We walked into the empty chapel and sat in a large circle, each behind a small candle, hungry for our next experience. A stage was formed by the large empty section of the carpeted floor, now outlined by candles and silent searchers. Soft music was started and a performance trickled alive in the dim lighting. A girl appeared, dancing and frolicking in between us, stopping on occasion to pass a flower from her basket to a member of the crowd. She came over to me, looked me in the eye and smiled softly. She bent down to pass me a sunflower from her basket. "Thanks," I whispered.
As the performance went on it quickly became clear to me that the girl in this story was a Christ figure who took on the ailments of the fellow players after they pleaded with her for help. She took their pain from them and brought it onto her own body, all the while still passing out flowers to the audience. I knew something more would have to come soon if the story was to be truly of Christ's life. The other actors carried out the body of a deceased friend, wailing silently, allowing the background music to be their grievous sounds. After some pleading of assistance the girl laid down beside the deceased, put her hands across its shoulders, and pulled it to life as she fell to her death onto the carpeted floor.
For a second I thought the skit was over. Good, they finished it, the Christ figure sacrificed herself for the people. Then another thought occurred to me. How selfish it was for these figures to give all their pain and anguish to this girl, even ask her to sacrifice herself for their deceased friend, and do nothing for her in the end. The skit was not over. They carried the girl's body off the stage, picked up her flowers, and continued to pass them out until every audience member had their own flower, their own piece of God's loving sacrifice.
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