Notes from the Cast: Rex Daugherty

We are in today’s Washington Post Backstage, read the article here.

Today’s cast notes are from Rex Daugherty who is making is Forum debut playing Saint Peter, among others.

Photo by Melissa Blackall

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FIGURING IT OUT

I don’t talk much about Faith or my religious background. The most I usually reveal about myself is that I’m a “recovering Baptist.” I think that’s partially because I’m still figuring out so much; faith is an on-going project for me. But a large reason I don’t bring it up is because I’m afraid of stereotype. I grew up in a Southern Baptist church in Oklahoma. I’m still amazed at how many ways my upbringing makes me who I am – whether I embrace these things or not. I’m embarrassed to be associated with men like Jerry Falwell and Fred Phelps. They call themselves Christian, too – but whatever God they serve, I don’t want a part of. I don’t want to be grouped with anyone who uses Jesus to be a narrow minded bigot.

At any rate, I’m very grateful to have the forum (get it…forum?!?) to discuss all these issues. I’m deeply inspired by the courage of this company and cast to explore their own beliefs and talk openly about them.

God, Jesus, Faith, the Bible – all of these things were very real for me when I was a kid. Concrete facts of life. They were also personal; I had a relationship with Jesus. When I was six, I walked the church aisle after telling my dad, “I think I want to be a Christian.” Part of my decision that night was grounded in fear, since the preacher had been talking about hell and eternal suffering. I don’t think I knew what Christianity was, but the alternative sounded like a bad deal. In later years I would question the validity of a conversion rooted in terror rather than a real faith in Jesus, but the truth is, after that childhood moment there was a change in my life. I began to make the effort of living like Christ, whatever that meant to my Baptist, first grade mind. It usually manifested in a fierce dedication to church attendance. Like club meetings, or something. When I was twelve I dedicated my life to the ministry. God’s work. To my almost teenage mind, that was only accomplishable by being either a Preacher or a Missionary (and in moments of honesty with myself, neither felt appealing. But that was for God to dictate and me to obey).

Sometime in junior high I noticed that my parents’ marriage was a little rocky, and I felt like God was telling me to pray that they wouldn’t get a divorce. I was familiar with the words of Jesus in the Bible, “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can move mountains.” So I prayed with full confidence that God wouldn’t let my family split up. I prayed with all the faith I had and trusted God would come through on his end of the deal.

My first year in college my parents got that divorce. Bad timing for Philosophy 101, because with those two things combined, I lost my faith in God. I don’t think I ever stopped believing he existed, but I no longer believed God was interested in human life. For all I knew, he was off in some corner of the galaxy trying to successfully make flan (Thanks, Eddie Izzard). I became depressed and quite cynical, and like Judas, fell into despair. It was during this spiritual darkness that I found theatre. I quickly fell in love with how much compassion there was in the arts. To me, that was something worth giving my life to. Obviously being a preacher or missionary wasn’t appealing anymore, so I became an actor. But something stuck with me from my former religious perspective; I felt like I was betraying my promise to God that I would use my life for “ministry.” Although I wasn’t about to drop out of my university’s theatre department, a voice was seemingly telling me that I was walking further away from God. It was like a divine ultimatum: you can either be an actor or go to Hell. By the way, it’s pretty distracting when you are trying to do Linklater breath work at the cost of eternal damnation.

Years later (during a production of The Orestia, actually…see appendix A for complete story), a lightening bolt of realization hit me. Guilt, shame, and forced loyalty, is not God’s way at all. As I began re-examining what I knew of God, my bitterness against him started to soften. I began to understand the difference between Religion and Faith. One is about guilt and the other is about Hope. I looked again at the Jesus I had grown up with; this time he wasn’t about fierce church attendance or missionary huts in Africa. He wasn’t orthodox at all. It seemed to me that Jesus was way more interested in compassion for humanity – which is what I had discovered in the theatre community. I then realized that it was okay with God if I wanted to be an actor. More than that, I believe God loves that I’m an actor.

To me, this play is about the people that God has seemingly forgotten about. The people Jesus would describe as, “the least of these.” Judas Iscariot being the prime example for that, as St. Monica describes him, “the leastest creature I had ever seen.” It’s a personal story, too; a reminder that God has not given up on me, even when it feels like I’m left to fin for myself. But the beauty of this play is that the message doesn’t stop there, on an individual level. It goes beyond personal satisfaction and challenges our idea of community. I think it reflects the true message of Jesus: he extends compassion on us so we can share it with others. “Follow me and I will make you a fisher of men!” Jesus’ calling of Peter reflects the pay-it-forward ethic that I believe is the heart of God.

And it’s because of this that I often came to rehearsal with a conflicted spirit. Like Julie mentioned, I’ve definitely noticed that working on this play has meant working on myself. To get to our rehearsals space downtown, it was impossible to avoid passing by a lot of people God has seemingly given up on. The “Washington-DC-least-of-these.” Normally I would have city vision (similar to metro mentality, where you shut out the surrounding world so no one will bother you). Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about the people who hit me up for change, or food, or are so far gone I can’t understand what they are saying to me. Ignoring these people is necessary evil of city living, right? But throughout the rehearsal process, it became increasingly difficult to keep up my city face. I kept hearing the words of Guirgis’ Jesus, “Right now I’m waiting to hit you up for free change so I can get high…make no mistake, who I love is every last one. I am every last one.”

My usual way of walking through Washington, DC had been interrupted. This play had ruined normal.

And that’s what I’m still figuring out with this whole experience. That’s what I’ll be carrying with me long after the run of the show is over. I’m not sure what an appropriate response should be, even though I realize it’s a rather overwhelming, open ended issue for anyone to face.

Jesus himself didn’t solve poverty…even if I believe that the miracle of feeding the five thousand actually happened, it was only one meal. Where did the starving masses have dinner?