Dreaming About God
I just woke up from a dream that left me shaking and filled with wonder.
In this dream, at first I was at a theater, watching a movie about a dishonest man who was acting as the manager of a prophet to create a religion. Then some teenage girls sitting behind me started talking, and the disturbance made me miss the end of the film. I was upset, and as we were leaving the theater, I stopped to talk to the projectionist, a young woman sitting at the back of the theater, and asked her how the film ended. She said at the end there was a child born who was both the false son of the innocent couple, and the false son of the manager, but also the true son of the blessing who would fulfill the prophesy.
Suddenly I found myself not hearing about or watching the film, but in the reality the film had been about. I was the child, now grown to young manhood, and being managed by the same unscrupulous man, and I was preaching to a small crowd. It was at first a small auditorium, but soon became more intimate, with the people crowding around me as if in a kitchen at a party.
I said God, like all people, was lazy. God didn't like to do all the work. If you were troubled, God wasn't going to just swoop down and fix everything for you like a winning lottery ticket. Oh sure, sometimes that happened, once in a blue moon, but the secret was, if you wanted a miracle, you had to help God make it for you.
You might pray for help with money, but God wasn't going to just dump a pile of money down your chimney in answer. What God might do instead is whisper in your ear that now would be a good time to look for a new job. Or send you a person who could help you with your finances. I said God made suggestions, not promises, because God wanted us to do some of the work.
At this the scheming manager was happy, because I was preaching in a way that he could use to keep himself comfortable without having to be accountable. But then I got to the heart of something much more important. I deviated away from the message the manager wanted me to preach, and started talking about the true nature of God.
I, as the young preacher, was filled with a glowing golden light, and weeping as I spoke. I spoke of a young woman I knew, who was sad and angry, and sure that God had abandoned his creation. I said that if there was one thing I knew to be true about God it was this: God loves each and every one of us with all God's heart and being. It made me weep to think of the woman who could no longer feel God's presence. Every single living being, I said, is a beloved Child of God.
I woke from this dream in tears, and I'm crying again now as I type this. I recently started attending a non-denominational, multi-faith church, and each service I've been to I've cried like this when the pastor has spoken of God's love for us and reminded us we are not alone.
I had a conversation with beachlass recently. She is a minister, and I had been asking her why I keep breaking down in tears at communion.
beachlass: So to go back to communion... depending on the symbolism; it's a ritual of sacrifice, remembrance, community, sharing the gifts of life (there's lots of different symbolism), but something about the liturgy and ritual is calling a response of tears... maybe expressing or releasing grief: your own, or acknowledgment of the hurt in the world. And God's presence should be both a comforting place to release that grief, and also a place to shout anger: in trust that we expect more from God.. we want the world changed, we want comfort and justice and healing.
nezuko: I... expect nothing from God. Reading what you wrote made me realize that very chillingly. I expect to be abandoned by God.
beachlass: Oh honey. Maybe that's why you're crying.
nezuko: I think so. It's the same kind of tears I have when someone is unexpectedly kind to me.
And then I had this dream.
Every so often I have had visions and dreams where I've felt the presence of divinity speaking directly to me; I think this was one of them. I'm not sure yet what to do with it. To be honest, it frightens me a little, to open up to the possibility of being beloved of God.
In this dream, at first I was at a theater, watching a movie about a dishonest man who was acting as the manager of a prophet to create a religion. Then some teenage girls sitting behind me started talking, and the disturbance made me miss the end of the film. I was upset, and as we were leaving the theater, I stopped to talk to the projectionist, a young woman sitting at the back of the theater, and asked her how the film ended. She said at the end there was a child born who was both the false son of the innocent couple, and the false son of the manager, but also the true son of the blessing who would fulfill the prophesy.
Suddenly I found myself not hearing about or watching the film, but in the reality the film had been about. I was the child, now grown to young manhood, and being managed by the same unscrupulous man, and I was preaching to a small crowd. It was at first a small auditorium, but soon became more intimate, with the people crowding around me as if in a kitchen at a party.
I said God, like all people, was lazy. God didn't like to do all the work. If you were troubled, God wasn't going to just swoop down and fix everything for you like a winning lottery ticket. Oh sure, sometimes that happened, once in a blue moon, but the secret was, if you wanted a miracle, you had to help God make it for you.
You might pray for help with money, but God wasn't going to just dump a pile of money down your chimney in answer. What God might do instead is whisper in your ear that now would be a good time to look for a new job. Or send you a person who could help you with your finances. I said God made suggestions, not promises, because God wanted us to do some of the work.
At this the scheming manager was happy, because I was preaching in a way that he could use to keep himself comfortable without having to be accountable. But then I got to the heart of something much more important. I deviated away from the message the manager wanted me to preach, and started talking about the true nature of God.
I, as the young preacher, was filled with a glowing golden light, and weeping as I spoke. I spoke of a young woman I knew, who was sad and angry, and sure that God had abandoned his creation. I said that if there was one thing I knew to be true about God it was this: God loves each and every one of us with all God's heart and being. It made me weep to think of the woman who could no longer feel God's presence. Every single living being, I said, is a beloved Child of God.
I woke from this dream in tears, and I'm crying again now as I type this. I recently started attending a non-denominational, multi-faith church, and each service I've been to I've cried like this when the pastor has spoken of God's love for us and reminded us we are not alone.
I had a conversation with beachlass recently. She is a minister, and I had been asking her why I keep breaking down in tears at communion.
beachlass: So to go back to communion... depending on the symbolism; it's a ritual of sacrifice, remembrance, community, sharing the gifts of life (there's lots of different symbolism), but something about the liturgy and ritual is calling a response of tears... maybe expressing or releasing grief: your own, or acknowledgment of the hurt in the world. And God's presence should be both a comforting place to release that grief, and also a place to shout anger: in trust that we expect more from God.. we want the world changed, we want comfort and justice and healing.
nezuko: I... expect nothing from God. Reading what you wrote made me realize that very chillingly. I expect to be abandoned by God.
beachlass: Oh honey. Maybe that's why you're crying.
nezuko: I think so. It's the same kind of tears I have when someone is unexpectedly kind to me.
And then I had this dream.
Every so often I have had visions and dreams where I've felt the presence of divinity speaking directly to me; I think this was one of them. I'm not sure yet what to do with it. To be honest, it frightens me a little, to open up to the possibility of being beloved of God.