Godspell first came out when I was in high school. My sister and I turned up the volume while cranking out the family Christmas card that December. We marbeled bluey purplish skies with a single golden star. Because the paint was oil based the project was sequestered in the garage which made for great acoustics as we sang along. 

The local college is offering the musical with a cast of twelve vibrant souls, and while I have five tickets for Saturday I slipped in to a performance last weekend. I had an inkling that once would not be enough. 

There were probably twenty stories from the Bible woven into the script, on top of the songs: the prodigal son, the sower, the unforgiving servant, Noah, the Last Supper, the woman caught in adultery, Judas' betrayal, the cleansing of the temple. Those tales reach deeply into my history, and seeing them portrayed playfully yet respectfully added one more shade of understanding.

Then there were the voices. Ah, the golden voices. "Prepare ye the way of the Lord!"

At one point the man portraying Jesus hugged everyone on stage. It moved me to see their hesitation, and sense of unworthiness melt as he reached out to them, and wrapped his mocha arms around them. For me, the image of human contact with the Divine is what keeps me from drifting out to sea.