“Jesus loves me, this I know”

I awoke this morning to a dream. One of those vivid dreams that seem so real that when the brain fuzz finally dissipates upon awaking one is hard-pressed to believe that it was only a dream. I know people who dream like that a lot. I don’t. So when it happens I take notice, and write my blog about it.

It took place in a Methodist Church. I have no idea why. I’ve never been a Methodist, nor have I attended one recently. My Aunt Lucille, who turns 100 years old on May 9th, has been a Methodist all of her life. That’s as close of a connection as I can make. I wasn’t there alone. My friends Ernie, Tim and Paul were with me. They’re my three hiking friends with whom I’ve gone on several summer mountain trips. Usually we go to the Wind River Range in Wyoming. This last summer we explored the Collegiate Peaks outside of Leadville, Colorado. Part of that trip included climbing two “14 ers” and seeing an angel. Honestly. We came out a day early and the three of them accompanied me to my little Western Rite Orthodox Church, St. Columba. They weren’t as enamored with it as I am. In fact Ernie irreverently refers to the priest, Father Les whom I dearly love, as “Smokey Joe” due to the generous use of incense during the service. It’s because of that occasion that I believe they were with me in my dream.

So we’re in this Methodist church, I have no idea where, and we’re standing near the front. We all have hymnals. There’s an old white guy—think stereotypical Methodist man—leading the singing. Except we’re not really doing much singing. He’s talking a lot about the songs we’re supposed to be singing, and the organist is playing softly in the background. At some point another man joins him, who was middle-aged and I assume was the pastor. He begins to speak. But whatever he was saying was evidently dull because my attention was focused on a display of artwork in the corner. Somehow I was able to pick up the individual pieces, which seems odd because they were so far away. Suddenly I heard the pastor say, “Jesus loves me, but He also hates me.” That got my attention! I interrupted the pastor and told him “That’s not true. Jesus doesn’t hate you or anyone else. He only has love for you and everyone here!” And then I embraced him, but not in a hug, but rather in kind of a side-ways embrace so that he was able to recline back in my arms, kind of like a person who is about to be baptized. I know, weird! And then I woke up. Feeling rested in sort of a wrung-out kind of way. I then spent part of my morning
quiet time considering the multi-faceted question, “What does this mean?”

Certainly there is the obvious applicaton to my three friends whom I love dearly and with whom I have a very close bond. There’s also the connection with church and the life I’ve spent in it. Also significant is that the main characters in the dream are all male—which disturbingly reflects the patriarchal history of the church which in some traditions still remains. But the centerpiece of the dream is that statement, “Jesus loves me, but He also hates me.”

At first I thought that the pastor was expressing what I might subconsciously and against my will believe deep down. Maybe there is some validity to that. It’s possible that I feel guilty for my sins. I’ve spent a good part of my life immersed and in-doctrine-ated to “Law and Gospel”. This is the Lutheran teaching that people should first be convicted of their sin so that they can then fully appreciate the love and forgiveness of God. Two glaring problems with that is that one doesn’t need to see what a dirt bag we are in order to embrace love; and the second, in my experience, is that there tends to be an overemphasis on the former and a de-emphasis on the latter. Usually the “sins” that are focused on are the easy targets of others which leave the good Christian folks who attend the church sitting smugly and securely in their pews. I drank that kool-aid for many years, and also did my share of pouring it, thus in my dream I wondered if I was expressing to the pastor what I personally need to be convinced of myself. It’s possible.

Far more probable, in my opinion (which I’m entitled to seeing that it was my dream) is that I was conveying to the pastor what I’ve actually become deeply convinced of, and what I believe others desperately need to know, embrace and believe. God is NOT a god of retribution and retaliation, delighting in doling out punitive punishment unto “the third and fourth generation of those who hate him” for the most minor (or major if you prefer) of offenses. Rather, God is a god of love. Pure love. Jesus is the personification and personal perfection of that love.

Jesus of Nazareth certainly taught this, summing up hundreds of commandments in the succinct expression to “Love God and love thy neighbor”—and in the process loving oneself. Even more importantly Jesus modelled it. The greatest and most impressive “miracle” of Jesus was not the ones that tend to get the most attention, walking on water, healing diseases and raising the dead, but rather the breaking down of the barriers that existed between the “good” people and the “bad”, the “haves” and the “have-nots”. This is what got Him crucified. The radical and culture shifting nature of God’s love for ALL people—even and especially the most “unloveable”.

“This man welcomes sinners and eats with them” was the criticism leveled against Jesus by the religious folk of His day. Jesus took it as a compliment. Yes, He did. He loved the outcasts and the untouchables, the women and the gentiles, the poor and the rich alike. He even loved the self-righteous members of the religious right who were responsible for His death. Jesus is ALL love; the love of God in the flesh! Jesus loves me and you, this I KNOW. That’s the message of the Gospel. It’s the message that I need and you need and your neighbor needs and the world needs, and yes, even the pastor in my dream needs to not only hear, but to see and personally experience.