It was another crazy, weird dream. I was supposed to be teaching a college class on something or other, I don't know what. My classroom was in an Art Deco era building at the top of a wide staircase, a couple doors down on the right. As I got to the landing at the top, I noticed that although it was broad, the hallway to my right was crowded, so I decided to turn left, knowing that the building was built on a square. Unfortunately, the building must have grown as I walked down the hallway. I kept walking, then running, turning corner after corner, and finally I was sliding on the waxed floor like a speed skater, trying desperately to get to my classroom in time. I didn't. As I panted into the doorway of my room, I discovered to my chagrin that class had started without me. I woke in a near panic.
Over the years, I've had some pretty odd dreams, most of which made little sense. A dream interpreter would have a field day with me! Every so often when I was still preaching, I'd tell of some strange dream I'd had, rarely revealing what was contained in it, for fear that if my people knew how bizarre the things that happened in my dreams, they'd think I was certifiable and decide it was too risky to sit under my preaching anymore. But this morning when I woke, I learned something.
I hadn't had a dream like this in months; about nine months, to be exact. With three exceptions, it's been that long since I've stood in the pulpit (that's figurative; we haven't used the pulpit at Park church in years). When I was teaching the basic preaching course for the district laity training schools, I used to tell the would-be preachers not to worry about the butterflies in their stomachs; that sick feeling was a good sign that they were taking the job seriously. For most of my forty-four years of preaching, I would get so nervous that I wasn't able to eat before church; only after the first service was complete was I able to even think about eating. Many were the times I would actually be sick to my stomach at the prospect of standing in front of the congregation with the Word of God in my hands. I was keenly aware that I held in my hands the Word of Life, and of the weighty responsibility that entailed. I was never able to shake that feeling, and I came to believe that was a good thing. I came to the conclusion that if I ever got to the place where I could stand before God and his people without a certain amount of quaking, it was time to quit. I did retire, but I never got to that place.
This morning, it manifest in my dream, from which I awoke in a panic. It took time and prayer for me to calm down enough to do my job. I am grateful for the amazing privilege I was given for over forty years, but am also grateful that I only do it on an occasional basis now. Waking up in a panic has never been my idea of fun. I did my job this morning, and this afternoon gave thanks that I have the privilege most Sundays of listening to pastor Joe as he offers Christ with passion and power. I have the distinct blessing of having the best of both worlds.
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