“Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 3:13-14 (KJV)
I woke at dawn, ready to embark on my annual trek to Shakespeare in the Park. Typically, I prefer a Shakespearean comedy, like Taming of the Shrew or Much Ado About Nothing, because laughing is one of life’s great pleasures—plus, a comedy ends in marriage. That day, however, I wouldn’t laugh. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, ended in death, and my heart felt heavy.
Hamlet is a dark play. I cringed when I watched the performance on stage, in the films with Laurence Olivier (1948) and Kenneth Branagh (1996), and whenever I read the tragedy. In college, I analyzed Shakespearean plays for professors who wanted a critical view and thesis defense. Now, as an older person, I wanted to experience and interpret the play from a Christian worldview and a more hopeful perspective.
As I drove, the sky darkened, matching the moodiness of the play. Wind and rain buffeted my car as I drove up and over Rogers Pass and down the flats toward Gibson Park. I kept praying that God would hear my voice in the morning, remove the goosebumps prickled across my neck, and replace the cloak of darkness with a more hopeful message from Hamlet.
At two in the afternoon, I arrived at Gibson Park. Instead of seeing cars in the parking lot and people on the grass waiting for the performance to begin, everything was empty. Did I have the wrong park or date?
“You’re early!” a man said.
Soon, cast members bustled around the stage, connecting platforms, tweaking speakers, and inserting stained-glass windows into the set.
The show would start in four hours.
I kicked myself for not checking the website before departure. I believed the three o’clock start time my local art flyer posted. Still, it was my fault for not double-checking the time the play would begin. I considered driving back home—if I stayed until the end of the play, I wouldn’t arrive at my place until midnight.
Was God already teaching me a lesson about patience before the curtain opened? Still frustrated, I went for a quick meal of chicken enchiladas, beans, and rice and returned to Gibson Park. I sat on a picnic bench, trying to figure out what character in the Bible might help me understand Hamlet and his choices. King David topped the list.
Like the Prince of Denmark, King David made terrible mistakes. David was a passionate king who saw the beautiful Bathsheba bathing, sent her husband to death, and then took Bathsheba for himself. David and Bathsheba’s first baby died. Yet King David didn’t allow the loss of his son to paralyze him from moving forward and learning from his mistakes. The King of Israel knew nothing would bring his son back to life, so he refused to waste another moment worrying about something only God could control. He pressed on, vowing not to make the same mistake again and learning to trust and have faith in God’s promises.
Unlike David, who repented and focused on God, melancholy Hamlet kept looking over his shoulder, ruminating on past errors and events beyond his control.
As I waited for fellow gatherers to join me in chairs or on the grass, I flipped through the season’s program guide and received my first answer to prayer. I recognized the person I met earlier as the actor playing Hamlet. I thanked God for His precious gift of meeting the man playing the sweet prince, which removed the usual brunt of sadness and pain I felt during the play’s tragic ending.
As I left the park, I thanked God for answering my prayers and gifting me with an overwhelming compassion for Hamlet. The Prince of Denmark faced many obstacles, including his unforgiveness, unwillingness to repent, uncertainty, and doubt. Hamlet had the same opportunity as King David. He could forget the things behind him, focus forward, and accept God’s fatherly mercy and grace.
If only the sweet prince had repented, moved into God’s open and loving arms, received His divine blessing—and acted—before the final curtain fell.
