Lights Up

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Okay, St. Genesius, it’s up to you now.

For the last week, I’ve been furiously praying to the one-time thespian who became a Christian martyr and the patron saint of actors, clowns, comedians, dancers, and musicians—along with lawyers, barristers, people with epilepsy, printers, stenographers, and victims of torture.

That’s quite a roster, come to think of it, but right now I just need St. Genesius of Rome to please, please, pretty please with two tons of sugar on top, look down upon and bless my one-act play Mercy Road, which kicks off tomorrow for a three-show run at The Chain Theatre in Manhattan.

As we got closer to the premiere, I became so twisted that I pounced onto Google, hammered out “patron saint of theater” in search of divine intervention, and learned about the Roman comedian who used to perform in plays that mocked Christianity.

According to legend, Genesius had a rapid change of heart while performing before Emperor Diocletian.

He had planned to thumb his nose at Christian religious rites by pretending to receive the Sacrament of Baptism as part of his act.

However—plot twist!—Genesius saw the light and converted to Christianity right there on stage.

All The World's A Stage

That’s some heavyweight improv there, brother.

He proclaimed his new belief and categorically refused to renounce it, even when Diocletian ordered him to do so.

Unfortunately, he was beheaded and is now up in Heaven, where—God willing—he’s getting all my hysterical messages.

I’ve also been praying to St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers, for his help and to thank him for getting me this far.

I am an absolute basket case over this, and my shadow self fervently wishes I had never submitted my work to this festival.

This experience has dragged me howling, screeching, and whimpering out of my comfort zone, forcing me to leave Netflix behind and drastically disrupt my fossilized routine.

And in the process, I have learned so much about theater, writing, and myself. It’s cost me time, money, and the little sanity I have left—and it was all worth it.

So whatever happens over the next few weeks, I am eternally grateful for this crazy, nerve rattling opportunity. And if you’re in town, please come on down to The Chain.

And if you see some weirdo on his knees whining up to the heavens, that’ll be me praying to St. Genesius.

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