The Music Was Great, Too

So the writing class I took last term dealt a lot with the idea of a journey, and for our first paper, we had to write a personal narrative about some kind of journey we went on or experienced. I, of course, wrote about Superstar because no other single event or experience in my life has impacted me more. I decided to put it in here for a few reasons. First, a lot of you were in Superstar, and will definitely relate to this- I think it's nice to revisit it sometimes. We all do. Second, it's just so maybe you (especially those of you who weren't in Superstar) can learn a little more about me, etc.
So here it is...



My high school in Port Jervis, New York, is known for two things: good football, and great music. We’re fortunate to have a highly talented chorus and band teaching duo, as well as the support of our administration to do a lot of things, considering our school’s budget, we might not otherwise be able to do. In particular, our spring musicals are considered the best in our region, and are often equated to Broadway. What’s fascinating is very few kids in the cast are naturally talented; I, for example, can’t dance in a club to save my life, but on stage and with the direction of our choreographer, I look like an expert, The same pattern holds true for most, and that’s why our musicals are so successful.

Being a part of such a magical and highly esteemed production has a noticeable effect on people. The show forces them to work hard; it teaches them discipline. Its very nature induces a conquest of stage fright. The hours of work we put in demand conscious prioritization and planning. But can a musical transcend practical lessons, and actually change someone’s life?

Each year in early December the musical director, Alvera Sylvester, holds an information session at which she reveals what the spring production will be. After months of speculation, the atmosphere at the meeting is tense with anticipation. Almost everyone has an idea of what the show is, along with an opinion of what it should be. It’s my junior year, and I have neither, but when Alvera reveals the show is Jesus Christ Superstar, I feel a twinge of disappointment. Some people are familiar with Superstar and are thrilled, and I instantly feel separated from them. I’ve seen some of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on video, and am not a fan. Thinking the two shows are similar, I find myself wishing Mrs. Sylvester had picked something different.

Perhaps, though, the reason I’m truly upset goes beyond simply not liking the show. Since 2001, our nation, and my life, has been plagued with bad news. A terrorist attack, a new war, a faltering economy, the deaths of people close to me, and general depression have led me to raise many questions of faith. Jesus Christ Superstar might bring those questions back to the forefront of my mind. In 1996, my grandmother died of colon cancer weeks before Christmas and moments before the lighting of the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Center, one of her favorite spectacles. I thought, at the time, “Do we live in a godless world?” I’ve never committed to fully to denying Jesus, but the events of recent years make me wonder: Who, if able to stop these things from happening, would cease to act? Clearly, there is no other force governing our universe, guiding us. We are on our own.

I did believe in God, once.

Despite the show, and because being involved in music is the largest part of my high school identity, I audition. I’m cast as Simon Peter, or just Peter, one of Jesus’ most trusted disciples, the one he calls his “rock.” It’s a good role for me; I don’t have the talent to play Jesus or the presence to play Judas, and I’m not intimidating enough to be Caiaphus, the head Jewish Priest, so Peter, with a featured song in the second act, is a nice fit. I also know there are more roles than cast members, so most people, except for the major characters, play multiple parts, making the show even more fun to do.

Rehearsal begins the first day back from Christmas Break. Mrs. S. explains that the show, though it depicts the last seven days of Jesus’ life, isn’t necessarily religious in nature. Being that Port Jervis is a public school, it can’t be. She does tell us, however, that many people who have done the show have said it changed their lives. Change my life? Yeah, that would be nice.

My work begins with character research. I need to know at least some things about Peter in order to be somewhat successful as an actor. The best source of information, of course, is the Bible, and so, with guidance from an older friend who’s well versed in the scriptures, I begin to learn about Peter. I suppose I learn a few things about Jesus, as well.

In addition to Peter, I play a Jewish high priest who opposes Jesus, a shady customer in the Temple, a desperate leper seeking healing, and, in a scene that could not be more bizarre, a cross dressing man in King Herod’s court. Playing these multiple roles has the dual effect of making me very busy, and, more importantly, thrusting me into Christ’s story in as many ways as possible for this show. Being preached and lectured about Jesus is one thing; being a part of the story is something completely different.

