Ten years ago this week, Matthew Shephard died. That night, Terrence McNally's Corpus Christi opened at Manhattan Theater Club, with police dogs and metal detectors, and ugly violent threats. The profound show of the worst side of human nature surrounding those two events shared a common cause: hate.
While the odious Fred Phelps still pickets funerals (of soldiers killed in Iraq these days), Corpus Christi's reception has undergone a sea change; last May, when we were in Dublin for the International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival, I had a chance to see Los Angeles's 108 Theatre's production of the McNally play. In an ancient building, first a theatre in the 1600s, then a Roman Catholic church, now once again a theatre, I got to see an achingly beautiful work that moved me in many ways: the part of me that's a theater artist; the part that's a lesbian; and the part that's still very much a Christian (and who is NOT "intrisincally disordered" thank you very much).
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