Thing is, in a few
hours – I’ll be staring at her name on my phone, too late to call, coz she’ll
be gone, and I’ll just be sat there like a prick, staring at the shape of the
letters, the way they fit together, so perfect, just like her, and I’ll sit
there, wishing I could show her that when I’m with her I feel so fuckin’ real,
like, not pretending nothing, just who I am. I feel like I can be the man I
want to be. And I do want to be that man, Tony. I do. But for some reason. For
some fuckin’ reason.
I’m in a play this week called WASTED by Kate Tempest, and
it breaks my heart in the best possible way – the way that only great art can –
where it’s just gently tragic, but in a really satisfying way because you go ‘YES, that is it, that is what it’s like
to be a person.’ The part I’ve just quoted gets me like that. To be honest it
sums up a lot of what’s going on in the play – this sense of the characters
wanting to be something more than the lives they are living, wanting to be
better, wanting to be more real, wanting their life to mean something, but for
some f**ckin’ reason they just can’t quite do it.
I asked the other guys who are in the play why they loved
it, and my mate Jake said something I thought was really interesting. He said
he thought it expressed something universal – and at first he wasn’t quite sure
what that was – but then he said maybe it was a universal feeling of
inadequacy, or maybe of connectedness, or both. And I think he’s nailed it –
what the play captures so beautifully – as does pretty much everything Kate
Tempest has ever written, is this agonizing tension between our human longing
to be part of something bigger, something meaningful – some world-changing
moment, some shining city – and this unshakeable reality that we are not what
we want to be. That we are a mess. Glorious ruins – standing and falling
together – hoping for more but settling for less. Tempest knows like no one
else I’ve ever heard, just how deeply we were meant to be more than this, but at
the same time how seemingly impossible it is for us to really change. For some fuckin’ reason.
And the really funny thing is, that she’s got no idea how to
fix it. There’s a bit of poetry that we all perform together at the end of the
play, and it’s trying to tell the audience how to make things better – but to
be honest, it’s not that good. It feels a bit hollow and cheesy, because all
she can say is stuff like, your dreams
are worth pursuing, mate, you do deserve everything you dare to want. And
it feels empty because we know that’s not enough, it doesn’t really change
anything. It makes us feel a bit upbeat, but ultimately, that hope is not
lasting, and like she says we end up desperate
for someone to help us, but convinced we can’t be saved.
And I find myself doing this play, wishing so much – as to
be fair I do anyway – that I was mates with Kate Tempest. Because I want to
tell her that there actually is hope. Take just one example. One of the things
the characters are always longing for is to break out of their monotonous, nine-to-five
lives, and go somewhere, do something. They all want to cut loose, change
stuff, be free. But they’re either powerless to change or addicted to security.
And I want to say, what if there was a God who said, “Come to me, be my kid,
and then go – go and do something incredible and terrifying because I’m the
king of the universe and I’ve got your back, and if you fall flat on your face
I will still love you and be so, so proud of you, so go.” That’s the kind of
freedom these characters are longing for, and honestly, not being arrogant, but
on the days when I realise the truth and really get it, I have that kind of
freedom. Because God’s my Dad.
Or take another thing – all the stuff in that first bit I quoted about how beautiful it is when you’re with someone and you can be real, not pretending, just who I am – but at the same time not just wanting to be what you are, but to be the person you want to be, to be better. It’s all the way through the play, the longing to be seen and known and loved exactly as you are with all your imperfections, but also to change, to become more. And it seems like a paradox, like it’s impossible. But I see it and I want to grab Kate Tempest and say “It is possible!” What if there was a God, who knit you together and knows you better than you know yourself – there’s this bit in the bible that I love so much where it says -
Or take another thing – all the stuff in that first bit I quoted about how beautiful it is when you’re with someone and you can be real, not pretending, just who I am – but at the same time not just wanting to be what you are, but to be the person you want to be, to be better. It’s all the way through the play, the longing to be seen and known and loved exactly as you are with all your imperfections, but also to change, to become more. And it seems like a paradox, like it’s impossible. But I see it and I want to grab Kate Tempest and say “It is possible!” What if there was a God, who knit you together and knows you better than you know yourself – there’s this bit in the bible that I love so much where it says -
As a father has
compassion on his children,
so the King has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.
so the King has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.
He knows that we’re a mess, he sees our glorious ruins and
he has compassion for us. He flippin’ loves us. Exactly as we are. But way too
much to leave us that way. And this is the epic thing, is that he also gives us
a real hope, the real power to become who we were meant to be. There’s a bit in
one of the ancient prophesies were God promises his people -
I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you;
I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.
And through Jesus that is just what he’s offering right now. To any one of us who’s willing to trade in our old heart – the heart that longs for something better but just can’t do it, can’t bring itself to change, the heart that can’t help putting itself first – to anyone who’ll trade that in he’s holding out the offer of real hope, real change – a new heart that is really alive in a way we just can’t get by ourselves, that loves him, and loves people, so deeply and richly that it almost forgets itself. We were made for so much more than what we are. And in the play, when we just tell people that, and tell them to be better, it feels hollow because it’s like we’re asking everyone to receive something but there’s no one actually giving it – it’s everyone’s round but no one’s buying – something this good, this big, has got to cost something. But the thing is, what God is offering, does cost him something. He had to die to bring us to life. And he did – he’s paid the cost, and it hurt – but he’s holding out the hope he’s bought for us. Jesus is saying ‘Come to me, and you can have my Dad as your Dad, and my Spirit as your Spirit, and you can be free.’
I feel like it’s unlikely I’m ever going to get a chance to tell Kate Tempest this, so I thought I’d write a blog about it, and who knows, she might see it some day.
I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you;
I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.
And through Jesus that is just what he’s offering right now. To any one of us who’s willing to trade in our old heart – the heart that longs for something better but just can’t do it, can’t bring itself to change, the heart that can’t help putting itself first – to anyone who’ll trade that in he’s holding out the offer of real hope, real change – a new heart that is really alive in a way we just can’t get by ourselves, that loves him, and loves people, so deeply and richly that it almost forgets itself. We were made for so much more than what we are. And in the play, when we just tell people that, and tell them to be better, it feels hollow because it’s like we’re asking everyone to receive something but there’s no one actually giving it – it’s everyone’s round but no one’s buying – something this good, this big, has got to cost something. But the thing is, what God is offering, does cost him something. He had to die to bring us to life. And he did – he’s paid the cost, and it hurt – but he’s holding out the hope he’s bought for us. Jesus is saying ‘Come to me, and you can have my Dad as your Dad, and my Spirit as your Spirit, and you can be free.’
I feel like it’s unlikely I’m ever going to get a chance to tell Kate Tempest this, so I thought I’d write a blog about it, and who knows, she might see it some day.
P.S. If you’re in Cambridge, come see the show. https://www.facebook.com/events/374964179368061/
