So, here’s where it begins. No, I don’t mean ‘salvation’ or ‘history.’ I mean modern Western theatre. In the early 14th century important stories from the Christian Bible were acted out (sort of) in the church at the foot of the altar or below the pulpit to make them understandable to the faithful—who didn’t necessarily “get” the Latin versions read by the priest. And then, after a while, there were so many Bible stories that ran in a sequence that the more powerful merchant guilds produced these (by now) traditional enacted stories from carts pulled through a town on Church festival days—kind of like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade but without the balloons. And the stories, by now, were called “Mystery” plays because they were about the miracles sent by God to poor benighted humans. It’s just after this point that the real actors get into it. The folks bitten by the bug to make those characters come alive, to make the story just a little fresher, the emotions a little more true, the dialogue a little more convincing, the outcome a little more surprising. The genie was out of the bottle after that.

But on a much more personal level, for how many of us was just this kind of Nativity play, the Christmas pageant at our local church, our first introduction to theatre? Were you a shepherd? A wise man? Wow! Were you chosen to be Mary? One year I was cast as “the handmaiden to Herod” in a costume for which that Sunday school teacher/director should have been arrested. It wasn’t exactly a burnoose. But we won’t go there. The point is that, for many of us, participating in this ancient religious pageant about the birth of the divine Child, the God-made-Man, was the entry into what remains a sacred world (I still mean theatre, not salvation)—just as it was for our ancestors.

Whether a Mystery Play from centuries past or a Sunday school pageant from 1959, the enactment has usually been characterized by two things: solemn reverence in the telling and the assurance that God’s will will be done. It’s all pre-ordained. Hope arriving in the world is a sure thing from the opening scene.

Reverence doesn’t often allow for comedy with laughs. Strictly speaking, of course, the whole life of Christ is the great Comedy (capital ‘C’), in that Death is overcome and the victorious Hero ascends to the presence of God and lives eternally. Comedy at its heart is about the renewal of life and love and the triumph over death and despair. Dante Alighieri, the great Florentine poet, used this structure as the backbone of his Commedia (also called the Divine Comedy), written in the same early 14th century (1310-1314) as those primitive little mystery plays were first being performed at the foot of church altars. Here the struggling soul has to journey through the depths of hell in order to climb upward through the strictly appointed cosmic order and into the presence of God. But God is always, always there. There’s never any doubt, ever, that the soul will arrive at its divine destination.

Our contemporary idea of comedy, of course, includes the humorous, and biblical enactments are notably lacking in the funny. In fact, there seem to be only the two extremes of telling the Christ story: the totally farcical and irreverent versions like Monty Python’s Life of Brian and the solemn, awe-filled veneration that adheres absolutely to traditional text of any Hollywood Bible drama you care to name.

This is what makes The Butterfingers Angel kind of a special little play. It’s reverent, but it’s funny. William Gibson producing this in the Berkshires in 1974 tenderly referenced those Sunday school pageants where the animals are little children and the wise men wear bathrobes. But the play also speaks of a universe where God is silent. It is an ironic play for an ironic age. The felicitous resolution of Comedy is not a done deal. This is not a complacent version. It’s unsettling.

Instead of an enactment where God’s will is sure to be done, we get an angel who isn’t at all certain of his script. Does he know the words? Are the pages in sequence? Like Clarence, the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life (another sweet reference), this angel only wants to do his job right so he can go back where he belongs and exist in the presence of God. He does his job, but does he get his reward? God won’t answer his pleas for help and guidance, so he has to make it up as he goes along. This is a pretty modern dilemma familiar to most of us. It’s an existential view of Christmas and calls for an existential solution.

Rather than comfortably playing their roles in the drama of the Nativity, most of the characters are difficult and individualistic. The last thing this independent Mary wants is to be married and maternal. No “thy will be done” for her! Joseph is plagued with lust and jealousy. In biblical accounts, he is reassured by an angel. Not here. It’s the angel of whom Joseph is jealous! The angel can’t find his cue—he’s not even sure he has the right Mary. The characters, in short, are human, dreaming their individualistic dreams, wanting their own personal wants, finding no easy assurance of outside help. And the miracle of Hope entering the world is not at all a sure thing. Indeed, the only sure thing is the slaughter of all the other babies. Evil is ruthlessly efficient, while goodness bumbles around.

What has to happen, finally, is for God’s absent will to be replaced by the courage of fallible human will. This is the existential solution applied to the old, old story. Each character must choose to get past his or her own small, narrow life, and make a sacrifice of personal hopes in the service of some larger Hope. Is it God’s will? Who knows? God won’t answer. Will it lead to a better world? Who can say? The script is abandoned. In putting aside their own selves for the Hope of some undefined “better” for all mankind, however, the characters here enter the service of some great redemptive mystery. Which in the largest sense, is Comic indeed.

© 2007 by Eileen Warburton

For further reading, later and now:
The Gospel according to St. Luke, chapters 1 and 2.
The Gospel according to St. Matthew, chapters 1 and 2.


DISCUSSION SUNDAY at 2ND STORY THEATRE:
Discussion Sunday puts on your thinking cap.
First Sunday of each production.
Pre-show: 2pm and post-show: 5pm.

Ed Shea, Artistic Director, and Eileen Warburton, PhD, Humanities Scholar-in-Residence, take a look at the humanity themes roused by the plays. Essays written by Dr. Warburton are available online and at the performance. Humanities discussions are free and open to the public.

RHODE ISLAND COUNCIL FOR THE HUMANITIES

Discussion Sunday at 2nd Story Theatre is made possible through major funding support from the Rhode Island Council for the Humanities, an independent state affiliate of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this Discussion Sunday do not necessarily represent those of the National Endowment for the Humanities.