Rent

I was a second-year seminary student in 1983. In a few months I would find out that I would be coming to Adrian, Michigan to serve as a pastoral assistant/intern at St. Stephen’s Lutheran Church. My biggest concern at the time was that I was still single and was fearful of entering the ministry alone. Then one morning I got a phone call from my mom telling me that my uncle Jeff had died that day. He was 24, just 8 months older than I was. What? How? When? Why?

Jeff was one of the first documented cases of what was to be labeled “Acquired Immuno-Deficiency Syndrome.” According to these statistics, there were only 620 deaths from AIDS before 1983. In fact, we were originally led to believe that Jeff had died from a type of lymphatic cancer. But Jeff had also been a practicing homosexual. As awareness of HIV/AIDS increased, it became undeniable that certain groups were at a high risk of contracting this deadly condition—male homosexuals, their sexual partners, and intravenous drug users. In short, this was no contagious germ spread by sneezing or handshakes. A person had to engage in some pretty precise behaviors in order to get HIV-AIDS. Now all that was left of Jeff was his memory—and a square on a traveling AIDS quilt.

I had another uncle named Jerry. He was a few years younger than my mom, and was a very talented performer. He performed in Las Vegas, New York, appeared on television, and eventually put together his own nightclub act featuring “clowns in the theatre.” I would occasionally help Uncle Jerry set up his sound system at whatever venue he was performing, so I saw the show quite a bit. At my great-grandma’s birthday party in 1993, I saw him perform his act one last time. He was worn out physically, drained, pale, and sick. Yes, he was HIV-positive and dying of AIDS. So many times during the coming months I would write notes, go and visit Jerry in the hospital and finally in hospice, encouraging him to repent before God and Christ would surely forgive him. To this day, I do not know for certain that he ever acknowledged that his lifestyle, by which he contracted the means of his death, was a sinful abomination before God. No, there were always plenty of churches ready to proclaim “acceptance” and “toleration” of homosexuals from their pulpits and in their counseling.

What would Jesus do? I have found this an almost impossible fence to straddle. I believe that Jesus’ compassion is unconditional, and I want to stand ready to offer love and support to those who are dying of AIDS. On the other hand, when the AIDS victims demand that I accept homosexuality as “the way God made me,” there is a part of me that says, “Look, choices have consequences. You made your choice. Now here is the deathbed you have chosen.” A recent headline affirms that the world’s largest Christian denomination, the Roman Catholic Church, has reiterated its firm moral stance that there is no compatibility between homosexuality—either as an inclination or as a practice—and the Bible. We should also be honest enough to realize that part of militant Islam’s rejection of the West and its intent on destroying the US, Britain, and the rest are due to the open celebration of “sexual diversity.” (Perversity?)

Playing now in the cinema (to differentiate from the theatre) is the film adaptation of Jonathan Larson’s rock opera/musical Rent. Rent made its Broadway debut in 1996. The composer/author died of an aortic aneurysm on opening night. As a Broadway show goes, Rent has enjoyed critical acclaim, won every imaginable award, and can claim devotees who have seen the show dozens of times—the so-called “Rentheads.” Naturally, I was curious to see the show, and went with Zeke when he was home over Thanksgiving break.

You can read a synopsis of the plot (such as it is) here. You can read reviews at Yahoo! movies as well. I’d like to offer a few remarks of my own. I do this only reluctantly, because I reject the idea that a parent or teacher is supposed to serve as censor for their children and students. I would much rather develop in you and my sons a sense of discernment and critical judgment. With that disclaimer, here goes.

I know that Rent wants its viewers to feel empathy for the characters, and to see them as human beings deserving dignity and respect. The characters include a drag queen (Angel), a gay professor (Tom Collins), a songwriter who can’t write any songs because he was a junkie (Roger), a documentary filmmaker who wants to shoot artsy, cutting-edge stuff about the homeless (Mark), who has also lost his fiancée (Maureen) to another woman (!), a black lawyer (JoAnn). Mark and Roger share an apartment above Mimi (a junkie stripper) and they all refuse to pay rent to their ex-roommate (Bennie) who married a rich white woman and is now part of the conservative establishment they all hate. In fact, Mark’s parents call him to wish him a Merry Christmas, and he refuses to answer their call, asking Roger to remind him of his annoying parents whenever he wonders what he’s doing struggling in NYC. Some of the most poignant scenes are those in which the AIDS support group members get together to talk about their fears, which are realized when Angel dies in Collins’ arms. The audience also is treated to an in-your-face, defiant rejection of traditional morality as the cast gyrate on a restaurant table in the number “La Vie Boheme” (The Bohemian Life).

As much as I want to remember to be compassionate and treat these people with dignity, there is another part of me that just can’t. I especially can’t take Mark. He’s offered a job by a television show (“Buzzline”) that likes his stuff, and he quits it because it is “selling out” to all the values he rejects. Well, I thought, how about getting a job, loser? How about being responsible and paying your rent, jerk? Doesn’t your landlord have the right to collect rent from you? You’re such a big boy that you don’t live with your parents and you won’t even talk to them on Christmas. How about stepping up to the plate of adult maturity once? And you know where they all get money from? Angel shows up with a wad of money because he/she has killed a dog that was annoying a rich lady. How do you like that for liberal consistency? The majority of the characters are living the way they are, in the horrible conditions they find themselves in, because they have made the choice to do so. In all fairness, though, I did feel some empathy with Roger, who is an ex-junkie (showing hope for reform/repentance) and, although Mimi practically throws herself at him, realizes that he cannot engage in risky sexual behavior with her because he has AIDS himself, contracted via a needle. He even tries to get Mimi off of her drug habit, and eventually even writes a song that seems to save her from dying.

A parent of one of my students saw me today and said “Don’t let your students see Rent.” Well, of course I can’t prevent any students from seeing anything they want, especially a PG-13 movie. But if you decide to go, use some discretion. I think many of the musical numbers are powerful, and well-performed and choreographed. But the glorification of a lifestyle that so obviously leads to awful consequences (and the worst—hell itself—remains invisible to us in this life) is not that palatable for me.


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