Six months of prayers and planning and work and rehearsals and sacrifice culminate in four performances this week. Many will flock into the sanctuary (well, let's hope so), but few will be aware of what has happened to get to this point.
They will never know the countless hours spent by one man creating meticulous, scaled drawings for an original set. They won't understand the time spent thinking through color schemes and incorporating details of the era. Some won't get the artistic rendering of the backdrops and the painstaking attention to prop pieces, hair and clothing, not realizing all are designed to evoke the feelings of the time period.
No one may appreciate the tough choices made by the writers and the time spent garnering counsel from trusted sources over what could be controversial material. They won't see the hours and hours of prayer, Bible study and research done before one word is put on paper.
They won't be aware that much of the lining on the flats was done by a woman who suffers from fibromyalgia. They won't know she spent days up and down a ladder, desiring to be a part of the production even though she won't be able to attend any of the performances.
Will anyone realize the days upon days one man spent in his wood shop, putting together set pieces and then loading them on his trailer to haul miles away?
No one will applaud the woman who takes it upon herself to solve any little problem she thinks the director won't have time for. They won't know how she has catalogued costumes and scrounged up props and gotten dirty. They won't be aware of the many, many miles she's put on her van driving from home to church to meet the needs of her family, yet help in any way possible to free up the time of others involved.
They won't think of the men and women who have freely given their time to construct and paint and measure and sew. They will have no idea how much time was spent hunting for accessories or doing hair and makeup. There is no way to count the amount of paint splattered, carpets cleaned, chairs moved, thumbs hit by hammers or sore muscles.
Will anyone glance back to the sound and lighting booth to see the men who've made themselves readily available for lots of rehearsals?
No one sees the extra work the other pastors are willing to take on so the Creative Arts Pastor can devote his time to getting everything done for the production.
There will be no praise for the husbands and wives who sent their spouses off to rehearsal and took care of bath and bedtime duty alone.
People may notice the teenagers on stage, but will they truly understand how impressive it is they are willing to give up their time, a precious commodity at this age, to serve their church in this way?
Though there should be, there won't be a standing ovation for the people whose feelings were hurt in the casting process, who choose to display humility, though they wished for a bigger part, and accept what they were assigned, giving it their very best.
No one will see the anxiety and risk involved or the demonic attacks waged on those putting themselves out there.
There is no recognition for ushers and babysitters and people who have invited friends to come, yet all play a part.
Will the audience merely see "a show" or will they catch sight of the beauty in scores of people sacrificing for one united purpose?
The details are important. They are the body of Christ at work, not for the glory of any one particular person, but for the glory of One alone. May He be exalted.
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