My husband was Jesus. For about an hour and a half he was the Son of God. The One everybody talks about at Christmas and Easter. I couldn't go, I had a rehearsal, then the rehearsal was cancelled and I just had one of my almost meltdowns where everything I put on was just a little tight, just a little uncomfortable or just plain dirty. I felt bad for not going, but from what I hear from him and from other folks it wasn't that big of a deal.
The event was a cantata. If you don't know what a cantata is, it's like a musical, but it's a church choir and nobody moves. At worst, it's hours of singing and singing from an ill-trained choir of retired warblers and men who have wives in the choir. At best a cantata can be refreshing and thought provoking. I've sang in enough cantatas in my lifetime I came up with an excuse not to participate. It was lame, but after one rehearsal, I just decided it was not what I wanted to do.
Back to Jesus--a.k.a. my husband--I don't mean that in a blasphemous way, it's just the truth. The one chosen to portray Jesus was younger, fitter and seemed the better choice. Turned out, he had to work at the last minute. My guy went from being Moses to Jesus. They called it a "promotion". I disagreed--but kept my mouth shut. As the scenes of the "true" Easter story were sung, my husband pantomimed the the events with as much accuracy as one can wearing a wig and fake beard. (My husband is almost completely bald) His mother was duly proud as I'm sure she never dreamed in his early years that he'd ever play Jesus or even willingly attend church.
The irony doesn't end there. My husband is also director of Youth Ministries. It was youth night, so the youth were sitting on the front two rows. When he came out, there were smiles and a little snickering from his constituents. Other than that, they seemed to appreciate the magnitude of the moment and kept whatever else they might have had in mind to themselves.
The last thing he had to do for the evening was hold his arms out during an entire song. He was concerned about whether he could hold them up for that long. I was certain that the adrenline of the moment would keep his arms up. He said that while the song was going on, he wondered at what point he should leave for there was to be a healing service in the very spot he stood--playing Jesus. He decided that as the song ended, he would walk down the aisle and out of the church.
So for a little over an hour God was one of us, or one of us was God. How ever you want to look at it.
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