Dreams

February 6, 2021

The dreams vary; the themes don’t. I’m six years old and thoroughly embarrassed to be standing in the hall in first grade, wearing only my pajamas. Or I’m in high school, trying to remember my locker combination, or which hall it’s in. Or I’m in college, and cannot remember the syllabus or which courses I’m taking, what day they’re offered, or which building they’re in. I’m clearly in over my head; I’m lost and scared, wondering how I’m ever going to get out of this mess.

These dreams often woke me up on a Saturday night. The morning would find me standing in the pulpit, doing what I was called to do, as best I knew how, often with a stomach churning with anxiety. Pastors are called to do the impossible. We hold in our hands the life-transforming Word of God, but we ourselves are powerless to change a human heart. I don’t miss the tension, the anxiety, the sense that I’m on the verge of a calamitous disaster.

Today I officiated at a funeral; tomorrow, I preach in Cassadaga. I’m not completely out of practice, so it’s not a matter of preparation or knowledge of how to do it. It’s a matter of the heart. Jeremiah said it well: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.” Mine is no exception, and if I could be sure I were preaching from a holy heart, with the purest of motives, I could step into that pulpit with confidence. But there is always that nagging thought—“What makes you think you can do this? Just who do you think you are?” The fact is, I am unworthy (as John the Baptist said) to even untie Jesus’ shoelaces. The Message is pure and holy, and powerful to bring conviction and redemption. The messenger is none of those things, but he has a job to do.

Years ago, a tall lanky farmer and I stood one summer evening, leaning against his car by the side of the road in front of my house. He kicked at the gravel, looked up at the stars, and said, “You know Jim, God could raise better servants from the stones beneath our feet, but he chose us. Isn’t that amazing?” The amazement has never left me, and the task humbles me. Only Christ is worthy, but in an incomprehensible twist of grace, he saw this unworthy person and said, “he is worth it,” before coming to earth to die on a cross for my sins. If I were unsure of the efficacy of that one solitary death on a Roman cross, I wouldn’t dare attempt what I expect to do tomorrow. Though I am unworthy, he considered me worth it all, and to top it all off, has offered me the privilege of telling others. 

Maybe that dream will visit me again, but I’m not taking my cues from dreams. The Word of God is a much more secure foundation, so I’m building on the promises guaranteed by God himself. It’s going to be a good day.