I have always been drawn to St. Francis’s famous prayer, “Make me an instrument of thy peace.” What a wonderful wish. To be an agent of peace. To answer hate with love, despair with hope, doubt with faith. In the secular world of today, words like hope and faith have gotten lost in the endless stream of negative information polluting our brains. I particularly love Francis’s use of the word instrument. It is a humble prayer, asking simply to be useful, to be a simple tool for good. The prayer implies one doesn’t have to be a genius, or a saint, or a martyr. Little gestures like a touch, a smile or a kind word will do.
While pondering this concept, I realized that our theatre is just such an instrument. By coming to the empathy gym to lift our spirits, deepen self-awareness and nurture compassionate community, we empower peace. But how is our theatrical instrument of peace made? And how does it work? Our theatre is made up of many instruments, each with different purposes. But working together they form a powerful tool, a sorcerer’s staff that can work miracles.
Sophia Alawi and the cast of Evita (2024).
Music is one of theatres’ greatest instruments. Both those in the orchestra and the marvelous vocal instruments of our singers, whose operators train on with years of devoted, endless, mind-numbing hours of practice, till the flute, the cello, the contralto are perfected and effortlessly pierce our souls with charms to “soothe the savage breast.” Just sitting in the dark as the overture to a great musical like South Pacific or My Fair Lady begins, we feel the cares of the world fall away and we rise a little in our seats in preparation for our magic carpet ride to another world. But there is also the music of the distant train as Eva Peron prepares to go to Buenos Aires, the terrifying rumble of the sub-woofer under our seats as AI villains invade a small Vietnamese restaurant, the music of the rain in Indecent, purifying and healing as it releases us from suffering, the crickets, frogs, and distant wolves conjuring the midnight arena for transformation in Heroes of the Fourth Turning. We come to the theatre with our ears locked to keep the din of the world out, but the instruments of music and sound are magic keys that unlock us.
Sharon Omi in My Home On The Moon (2024).
Theatre can also be a navigational instrument, a compass or a sextant. We often feel lost, adrift in an endless sea of not-knowing, separated from each other and truths on which we can stand. We are filled with doubt and want faith, we are overcome with despair and want hope. But where are these indispensable anchors to be found in the 21st century when beliefs have been destroyed, community torn apart and war scarring the face of our beautiful world? For us, the unmoored, we come to the theatre to find our way. As the characters in the play find faith, we find it with them. As they find their compass, we find ours. As they chart their journey through narrow straits or doldrums, we follow in their wake. If they can summon the courage to go on, so can we. Playwrights are the prophets of our time, whose incantations can blow away the fog hiding the constellations. Great playwrights can tune our compass to true north, to new truths we can cling to in our confusion. Theatre can also function like a surveying instrument with which we can chart boundaries or stake out our claim to space of our own. Our theatrical surveyor’s transit can help us find our limits in the infinite realm of possibility. What can we achieve, how much can we build while leaving room for others?
Rivka Borek and Malka Wallick in Indecent (2022).
Theatre possesses many instruments. But laughter can be the most powerful of all. We come in the theatre doors grouchy and closed, dragged by our friends and lovers to the theatre, arms crossed in refusal. Eyes and ears locked from the noise. And then a well-executed joke or a perfect pratfall, like a local anesthetic, combines with the spinal of real laughter, magically opens our defenses and strips away our armor. The surgical instruments of theatre must be sneaky. It would never work to come on stage with scalpel bared. No one comes ready for theatre magicians to perform open heart surgery in our seats. But by the time the comedy has softened our clenched jaw and gripped chest, we don’t even see it coming when our hearts are miraculously pried open, and we find ourselves weeping with connection, transcendence and joy. We wonder, “how did that happen? “We ask, “How were we made willing to have our chests opened like that? How were we able to join in the triumph of courage or love or sacrifice being given to us from the stage?” Our answer, “The surgical instrument of comedy opened us when we least expected it and then poured in grace.”
The cast of My Fair Lady (2012).
These many instruments, applied with skill and precision, conjure magic that lures us to drop our defenses and open our hearts. And our experiences together in the dark prepare us to go out into the world more capable to become our own humble instruments of peace. This is what we come to the theatre to do. And moment by moment, play by play, our practice makes us better at building peace on earth.
– Bill English, Artistic Director
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I’m less interested in musical theatre. I often miss a lot of words in the songs, and words are the reason to go to theatre.
I can go to concerts or opera for the music.
I subscribe to many theatres in the Bay Area, and am disappointed when it’s a musical.
Marcy pattinson forwarded this essay to me because she thought the comments were very thoughtful and caring, and I agree.. We miss your EmpathyGym and her happy to say we are moving back to San Francisco in the middle of February so that we can come to your Productions and lift up our hearts with you. xo. Niko Mayer