Three Dreams

I don’t remember my very first introduction to this idea in evangelical Christianity called “the rapture”. But I do remember the first time I was scared by it. I was in sixth grade and our youth group was having a lock-in at our small, rural church. Sometime around midnight we watched a faith-based production and, if my memory serves me right, the movie was called “A Thief in the Night”. The film was outdated and the dialogue a bit cheesy and the musical score sounded like something from the twilight zone. It portrayed different Christian characters suddenly disappearing and signaling the beginning of “the end times.” The ones who were “left behind” were the scoffers and mockers who did not believe in Jesus as their Savior, and had laughed at those who warned them about this coming rapture. My girlfriends and I were scared to go to the bathroom alone for the remainder of the night. Like the after-effects of a horror flick, we were afraid that we’d come back to an empty church building. We giggled and ran around in jitters, hiding from our friends and then jumping out at them, enjoying the thrill of fear.

“The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom” or so claims the old Proverb. But is this the kind of fear the Proverb is encouraging?

To my recollection, none of the “lost” kids converted that night. And my best friend, who came to youth group with me despite she and her family’s atheism, began her gradual exit from all “Christian” activity. Years later, after she became more deeply convinced of her atheism, she told me that she still feared the rapture…or at least that rapture movie. 

For me, it had the opposite effect. Rather than repulsion, I became a god-pleaser. I would do whatever it took to not get “left behind”. The next year the Left Behind book series came out. I was probably the only seventh grader in the world to read them all. But I wanted to know as much as there was to learn about this event called “the rapture” and insure I was among the “disappearances”. The thought of being left to endure the Great Tribulation was terrifying. While I was assured by those who loved me that my confession and belief in Jesus as my Savior was enough, there were conflicting messages sent in other ways. Jesus’s own parables about the talents and the ten virgins and the sheep and goats were enough to send my heart reeling and doubting such assurances.

Once this fear began taking root I started having a recurring nightmare every so often. It went like this:

I’m standing outside going about some kind of normal daily routine. I look up and I suddenly see people surrounding me beginning to float up toward the sky. I am one of them at first, but then I lag behind. I begin descending back toward the earth. I can see Jesus standing high in the sky wearing pristine, shining white garments - a smile frozen on his face, unchanged by my inability to come off of the ground and get to him. I jump. I get scared that he’s going to disappear without me. I jump again and float a little, but I never can make it up to him. I am filled with shock, disbelief and fear over my powerlessness to change what is happening.

Then I awake relieved that it was only a nightmare and quickly recite the sinner’s prayer again, hoping that it is enough.

Many years later I began to feel permission to question this interpretation of the biblical apocalyptic revelation, as well as some of the more commonly accepted views of hell (which was also a grave hang up for me to the trustworthiness of God). I also encountered on my spiritual journey a much more loving Jesus. This Jesus didn’t remain aloof and untouchable, but stooped low in search of me and the whole world. This Jesus would never give up and never stop hoping for his opportunity to free every soul. This Jesus gets angry and grieves the fear-based performances that we get entangled in that keep us from knowing ourselves and, therefore, knowing him. But his faithfulness and mercy are absolutely unending. He is not unmoved, but DEEPLY moved and moving, never exhausting Love’s possibilities.

When I began getting glimpses of this reality and daring to believe it might be true, my recurring nightmare stopped. It was replaced by a series of three dreams that brought me such joy. Knowing that God’s love had actually touched my subconscious dream world and healed a deep-seated fear was a humbling and beautiful experience. This God could reach me even in my sleep! It’s been a few years now and I finally wanted to take the time to write them out and share their goodness. I still use the images from the dreams to help engage and focus my imagination in prayer.

Dream 1:

I am riding in a car - a red convertible with the top down - my husband in the driver’s seat and we’re crossing over the Golden Gate Bridge. We’re the only vehicle on the road and we’re cruising along at top speed. The sound of the revved engine and the wind are deafeningly loud. 

Suddenly before us, maybe 50 feet ahead, is a great wall of white, cloudy mist. It’s too thick to see through and it stretches infinitely high, infinitely low and infinitely wide. The enormous unavoidability of this thing is heart-stopping. Mark and I glance at each other knowing that we’re going too fast to stop and are going to go through it. Both of us feel deep down that this is it. This is the end. Death. Thrill and fear and acceptance of this fate fill me as I brace myself. 

We pass through the cloud-wall and I smell the moisture and feel the coolness. I can see nothing, not even my hand in front of my face; only white. But as quickly as we are in, we are through. Our car automatically turns off and comes to a stop. Deep peace penetrates everything. We get out to admire the breath-taking beauty of our surroundings. The sun is high and shining; there are hills and grasslands in the distance and we are still on the bridge overlooking a perfectly sparkling river. A thin sheen of mist covers the sky on one side and the sun beaming on it creates the full rainbow spectrum of color. Through the rainbow, I see his face. Jesus’s face. He’s smiling and radiant and he’s everywhere. He’s the very atmosphere. He draws my gaze to something he wants to show me. I notice a three or maybe four foot high structure made of bricks that are painted pink and there is a thick book lying on the top. I know that it is mine. I approach it and feel Jesus standing beside me; his spirit in me. The cover of the book says: “Sarah: A life scarred by sin, but I was with her through it all.”

I woke up then understanding that his story of who I was differed greatly from my own.

