A couple of weeks ago, I attended a local high school production of The Music Man. My friend's daughter was playing the lead role of Marian, and she—and the entire cast—did a fantastic job. And after the show, something happened that I can't stop thinking about. But first, let me back up a bit...
As I walked into the lobby of the theater, I looked to my right and saw a picture of a young man framed on the wall. When I took my seat and opened the show program, I learned he was a former student (and chorus member) named Tyler. He died in a tragic car accident in 1998. After he passed away, the school decided to honor him by dedicating the annual musical to his memory. The production I was about to watch was the 23rd anniversary of this tradition.
Tyler's story gripped me, partly because we were born the same year, and the high school I attended is only a few miles away from this one. I wonder if Tyler and I liked the same music or TV shows. I wonder if we would have been friends had we gone to the same school. It made me sad to think of my peer dying way too soon and so tragically. I thought it was wonderful that the school honored him in this way. But I wasn't expecting what came next.
After the final bows, two students from the cast took center stage and shared Tyler's story. Each year, the proceeds from the musical go toward college scholarships for seniors. The two students asked past recipients of the scholarship to stand. A few people in the audience stood as we applauded.
And then (and this is where it took everything in me not to break down and start sobbing loudly)—the cast sang one last song. It was an original song they sing every year, written for Tyler by a Broadway composer. It's titled "There Is Only One You."
Here is what I kept thinking (and what moved me the most about the whole experience): The kids on this stage weren't even born when Tyler died. And yet, they were now connected to his story.
After a tragic event, it can be easy to want to forget about it and "move on." The painful memories are too much to bear. We've all been there. But this high school decided to lean into the pain. Rather than try to forget Tyler's tragic death, they used the pain as a catalyst for good works. This couldn't have been easy, especially in those first few years when the wounds were still fresh.
I experienced a taste of God's kingdom inside that high school theater.
When Jesus blew the doors off death on Easter Sunday, it was the beginning of establishing his kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. It's a kingdom that doesn't ignore sadness or pain but redeems it. It's a kingdom that acknowledges the brokenness of the world and then begins working to set things right. And no, that vision will never be fully realized until Jesus comes back. But in the meantime, we get to take part in his life-giving work here and now. Sometimes that looks like high schoolers singing a song to honor a life cut short way too soon.
As I watched these students sing Tyler's tribute song, I could see how much it meant to them. Some of them were crying. You got the sense that somehow, in some unexplainable way, they knew Tyler personally. It was as if they were staring Death square in the face and saying, "Yes, I see you. I see your destruction. I feel the hurt and the pain you cause. And yet, I also see the hope in the midst of it."
As I held back my own tears, I thought of my 1-year-old son, Emmett. 13 years from now, he'll be attending this same high school (assuming we don't move!). I thought to myself, Maybe he'll be up on that stage one day, singing that song, honoring Tyler's memory.
Maybe he—and our entire family—will become part of Tyler's story, a story full of profound sadness and pain.
But also one that flickers with hope.
—
P.S. If you’d like to support my writing, you can buy me a sweet tea to keep me caffeinated and it would be much appreciated.