One of the girls in the cast, Megan, is my best friend. This show is perfect for her, because she has such great faith, like I used to have. I wonder how, despite the state of the world, she can believe so strongly in something she can’t know exists. But because we’re so close, I want to know what her ideas are. It’s not that I simply want to have more in common with her, but I’m very open to her perspective, and everything she says about God seems to make more and more sense. I think I’m beginning to see.

As the weeks go by, the show is met with a lot of setbacks. The cast is tense. Working with the same people day after day in such an emotional environment leads to resentment and bitterness. Our Pontius Pilate is under threat of being removed from the show for too many missed days of school. Another actor simply quits. Meanwhile, the weather is not cooperating. It seems to snow only on days we have rehearsal, never on the weekends, and we’re not moving forward on schedule. The general perception is that of a conspiracy: something is trying to prevent us from doing this show.

Then, one day, we rehearse the crucifixion. We’re blocked around the stage, both Jesus’ friends and enemies, and watch Patrick, who’s playing Jesus, be nailed to the cross and lifted into the air. We watch as he begs for something to drink, and the guards, as they’ve been directed, pantomime giving him sour wine. We wait as Jesus’ six-hour death is compacted to a few minutes, and finally, we hear him commend his spirit into his father’s hands. The stage is quiet. We look around, and some people are crying. The “conspiracy” makes sense; I start to realize we’re part of something much bigger than a high school musical.

Our director recognizes the atmosphere and has the cast sit on stage and share any thoughts we might be having, about what just happened or anything else we’re feeling. A few of us share our experiences with death. I tell the cast about my Grandma, how when I was not yet ten I held her hand as she died in her apartment. At the time, it seemed the event of a godless world. I remember how, just seconds after her death, we saw that famous tree come to life on the television at the foot of her bed. But now, instead of thinking, “She didn’t even get to see it light up,” I regard it as a sign she was sending, telling us she’d be all right. I think about my present life and become conscious of signs that exist all around me. I’m finally understanding.

Backstage on opening night of a production is one of the most exciting places to be. The cast is nervous and excited. We know we have an amazing show; all we have to do is pull it off. The overture begins and immediately the curtain opens. I begin as a Jewish priest, but quickly change into Peter before the overture is finished. In the next scene, we meet Judas, who will, within an hour, betray Jesus to the priests. The Temple scene is one of Vegas glamour, with flashy lights, showy girls, and items of all sorts for sale. In one of the Bible’s most well known stories, Jesus enters and turns over the table, banishing us from His Temple, calling it a “house of prayer.” The first act ends with Judas’ betrayal and an eerie approval by a demon-like mob. The lights go out.

The second act begins with the last supper, and Judas storming out when confronted by Jesus. In our own way, we disciples also betray him by falling asleep, despite his wishes for us to remain with him, for he knows what’s coming. I wake up to see him under arrest, and try to fight off the guards before he stops me, telling me to put away my sword. I do, and run off the stage. I come back on to see where the priests are taking him, and am confronted by the mob, who say I was with him when he was arrested. In a dramatic parallel to my own life, I deny Jesus three times, finally screaming out “I don’t know him!” I’m aware I no longer believe the words coming out of my mouth.

Finally, it’s time for the crucifixion, the climax of our show and the culmination of the faith of almost 2 billion of the world’s inhabitants. For this, I’m playing Peter, and it’s a good thing, because Jesus’ enemies are supposed to laugh and sneer at him on the cross, and I don’t think I could do that. I look up at Patrick, but I don’t see him. It’s so much more than a high school student on a prop cross. I glance around the stage and see tears in the faces of the disciples and women Jesus cared about so much. I hear gasps from the audience. It is time. Jesus commits Himself to God, and the theater is filled with his cry, “Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit,” the blinding light, and the silence that follows. And the tears streaming down my face are not stage tears, but microcosmic droplets of my faith: sadness in a Father lost, marvel in a Father found.