Dream 2:

I’m outside overlooking a vast plain of shin-high grass. I’m out in it searching, perhaps for wild flowers. With suddenness the sky darkens in the distance and rain begins to pour. The sound of its approach is deafeningly loud and I understand that this isn’t just a normal rain but its drops are heavy enough to crush me. Terror strikes and I start running as hard and fast as I can away from it and toward my house that looks like an old broken down shed. I know that even if I make it home, the house will not withstand the weight of this downpour. The waters are coming after me with such speed and as the gap closes I dive and prostrate myself, face to the ground, arms covering my head. Knowing that I only have moments left, I clench and tense up waiting for cold drops to tear through my body and annihilate me. When it falls, I jolt with surprise. The rain is warm and so breathtakingly gentle. It fills me with a sense of childlike pleasure and I roll over onto my back. Relief and joy flood my soul as the water drenches me.

I woke up with a new understanding of the fear of God. He is not the god that I imagined. And while His greatness strikes an awe that can border on terror, there is not even the slightest bit of abuse in Him. He is gentle and good and full of delight.

Dream 3:

I am standing in the middle of a small town or city. There are people going about their lives, as am I. Something causes me to look up into the blue atmosphere. My heart catches and dread fills me as I see that the entire sky, east to west and north to south, has become a wall of water appearing thick and heavy, and it’s quickly descending upon the whole world. As with the other dreams, I know that this is the end. I can do nothing to stop what is coming and I fearfully posture myself to finally experience this thing called Death. I hold my breath as the water reaches my head and quickly overtakes my whole body. But, as with the previous dream, I am surprised and delighted to find this water gentle and warm, tingly and cleansing to the skin. My head comes out on the other side of the water wall and I gasp for air, relieved to discover that the thickness is not even 4 feet. As the water settles to the ground, remaining waist-deep on me, it becomes a gently flowing river. The current sweeps me up and I float effortlessly on my back as though I am riding a raft. I look around and the place is new. I ride the current through a stunningly magnificent valley, the sides are decorated with hills of trees, shimmering waterfalls, and vibrant colors that gleam under an afternoon sunlight. Once through the valley, I am taken into a village where the river ushers me into a small antique shop. I look around at the relics and treasures of time gone by that the store holds. Then I see a father with his young son who is maybe six years old. They are looking around together, pointing out different antiques while picking others up to admire with awe and wonder. The son then remarks to the father, “And Dad, all of this stuff is free now for everyone!”

I woke up feeling God’s delight in all things being made new.

In my opinion, there is significance in the dreams: God as mist and rain and water. God as inescapable goodness. God as gentle and kind. God, not sparing us from the mystery of death, but using it to loose the chains of fear. He’s very different from the “Jesus” of the nightmare, the anti-christ of my imagination who follows fear with despair and expects humanity to figure out how to reach him in order to escape death. In contrast, the God of the three dreams overtakes the whole world. Nothing and no one gets left out of the baptismal holiness.

I’m not making any doctrinal statements out of this (to me His love doesn’t fit neatly into an “-ism”), except that somehow His love is all-embracing. I once read in a book by Robert Capon that, in the same way that C.S. Lewis in “The Great Divorce” was able to imagine that all of hell existed in a tiny, microscopic crack on the ground of Heaven, Capon imagined all of hell and its souls existing in the nail scars of Jesus’ hands. Still held in his grasp. And that what he holds, he loves. We, therefore, can hope with him and trust him for EVERYTHING. He always leads the way to hope and possibility.

I don’t think that the fear of God that leads to wisdom is the kind of fear that exists in a child’s terror. So what is the fear of God that leads to wisdom (wisdom defined as the very thoughts and heart of God) rather than disgust or despair?

In my opinion, encountering the deep vulnerability of his love is terrifying. His complete freedom to be Himself and give Himself without forcing His will on anyone causes the very oceans to tremble (see Psalm 77). Yet He hides in the weak things so that in our weakness He can draw us to Him rather than frighten us away. As we begin walking with this Lover of souls, we realize that He wants to expose everything that is false in us. Every lie we’ve believed about Him and ourselves and humanity. And His loving gaze is INSISTENT that no part of us is left untouched by Him. The loneliness that we like to escape to for shelter and protection isn’t okay with a God who delights in fellowship…community…intimacy…free trust…and joy. This is a fearful experience in the beginning. But this scary road is one that fills us with longing to be truly known, not repulsion, and it leads to the wisdom of childlike delight and trust and true acts of love, not to god-pleasing performances.

I wonder if this is the meaning of Jesus’ parables? Perhaps the talents represent our true selves that He desperately desires for us to be without shame in increasing measure. And maybe the virgins and the oil represent the spiritual journey that we’re on with an admonition not to stop praying when it feels like He has abandoned us. In that dark night of the soul, we can expect Him to arrive and carry us into gladness. And maybe the sheep and the goats isn’t a story intended to threaten and manipulate us into service, but a promise that if we do not love the thirsty, naked and imprisoned parts of ourselves and humanity, if we don’t embrace our weaknesses with kindness, then we will be thrown into the eternal flame. What eternal blaze is stronger than our Father’s love? It’s a blaze that destroys the Accuser and exposes the lies and sinister voices that say “Your nakedness is ugly. Your ignorance (imprisonment) is all your fault. Your hunger and thirst is such a nuisance. You should be ashamed of such weakness.” Such falseness and absurdity needs to be burned. When we’re living believing these lies, avoiding and covering our weakness and shunning the same in others, the day of judgment always comes as an unwelcome surprise. The burning hurts. The Son of Man is the truth about us and humanity. To see him is scary at first because we’re so used to repressing vulnerability. But the blaze will never consume itself. Truth will come out purer than gold. This is why I can no longer see the eternal fire as a deterministic fate or punishment. Once a person has had enough, the flames stop hurting and start healing, though the consequences of believing the lies leave scars. Thankfully, scars are acceptable to Jesus.

At least that’s what I think. If I am wrong, I can only trust that the truth is even better. :-)