Seeing Clearly in the Half-Light of Dreams
Early on in our transition to North Carolina and the new life of ministry, I had a rather disturbing dream. It was disturbing and yet hopeful and healing, all at once.
In my dream I was seated with Jesus and the disciples around a large table in an upper room. The room was dimly lit with shadows bouncing on the wall, the way shadows created by flickering candlelight bounce. The air was fragrant with the smell of herbs and roasted lamb.
Jesus was at the head of the table, to my right, and yet He was at the center of everything. I was very conscious of His presence, His being, but I was also very aware of the other disciples. As I reflect back now, I was almost preoccupied with the disciples in the room rather than with the magnetic, though shrouded presence of God.
The moment of the dream was this - Jesus had just prayed over the cup and had passed it to me. I received the cup of wine from His hands and took a little, itty-bitty sip and began to pass it on, as if concerned that there wasn't enough for everyone.
For a moment, my act of reserve and ‘in honor preferring one another’ seemed selfless, sacrificial and even ministerial but when I looked at Jesus He was staring back with an intense yet compassionate gaze. Then, He moved toward me, reached out His hand and grasped the chalice. With both hands cradling the cup, He lifted it to my mouth and so pressed it to my lips that I had to open my mouth wide to receive the cascading wine.
And, I drank, deeply, ravenously, until the wine came wasting down my cheeks and onto my chest. I loved it. I loved the taste and feel and texture on my tongue and how it made me feel. In that moment, I was happy – deeply glad – and I realized I was mirroring the joy that I was seeing in His eyes. There was no one else in the room.
Though the dream lasted only for an instant, it was the kind of dream and the kind of instant in which eternity lies. My soul was full and free. Jesus was the moment. Everything of joy and peace was there. Everything. Time did not seem to exist for me.
It was clear to my soul, though I do not know exactly how, maybe in the motion and movement of the dream, in the wasting and the wearing of the wine, that the blood of Jesus, His joy, His fullness, His peace – was not just given for me but it is given to me. And, it is not in short supply.
In my dream I was seated with Jesus and the disciples around a large table in an upper room. The room was dimly lit with shadows bouncing on the wall, the way shadows created by flickering candlelight bounce. The air was fragrant with the smell of herbs and roasted lamb.
Jesus was at the head of the table, to my right, and yet He was at the center of everything. I was very conscious of His presence, His being, but I was also very aware of the other disciples. As I reflect back now, I was almost preoccupied with the disciples in the room rather than with the magnetic, though shrouded presence of God.
The moment of the dream was this - Jesus had just prayed over the cup and had passed it to me. I received the cup of wine from His hands and took a little, itty-bitty sip and began to pass it on, as if concerned that there wasn't enough for everyone.
For a moment, my act of reserve and ‘in honor preferring one another’ seemed selfless, sacrificial and even ministerial but when I looked at Jesus He was staring back with an intense yet compassionate gaze. Then, He moved toward me, reached out His hand and grasped the chalice. With both hands cradling the cup, He lifted it to my mouth and so pressed it to my lips that I had to open my mouth wide to receive the cascading wine.
And, I drank, deeply, ravenously, until the wine came wasting down my cheeks and onto my chest. I loved it. I loved the taste and feel and texture on my tongue and how it made me feel. In that moment, I was happy – deeply glad – and I realized I was mirroring the joy that I was seeing in His eyes. There was no one else in the room.
Though the dream lasted only for an instant, it was the kind of dream and the kind of instant in which eternity lies. My soul was full and free. Jesus was the moment. Everything of joy and peace was there. Everything. Time did not seem to exist for me.
It was clear to my soul, though I do not know exactly how, maybe in the motion and movement of the dream, in the wasting and the wearing of the wine, that the blood of Jesus, His joy, His fullness, His peace – was not just given for me but it is given to me. And, it is not in short supply.