Community and Common Purpose

Having spent a number of months over the last few years being involved (as an actor) in various amateur plays, notably the Narnia productions for Dunedin City Baptist, and many years before that as the pianist for various concert groups, I was interested to read the following in Michael Frost's book, Exiles - living missionally in a post-christian culture.

Many people undergo something of a communitas experience in their daily lives. Sporting teams, theatre companies, orchestras, bands, dance troupes – these kinds of societies all know something, perhaps just a whiff, of the concept of communitas. When a group of musicians or dancers are performing, every member must play his or her part well, not just individually, but in concert with the others. The sense of interdependence can be very exciting. Jazz musicians speak of the almost spiritual nirvana they sense when all members of the band are playing in perfect harmony. Any member of a sports team can recall something of the profound sense of intimacy felt with teammates when individual contributions to the game create a force greater than the sum of their parts.

When an amateur theatre group begins rehearsals, it can be just a rag-tag assembly of would-be thespians. But on the stage, galvanized by the urgency of the impending opening night, they are transformed into something else. With the script as their guide, they are forced together by the ‘ordeal’ of knowing that soon they will be giving public performances.

One young amateur actor once told me that he felt a greater sense of belonging and acceptance in this theatre company than in his church. I suppose he thought that it had to do with the quality of the people in the theatre as compared with those in the church. But the fact remains that churches are full of marvellous, kind, caring people, every bit as accepting as theatre people. The fundamental difference is that churches are working on community, while an amateur theatre group is a kind of communitas.

Pg 116 Hendrickson paperback edition, 2007

I'm not sure that I agree with Frost's conclusion about how the young actor felt: the quality of people in a theatre company may be just as diverse as anywhere else. In fact there will be some that you don't feel any great kinship with. But in the doing of the play together, even the most diverse people are pulled together into something greater than themselves.

Making the heart sing

Every so often a concert or musical performance seems to lift off the earth and touch heaven. That's what happened on Sept 19th, 2008 at a concert. Mark Gavreau Judge was there; the following paragraphs are extracts from his longer article.

On Friday, September 19, I witnessed one of the most miraculous things I've ever seen on a stage. I use that adjective with purpose; the only way to describe what happened is with the language of religion.

After almost three hours, it was time for a curtain call—one last bow to end the evening. As Spitzer reintroduced everyone, White's jazz band played "When the Saints Go Marching In." That's when something happened.

The audience at the Strathmore rose to its feet to acknowledge the fellowship winners—it seemed at the time like one last blast of applause before the exit. But as they—we—clapped in time to "When the Saints Go Marching In," the performers onstage began to dance. Together. It started when Jelon Vieira's dancers did cartwheels in front of the jazz band. Suddenly the Oneida Hymn Singers, a group of mostly elderly men and women, were dancing with the capoeiras. Then Sue Parks' backing drummers appeared, dancing with anyone they saw. Mac Wiseman's band played along, as did the Ethiopian choir. The jazz band, sensing something in the air, got louder, and kept playing. And playing. And playing. Onstage, the performers formed a conga line, led by one of the jazz musicians, then a circle, each person taking his or her turn in the center. The invisible line between performers and audience evaporated. It had turned into one big party—or revival meeting.

Read the rest here.