It Just Felt Wrong.

This is a post I've been trying to write for a while. Planned on writing for a while. But I could never quite find the words. Even now, as I'm writing this, I don't know if I'll be able to find the words to accurately describe what I am thinking and feeling. If it's a jumbled mess of emotion and thoughts, I apologize.
One week from today, my church will be opening its annual Easter pageant, this year entitled "Faithful and True."
Each year, my church writes its own Easter pageant. Obviously the general story stays the same each year, because it still follows the ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. But we always put a spin on it each year, putting the focus on someone Jesus interacted with.
One year we focused on a Roman Centurion. Another year we focused on a fictional family of his followers. I've been involved in the pageants in some way or another almost every single year since 2001, excepting the years I was in college. They all tend to run together after a while.
This year, we've adapted the script from 2006, which focused on the Apostle John, as he was in exile on the Island of Patmos. John reminisced about his times with Jesus during His ministry on earth. The script this year is similar, except instead of just reminiscing, John is sharing his experiences with another exiled prisoner on Patmos. As a result, all stories we portray in this pageant are from the book of John.
As I have previously mentioned, I am playing Mary of Bethany. Or, as she is more commonly know, the Mary of the Mary/Martha pair.
My "big scene" in this year's pageant comes at the beginning of Act Two. I don't say anything. I walk onto stage halfway through the scene and anoint Jesus' feet, in the end being so overcome with adoration, devotion, and love that I let down my hair and dry His feet with it.
The past few months have been difficult. More difficult than I would've thought. I'm excited to play this part. Ecstatic, almost. But it feels...wrong, somehow. I couldn't quite place my finger on it. Why did this part that I so loved, this woman that I so wanted to be like, why did portraying her beautiful act of worship and love feel so completely wrong?
I pinpointed it about a month ago, interestingly enough, on the same Beloved retreat that four years prior had put the story I was portraying in a completely different light.
I realized that as much as I loved this story, this part, the person of Mary and the beauty and honesty and vulnerability of what she did for Christ, I felt completely ridiculous for doing it. Not in an embarrassed sort of way. I felt ridiculous for being up there, on the stage, portraying this woman who is remembered for her great devotion to her Lord. To the same Lord who is my Lord.
You see, during rehearsals, we had often talked about how important this scene was. How pivotal it was. How emotional it would be. How powerful it would be. How many people could be changed by this scene. And each time it was discussed, my role felt more and more wrong for me. I felt uncomfortable and I didn't like it.
It took time, but I finally realized why I was so incredibly uncomfortable.
I felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world.
Here I was, rehearsing a role, portraying a woman, being the key player in such a "pivotal scene" and it had been weeks since I had prayed. Or picked up my Bible outside of church. Or intentional spent time with my Savior.
What right did I have to stand up in front of hundreds -- even thousands -- of people and portray a woman who literally gave everything she had up for her Savior, risking rejection and ridicule, ignoring social conventions or protocol for "proper" behavior. Why on earth did I think that I, of all people, should be portraying such a woman?
I shouldn't be portraying her. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be the one up there, intentionally or unintentionally encouraging audience members to pour out everything they have for Christ when I could barely find 10 minutes to spend with Him.
Why? Why was I put in this role? It didn't make sense. I didn't understand. All I knew was that I felt like an imposter. Someone else should be here. Someone else who was a better Christian. Who was more faithful. More devoted. More loving. Anyone else. Just not me.
A little over a week ago, we had our first continuity rehearsal, where everyone in the pageant -- drama, choir, orchestra, and dancers -- all come together for the first time. Chaos doesn't even begin to describe it.
I had occasionally shed a tear or two during the rehearsals for the anointing scene. But not that night. That night I sobbed.
As I worked through the scene, anointing Jesus' feet, the tears began to flow, my face contorted, and my body wretched with the sobs that were overtaking my body. Tears flowed down my face. The reality of what I was doing hit me. The reality of this part. Of this role. Of this action. It all seemed to come flooding over me in an instant and all I could do was weep.
Weep for my Savior. Weep for my sin. Weep for not being like Mary. For not daily loving my Savior enough to pour everything that I am, everything that I have, over Him, leaving it at His feet.
We've had two rehearsals since that night. I haven't cried at either one. Not shed a single tear. I don't know why, specifically, but I think I'm a little bit afraid. What I felt that night...I can't even describe it. It was so intense and it scared me. I don't know what's going to happen Saturday or Wednesday as we finish up these rehearsals. And goodness knows I have no idea what is going to happen during the nine performances we will do over the next two weeks.
I've been told by multiple people how beautiful the scene is. How touching. How powerful. And very adamantly that they believe that God has me in this role for a reason, for a very specific purpose. I don't know what that is and, to be honest, it kind of scares me.
C.S. Lewis wasn't kidding when he said that coming face to face with the living God is a terrifying thing. I can't run in this part. I want to, but it's like my feet are glued to the ground. And I have this funny feeling that sometime over the next two and a half weeks, I am going to come face to face with the living God. And I don't know how I'm going to respond. All I know is that I am scared to death.