Tears brimmed my eyes as I walked down the dark street from Theatreworks to the car park building past partygoers starting their Saturday night strutting in sleek dresses. Never had I been so viscerally affected by a play to the point it altered my psychology. The Gospel According to Jesus Queen of Heaven made me euphoric, and I felt healed.
The premise of a transgender Jesus story sparks to mind a camp show fuelled by sardonic humour, but Theatreworks presents The Gospel According to Jesus Queen of Heaven as theological and philosophical, not funny. Written by Jo Clifford in Glasgow in 2009, and since adapted around the world, Queen of Heaven deconstructs and rebuilds the story of Christ by queering both the religious figurehead and their stories.
At Theatreworks, audiences sit as the congregation in glasshouses raised above and around the set, each holding 2-6 people. They border a patch of grass surrounded by four white-clothed angels providing ethereal choir performances (including Mel O’Brien, whose voice I fell over for a few weeks ago at No Hat, No Play!). Lighting work completed by triad Rachel Lee, Katie Sfetkidis and Nathan Santamaria evolve between blue, gold and red in tranquil sync with the play’s mood. Jesus (Kirsten Smyth) paces the grass draped in a cape and a dress that sparkles even in darkness. There is an overwhelming sense of being within a trance as a convert of a futuristic cult, but the dream feels safe.
Unbelievably, Smyth debuts as a performer in Queen of Heaven, which she says “changed my life.” Over fifty-five minutes, she delivers a slow, measured monologue, presented as a poetic open-air sermon propositioning the transgender identity of Jesus and recasting the people they encountered. The prodigal son becomes the transgender daughter, and they do away with the virginal myth of Mary: her sex with Joseph was holy and pure. Jesus affords Mary Magdalene the feminist empathy she always deserved. Smyth brings weight to Jesus’ walk and voice as they step barefoot around the grass patch, self-assured, a beautiful leader.
Looking at their story, it’s not a far cry to believe Jesus might have been queer. Within this theory, religion’s violence over the millennia comes across as internalised homophobia, with their beloved suppressed from above. Instead of angry, jaded or bruised, Queen of Heaven’s Jesus understands the world and humanity’s inner torment. The daughter of God speaks to the broken body as the communal body and bring forth a new memory of Jesus. The production harmonises its own spirituality: the sermon glides on the angelic lighting and choir. It rebirths the empathy intrinsic to the idea of Jesus and of my own vision of Jesus from childhood before religion destroyed this innocent picture of love and mercy with its hatred. I never thought I would revisit the gospel this way.
Queen of Heaven isn’t arguing an alternative version of Jesus. It stands as an interpretation reclaiming Jesus from more dogmatic versions. Jesus has only even been a projection of the peace humanity needs, and the production grasps an empathic understanding of where that need currently sits and gives a new mother to that pain.
My history as a queer person growing up in Christianity infused my viewing, yet the production hit personal notes coincidentally. The Gospel According to Jesus Queen of Heaven is not on the nose. Its transcendent beauty – and other obvious strengths – give space to impact diverse theatre-goers with individual meaning. To touch so discretely with an eternal voice, rather than a broad blanket statement of the moment, gives this production of Queen of Heaven the power to free.
Theatre review: The Gospel according to Jesus, Queen of Heaven (Theatreworks).