One of the first full-length plays I wrote was a musical called Bright and Wild. Set in a Renaissance lord and lady’s manor on Christmas Eve, it featured nine characters and one boar’s head, plus traditional songs, formal dancing, and iambic pentameter. That was the easy part. The hard part was the play’s subject: can an intimate community forgive and re-embrace a former member who’s betrayed them?  

It was a challenge because that unspoken scenario had recently happened to—and still lingered over—the very group that created and presented this annual production.  

Bright and Wild was the fifth in a series of Christmas pageants originally conceived by Susan Chapman and produced by a mid-sized church in Portland, Oregon. From the beginning, most of the recurring cast and crew were friends from that church, including the actor who played the warm and embracing master-of-the-house, Thomas. But after our third production, this charismatic pastor, husband, father of two, and friend to all was removed from church leadership when he confessed to multiple affairs and embezzlement. His family was shattered, friends were shocked, and the church was hurt deeply. Also, our little Christmas fête was in serious doubt.

Still, we soldiered on the next year with a somber production focused on mistress-of-the-house Susannah, now alone in her home, humming “In the Bleak Midwinter” until she’s surprised by friends and family who bring the feast—and a measure of cheer—to her. We didn’t discuss her missing husband nor the impact of his absence on the community. We weren’t up to it, yet; we weren’t even sure if the yearly production would continue. More importantly, the church community surrounding this play continued to grieve and struggle with repercussions from the former pastor’s actions. This trusting and nurturing group, committed to loving God and each other in equal measure, was still dazed and wounded. Anger and doubt were rising, trust and giving were down, and hearts were hardening. For myself, I yearned for us all to move forward, work through these issues, and perhaps find healing for both the church and its former pastor, my friend. So I offered to write a play that explored that directly in the year to come. 

“Too soon! No! What are you thinking?!” I heard this more than once. But I was hopeful, naïve, and sincere in asking: Can an intimate community forgive and re-embrace a former member who’s betrayed them? We follow Jesus, after all, who said, “Forgive others, just as God has forgiven you.” We repeat this to ourselves every Sunday. And at Christmas, we celebrate and honor the sacrificial lamb of our forgiveness—God’s own son—who was born in a manger in Bethlehem. I wrote the script. 

In it, wayward Thomas (played by a new actor) returns in disguise, hoping to derail the Holy Night celebration with cynicism and wine-fueled debauchery and, thereby, minimize the community’s objections to his offense. He’s discovered, though, before he succeeds, and as the group argues whether to receive or reject him, they finally begin to wrestle with their own anger toward both him and God. Eventually, Thomas’s mother chastises but welcomes him back. His best friend rejects him. And his wife Susannah agrees to speak with him once more. When a friend asks how she could ever do such a thing, Susannah replies:

What is trust without fear, faith without unknowing?

Let love and righteousness determine every step.

Then may the stench of sin, in time, be dimmed,

replaced by fragrances forgiving.

Then may a bloom of love come bright and wild

from out the cold, gray heart of doubt.

Then may we love, and be loved back, as innocent as babes.

As innocent as Christ.

With fear and trust, we presented this play the next Christmas to local audiences and, of course, the church community who knew the full story. After the final scene, we held our breath for the response … and heard sniffles, gasps, and open weeping. This was followed by some of the strongest post-show hugs I’ve ever received. “Thank you!” people said. “Finally! I can breathe again. I’ve been wanting to talk about this for so long. I could feel the weight coming off my heart as you sang and danced. Thank you for saying out loud what we’ve all been asking ourselves!”

In the weeks and months following Bright and Wild, the former pastor was not welcomed back to the church congregation. His family remained broken. And a lost friendship was not restored. But the sad frustration that had long oppressed the broader community was finally lifted. Our spirits were renewed, and we moved on.

Dr. Diana Trotter wrote about this very production in her dissertation on theatre as cultural performance (UC Berkeley): “[It] had what Richard Schechner calls ‘survival value’ for the … community. The production did more than just provide entertainment, it helped the community survive a difficult period partly through its ability to reveal what was hidden and speak the unspeakable.”

In writing Bright and Wild, I learned a valuable lesson about daring to seek and share dangerous truth through art. And I was thrilled that my creative efforts strengthened the hearts, minds, and souls of friends and strangers alike. It’s a lesson I’ve tried to follow since, whenever I find myself pondering:

• What do I genuinely not know, but feel called to explore?

• In a conflict between beloved friends, might there be a path to understanding?

• Am I brave enough to walk that path, despite objections, and share what I find?

Today, as our nation struggles with new conflicts, and as I watch my own community of Christ-followers split into shockingly divergent paths—some calling to embrace strangers while others openly reject them—I’m burning to dive in again to listen, explore, and ask more questions that might yet bring hope to the deep and constant struggle of living this wonderfully bright and wild life.