Enter The Pastor

It started about two months after I started working in Parkville. It has continued on ever since. Once and a while, I have a truly bizarre "Church Dream." No, I'm not talking about visions or ideal futures for the churches I have served, I mean strange dreams. They come out of left field, often so vivid and bizarre that I and can remember them...to great personal amusement. Some of them come in standard form:

A) The "I forgot/didn't write/dropped my sermon on my way to UDTS Chapel/church/the National Cathedral" Dream. A true classic. I've had several variations on this one, my favorite being the one where I got to page 4 and realized that the rest of sermon was gone. The Parish Associate at the church then quietly stood up, walked forward, motioned for me to sit down, and promptly finished my sermon. Just like I wrote it.

B) The "Oh man, I did something inappropriate in worship" dream. Unfortunately, these are not always dreams. The mother of all of these dreams was the dream that I was handing out Bibles to the new confirmation class...only to look down and see that I was accidentally handing out books by Dr. Ruth. Catechises indeed.

C) The "Church Disaster/Uprising/Capital Campaign" dream. This most recent example of this dream entailed a large, hairy, Sasquatch like beast trying to break into the church while I was giving the Prayers of the People. I remember thinking to myself in the dream, "Just keep praying!!! It will calm them down!!!!"

Then there are those dreams which defy classification. I had one of these Monday night. I don't know exactly what I ate (methinks white chocolate macadamia nut cookies at 9:30 may have played a part), but all I know is that it was a doozy.

I remember the dream "already in progress"...I am with our high school/junior high youth (along with a couple of youth from the group I helped lead in Parkville...must have transferred) from the church in a large (Act 1 size) van. We are driving into Chicago, headed for 4th Presbyterian Church on Michigan Avenue, and Julie's in the passenger seat telling me all about this great mission trip experience where churches from all over the nation are gathering to help serve in the city. Sounds great. I sweat out the traffic a bit, but we get to the church. We all get out of the van and walk inside.

Then, things get out of hand.

I don't remember exactly how it started, but soon all of us were in the possession of ninja weapons (num-chucks, long spears, etc.) and are told to fend for ourselves. That's right...we are in the middle of a Youth-Group-Fight-To-The-Death at 4th Presbyterian. (Well, maybe "Death" isn't fair...I never saw anyone die. They just got knocked unconscious like a marshall arts flick...anyway...). Pretty soon we are under attack...youth flying everywhere. Complete chaos. And everybody is doing crazy Jackie Chan moves...except me. I'm running. Oh, yeah...and hiding. Pretty soon the groups start thinning...and our kids are really rocking the house (at least I assume they did...because...) Eventually it comes down to two teams. And, sure enough, it's us and the youth group from the church I worked at in Parkville. I lower my weapons because I assume we aren't going to...and then WHAM! Down goes one of the kids. And, well, at that point...history or no history...it's on.

The next thing I remember, I am being consoled by Brian, Matt, and a handful of people from my current church. I am told that, because we lost, we don't get to stay and serve. We must go home, in shame.

So...there it is. I won't try to theologically decode the whole "You have to win a ninja fight to the death to serve Jesus" thing, but hey, at least our youth group got second.

What do I take from all of this? I've gotta stop eating after 9:30.