Sitting in the Fisher Theater as one of a handful of white people enjoying TJ Hemphill’s fantastic production of Perilous Times, I was filled with many thoughts. The first of which was why was I in such an overwhelming minority when the play was about a personal redemption of a troubled young man who went back in time to witness the passion and crucifixion of Christ. The depiction illustrated that Christ died for all sinners not just black sinners.
The most significant thought that crossed my mind, however, dealt not with the play but with the audience. Holy smokes! TJ had forewarned me that the engagement of the audience with the play was what excited him about the production. How prophetic he was! Responses ranging from “amen” to “alleluia” to “that’s right” even to singing along with the chorus filled the auditorium. For a white person, this was shocking but also enjoyable. How free these people seemed, allowing themselves to get caught up in the story and react openly to it.
Here I need to give a frame of reference. Several years ago, I took my dear mother who was failing in health to Niagra-on-the-Lake, Ontario to see a production of Rebecca by George Bernard Shaw. Due to her emphysema, she was on medications that made her jittery. Regardless, my mother would comment verbally about what was happening on the stage. Certainly, her comments were not random but dealing with the action and dialogue on the stage. By the way, the audience was nearly 100% white. The poor, old woman was shushed into silent submission.
Why is it that we as humans are quick to judge everything as either right or wrong? Why is it that we need to find someone to blame? If the situation or the action isn’t how we perceive it should be, then, of course, it must be wrong. The acceptance of different is lacking.
Watching the play amidst African-Americans was very different for sure. Their reactions to the scenes and dialogue were not wrong. Their reactions were surely not what I was used to going to a theater. So what? Who am I to judge?
Thinking back on taking my mother to that play in Canada, I made a big mistake. I now realize that I took her to the wrong place. She would have fit in very nicely at Perilous Times. Sorry, Mom.
