After 15 months of anticipation, I saw Hamilton on Tuesday! The traveling tour is in Houston for the next month, and my parents got tickets and were gracious to ask me and my sister, along with her husband and my mom’s friend, to be their guests.

I’ve been listening to the soundtrack for the past 22 months almost daily, and know almost every word. The only time I’ve ever sang karaoke in my life was last August when a good friend and I went to a Hamilton Karaoke event. I still maintain it was one of my highlights of 2017. I’ve heard from friends and strangers who have seen it on Broadway or in their cities, and knew it would live up to all my expectations of awesomeness. And of course, it did. But going in, I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my love for Hamilton, after listening to it, reading about it, and counting down the months, then days, then hours until I sat in that theater and heard the familiar opening notes of the first song. But I was wrong. I love it and appreciate it even more now.

Seeing Hamilton live, of course I was blown away by the music, the talent of the performers, and the choreography. But it was so much more than that. I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few days about what else makes this particular show such a masterpiece.

The Humor: There are so many genuinely funny lines and characters, and you just don’t get the full effect and timing of the humor just listening to the soundtrack. Of course, King George steals the show in his scenes and he opens the whole show talking to the audience and welcoming them to “My Show”. But Thomas Jefferson had me laughing almost every time he opened his mouth- his timing, facial expressions and the inflection in his voice just slayed me.

The Humanity: I have so much love for John Laurens after seeing Hamilton onstage. There’s one scene in the show that isn’t in the soundtrack, and it brings me to tears thinking about it (probably because it comes right after “Dear Theodosia”, which always makes me cry anyway). And also, every scene with George Washington gave me such compassion for him and the enormous weight that was on his shoulders in leading a brand new country. And the version of “Burn” in this show was the most raw and emotional performance I’ve ever seen- Eliza’s pain and anger was tangible. Every character is so dynamic, and human. There are no absolute heroes or villains in Hamilton.

The Writing: One thing I have always loved about the character of Alexander Hamilton is his obsession with writing, and how he used his writing to literally change the world. It’s just so inspiring to me. The show really emphasizes this, both in the lyrics and the actual performance. There’s a lot of letters, and writing scenes, and paper (paper flying, paper burning, paper being collected). Why do you write like you need it to survive? Because I do.

The past few days, I’ve been kind of sad- sad because I’ve never loved a piece of art like this, and I’ll never see Hamilton again for the first time. I’m going again in a few weeks with my friend, and I know it will be just as incredible. But I’ll probably be sad after it again, because who knows when the next time will be.

Lin-Manuel Miranda, as he often does, inspired me with a tweet this morning. I’m going to take his advice…let’s go.

 

 

Yesterday, I nervously walked into a church for the first time in many, many months. Sunday mornings have become my refuge, my only time of the week that I am truly alone. I love people, and especially my people, but too much consecutive time with people makes me twitchy. As an introvert who doesn’t like to feel needed all the time, I feel a constant tension. It’s a pull between passionately loving my children who feel like an extension of my heart and body, and the internal voice that screams LEAVE ME ALONE!!! when I reach my limit. So for the better part of a year, my Sunday mornings have been about solitude: writing, reading, sipping hot (not re-heated) coffee while being still, and occasionally listening to a sermon podcast while folding laundry. All things I think Jesus would approve of, by the way.

But still, I miss church. I miss the routine of it, the familiarity of hymn and scriptures being read aloud, and the sense of community. I’ve been so hesitant to “go back” though, because really, I don’t have anywhere to go back to. My physical distance, as well as my theology, has shifted since I was going to church regularly. I find myself longing for the church style of my childhood, which may just be a longing for nostalgia of a simpler time- the hymns, the organ, the doxology and benediction. And for some time, I’ve desired to be at a church with women leading worship- I’ve been at churches for so long where such is forbidden, and I long to be somewhere where that is not the case.

So somehow, maybe through divine intervention, yesterday I walked into the little Presbyterian church I attended in my preschool years. While I don’t remember specifics from that time, except for one anxiety-inducing Noah’s ark performance where 5 or 6 year old me was cast as a turtle and told to shake my bottom (nope), the sanctuary felt familiar. At the time, my mom was the choir director at this church, and yesterday as the choir sang, I pictured her leading the choir in their long robes (I haven’t seen choir robes at church in forever!). The people were so kind and welcoming, and the predictability and familiarity of the service was peaceful.

Part of the sermon was on doubt, and the legitimacy of questioning, and doubting. I appreciated this because of where I am right now. I never ever thought I would struggle so much with doubt at this point in my life- doubt about what I believe as well as how to continue on as a “doubt filled believer” as Rachel Held Evans puts it. I’ve seen memes posted berating people for leaving the church because the church is full of hypocrites. I don’t think this is why most people leave the church- it’s not why I left. I left not because of hypocrisy, but because of theology. I don’t want to pour my life into a place that doesn’t affirm women in leadership, or LGBT inclusion, or speak out publicly and loudly about issues like racism, the refugee crisis, or violence. I don’t want to attend church where Biblical issues aren’t nuanced and different interpretations of scripture aren’t welcomed for discussion.

I don’t know where my spiritual and church life is headed, or if I’ll go back to that little church. I’m trying to give myself the grace that Jesus has given me. I know he is patient, and faithful in this painful, yet hopeful process.