the process and immersed in the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual journey.

Williams tends to write very emotional, very deep pieces. Some would call them depressing. Yeah, they do deal with difficult issues; life is sometimes difficult, and I think good literature should reflect that. In Iguana, the central character, T. Lawrence Shannon, is a troubled man of the cloth leading a tour group through Mexico in the 1940s. He has a personal crisis, and the play explores how it affects him and those around him—who are dealing with their own crises as well. It's been said that not much happens in this play; and yes, if you just follow the plot points, there aren't many. But the internal journey that at least four characters undertake is profound. Death, faith, sexuality, and personal connection are major themes. Can't get much more serious than that! Universal themes are explored on a very personal level—another mark of good literature. Even though most of us will never be troubled ministers, 97-year-old poets, spinster art hawkers, or widows running a hotel in Mexico, everyone will find mirrors of themselves in one or more of the characters.

Read the play when you're in the mood for something emotionally challenging; and if you're in Lancaster County in September, come and check out the production. I'll leave you with the lovely poem composed by the aforementioned poet in the play:

How calmly does the orange branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer,
With no betrayal of despair.

Sometime while light obscures the tree
The Zenith of its life will be
Gone past forever, and from thence
A second history will commence.

A chronicle no longer gold,
A bargaining with mist and mold
And finally the broken stem
The plummeting to earth; and then

An intercourse not well designed
For beings of a golden kind
Whose native green must arch above
The earth's obscene, corrupting love.

And still the ripe fruit and the branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer,
With no betrayal of despair.

O Courage, could you not as well
Select a second place to dwell,
Not only in that golden tree
But in the frightened heart of me?

Olympic Fever

I have to admit it…

I have Olympic fever. I didn’t mean to get it. Often the Summer Olympics come and go for me without much notice. I usually prefer the events in the Winter Olympics. And maybe I just usually have more time to watch them in February than in August.

For some reason, it’s been different this year. To some degree, I have Joan to thank. She asked me in July at some point if I was planning to watch the opening ceremonies. I hadn’t been planning to, especially, but I agreed. I’ve been hooked ever since.

Yes, the opening ceremonies were over the top. There were parts that I just didn’t get. But overall, they did what I’m sure their producer (Danny Boyle) and the IOC wanted: they grabbed me and didn’t let go. I was caught up in all the spectacle. I loved the representation of Britain transitioning from an agrarian to an industrial society. I especially liked all the drummers. (What can I say—I’m a sucker for percussion.) And of course, I always thrill at the parade of nations. Everyone is so excited to be there, and it’s contagious.

And thanks to the ubiquitous coverage of the NBC networks, almost everything was available. On the first morning of competition, I found myself looking for whatever live coverage I could find—bicycling, volleyball, soccer, even table tennis. And despite being unable sometimes to avoid spoilers, I’ve been watching as much prime time coverage as I can.

Again, there are always naysayers. There’s more doping going on than people realize…cash bonuses should not be awarded in the Olympics…professional athletes should not be allowed in the games…etc.  I know all these things. And if I were thoroughly involved in the sports, I might think more seriously about them. But as a casual observer, these considerations are overshadowed by the excitement and drama of the games.

Here are a few of the moments that have most struck me:
• Michael Phelps is an amazing athlete. USA swimming has not seen his like since Mark Spitz in the 72 games. And Phelps had accomplished more.
• It’s great to see US gymnasts excel in a sport traditionally dominated by other countries.
• The emergence of Team GB on its home soil has been heartwarming. Especially for Andy Murray over the equally likeable (and generally better) Roger Federer. It’s interesting, too, that in many sports England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland typically field their own teams in international competition—but here they compete together.
• Many Olympic athletes have inspiring stories, but that of Oscar Pistorius of South Africa is astounding. He was the first amputee runner to compete in an Olympic event, though he failed to qualify for the final heat.

These are just a few observations so far. I’m sure more will occur these last few days of the games. At this point, I’m ready for Sochi in 2014 and Rio in 2016.

Senseless

The world has always been a dangerous place. There has been violence, murder, and hatred as long as there have been people.

Recently, it has been thrown on the front page of the news in gory illustration. Between the Colorado theater shootings and the Wisconsin temple shootings, eighteen people were killed. And amid the grief and mourning, we naturally question if these tragedies could have been prevented. Or more to the point, we wonder how to prevent future recurrences. Do we need to amend our gun laws? Should there be stricter security? How do we punish the guilty?

These and similar questions are completely reasonable, and some of them should be seriously considered. And of course anger is understandable. Even anger at God. How could a loving, all-powerful God allow such things? And to make matters worse, some try to provide answers—as if we have them to offer. Are any of these answers useful? “God has a plan,” or “everything happens for a reason.” And so on. Sigh.

Platitudes like these are never helpful. In fact, they can really hurt. Was it in God’s plan for all these people to die? If so, I don’t know that I want anything to do with such a God. And I honestly think that sometimes there is no reason—beyond the simple truth that we are broken people living in a broken world. There is in a way a bleakness about this perspective, as if there is no reason perhaps for anything. I would say that some things happen for a reason that we soon figure out; some, for a reason that we discern much later; some, for a reason that we may never discern; and some, for no reason at all.

It’s all part of life. Much of it is beautiful; some is very ugly indeed. Does this mean that God likes the ugly part? I would think not; but then, I also tend to believe that we are not just simply pawns on God’s cosmic chess board with no say in where we are moved. That, I think, would be a pretty bleak picture. Yes, there are certainly things we cannot control. But we all have choices to make. In any given situation, we choose how to respond. That is at once both comforting and scary. We are not, however, stuck with our current course. However difficult, however dire, we can always choose.

To hope.