‘I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight.’

Jeff Hamling draws out the gospel-shaped hole at the heart of hit musical – and now film – Hamilton

Hamilton is considered the greatest musical of our generation. A renewed sense of interest and excitement rippled through the country when Disney Plus announced its release of the show (starring the original cast).

Alexander Hamilton is given the ‘bastard, orphan’ moniker in the first line of Hamilton. The theme reverberates throughout the show until it forms a bookend in the closing song, where his wife Eliza sings: ‘I establish the first private orphanage in New York City. / I help to raise hundreds of children. / I get to see them growing up. In their eyes I see you, Alexander.’

Hamilton’s ignominious status of orphan is significant because it reflects the American ideal that anyone, regardless of race, place of birth, or class, can attain his or her own version of success in society. The young, scrappy immigrant-orphan embodies the American Dream of upward mobility. Hamilton is the quintessential American.

Yet Hamilton is more than a superficial endorsement of social advancement. For Hamilton, upward mobility means shedding the stigma of his orphan status. He believes that he can replace the pain of abandonment and loss with the joy of success and accomplishment. He’s promised that ‘in New York you can be a new man’.

Sonship and home

The life of Hamilton’s political contemporary, Aaron Burr, is dominated by a similar desire. In the song ‘Aaron Burr, Sir’, Hamilton realises that he and Burr are both orphans: ‘You’re an orphan. Of course! I’m an orphan.’ And while Burr enjoys many social privileges, he too is haunted by a sense of insignificance. Both Hamilton and Burr yearn to ‘prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for’. As a result, they compete against one another for the higher position of rank and honour. The conflict of Hamilton is the story of two orphans jostling for position against one another – like Esau and Jacob competing for the birthright of firstborn son. The story of Hamilton is the story of two orphans in search of sonship. For them, ‘the room where it happens’ is more than a place of power where secret political decisions are made. It symbolises a home, a family, love, significance, and acceptance. They have to be in that room because they are orphans in need of a home.

We can relate to both characters in varying degrees. We live in a fallen world, which means that each of us has experienced some sense of neglect or abandonment as a child – no matter how healthy or broken the home.

Some children are raised with an enormous amount of pressure to perform well in school or sports in order to garner favour with their parents. For them, love is something that is earned or lost based on performance. Other children grow up feeling like they are not seen or loved because they live in the shadow of a favoured son or daughter, or perhaps their parents seem more invested in their career than them. Even worse, a good number of children experience the trauma of abuse, abandonment, divorce, or the death of one or both parents. The question is not whether you experienced a lack of love from your parents, but rather to what degree and what form did it take? And more important, the question Hamilton poses is – how has this lack of love shaped you?

Desire to do better

One idea Hamilton explores is that our experiences of abandonment might be able to shape us for the good and cause us to love more deeply. Perhaps those who have not received love can offer it to others, because they know what it is like to go without. For example, in the song, ‘Dear Theodosia’ Hamilton and Burr sing in harmony with one another. As they lavish affection on their newborn babies, they each state: ‘My father wasn’t around. I swear that I’ll be around for you.’ For this brief moment, their shared sense of abandonment drives them into a shared desire to love more deeply. Burr tells Theodosia: ‘When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart.’ Hamilton sings: ‘Oh Philip, you outshine the morning sun. My son.’ Both fathers swear to their children: ‘We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you.’ Is it possible for two orphans to give the love that they themselves have never received?

Ultimately this option fails both Hamilton and Burr. Hamilton can’t love Eliza and Philip in the way he promised, because he can’t let go of his desire for achievement. Eliza sings in ‘Burn’ that Hamilton is overly obsessed with his legacy and only cares about ‘how they perceive you, you, you, you’. His attempts to love his wife and child are overwhelmed and destroyed by his feelings of inadequacy and insignificance. He simply isn’t able to give what he himself hasn’t received. For Burr, we realise that his love for his daughter Theodosia is twisted into a murderous rage when he finally shoots Hamilton in their duel, exclaiming: ‘This man will not make an orphan of my daughter.’

The obvious lesson of Hamilton and Burr is that success and achievement can’t fill the desire to be unconditionally loved and accepted. But the deeper significance of their story reveals the irrefutable law that we are unable to give to others what we ourselves have not received.

Only the gospel delivers

However, the promise of the gospel leaves us neither helpless nor hopeless. There remains the possibility for transformation for all of us who have experienced the pain of abandonment and neglect. In John 14:8 Jesus promises: ‘I will not leave you as orphans.’ The very love that Hamilton and Burr were searching for – the love that we all yearn for – is given to us freely in the gospel: ‘See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!’ (1 John 3:1). While even the best of parents will fail their children from time to time, God never will: ‘Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!’ (Isa. 49:15).

Did you know that every time Jesus speaks to God, he always calls Him Father? In fact, He always refers to God as His Father except one time: on the cross. From that place of abandonment, Jesus cries out: ‘My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ (Matt. 27:46). On the cross, the Son was ripped apart from His Father. Why? Because He would rather do that than lose you!

When God looks at you, His heart sings: ‘You outshine the morning sun!’ Jesus entered your place of abandonment and neglect, so that you might forever experience the infinite and lavish love of the Father. Only when you have this love are you free to let go of your pursuits of success and achievement, and give to others the very thing you have been given.

Ultimately, it’s not New York and the opportunity for the American Dream that gives us the chance to be made new. It’s the fatherly love of God in the gospel.