A theatrical wake-up call
It was one of the most acclaimed Broadway shows of the moment, and I was thrilled to have a ticket. So there I was, hugging myself in the dark, gripped with despair as I watched the characters slide into a downward emotional spiral.
All at once, a fire engine came barreling past the theater, alarm blaring and horn honking, jolting me into remembering that outside—just a few yards from where I sat—the streets were packed with people who knew nothing of the predicament on stage.
Of course they didn’t. It wasn’t real. And even the best actors, makeup artists, and set designers in the world couldn’t make it so. If I’d wanted to, I could have ended the suspense by stepping out of the darkened theater. But I didn’t. I stayed to watch the rest of the play—and learned a lesson I’ve never forgotten.
As a lifelong student of the Bible and the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, I found that incident to be a vivid illustration of the false suggestion of evil to draw us in. In the second chapter of Genesis we read of the “deep sleep” that fell upon Adam (verse 21 ). I have come to understand that sleep to be the dream that tells us we live in matter, and that—like Adam—we are condemned to dust, a life of sickness, sin, and death. The Scriptures, however, are a wake-up call—just like the fire engine that jolted me in the theater that day. They tell us the opposite: that we live in Spirit, God.
The Old Testament is full of figures—Moses, Joseph, Elijah, Elisha, and others—who helped awaken those around them from false beliefs in lack, discord, and disease.
In the New Testament, the life of Christ Jesus is the crowning example of a spiritual wake-up call. Jesus’ life and works were consummate proof that right here and now we can throw off the lying illusions of the Adam dream.
Mrs. Eddy’s book Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures is full of admonitions and explanations to help keep us awake to the truth of our being. One of my favorites—and perhaps one of the most original—is her creation of a fictional trial in which a defendant called Mortal Man is charged with the offense of liver disease (see pp. 430–442 ).
Any belief of rejection, failure, sadness, was simply a script that I could refuse to act out.
In this fictional courtroom—where proceedings unfold like a play—witnesses testify that Mortal Man is ill. These witnesses specifically describe conditions and symptoms that they say prove his illness. But when a counsel named Christian Science steps in to defend Mortal Man, the counsel challenges the veracity of these witnesses. And when challenged, they all disappear. It turns out that they had no truth in them, and the various costumes and props that they insisted on—sallow skin, coated tongue—are illusions as well. Once these illusions are dispelled, the defendant is judged to be well—as he always was.
I had an interesting opportunity to prove to myself the truth of these teachings once when a romantic relationship I had been involved in came to a crushing ending. At first I hoped that with the passage of time my unhappiness would go away. But it didn’t. In fact, some time later I realized that I was actually feeling worse. A painful sense of failure seemed to be dogging all my steps.
“Enough!” I finally thought, and headed to the nearest Christian Science Reading Room. There, I turned to the Bible and read these words from the book of Isaiah: “Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed: … for thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth, and shalt not remember the reproach of thy widowhood any more” (54:4 ).
At first I felt puzzled by this. Who could forget widowhood? I wondered. But then suddenly I got it. I saw so clearly that all the evidence that seemed to be testifying against me—hurt feelings, unkind words, a romance gone sour—were fictions, with no more reality than the props of a play.
The truth was that I was spiritual, the loved idea of God. Any belief of rejection, failure, sadness, was simply a script that I could refuse to act out. By acknowledging God, Truth, I could step into the light at any time I chose. And so I did. I left the Reading Room feeling entirely at peace. Every negative thought and feeling was gone.
But that’s not the end of the story. Interestingly, a couple of days later, my friend called. He was warm and friendly and definitely interested in reestablishing the relationship. This time, I knew it wasn’t right to get too deeply drawn in. But we did see each other casually a few more times until the relationship just naturally faded out—this time without hurt on either side.
Most fascinating to me about the experience was the clarity with which I was able to see that this scenario—which had seemed so real—was nothing more than a lie. And once I did grasp its unreality, all evidence of it disappeared, every bit as definitively as a play finishes when the curtain comes down and the house lights go back on.
