The Dream
Sermon
Sermons on the Second Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Object:
It was an October Monday morning. Nothing much happened on Monday mornings, especially during the harvest time. The pastor sat in his office wondering how the sermon reviews were going down at the coffee shop. He would give them another hour, and then stop in for his coffee and wheat toast. He would get the summary of the reviews from Maryanne, the waitress.
The door was open, so there was no knock. The man just kind of appeared, leaning against the sill and looking pretty uncomfortable. The pastor recognized the guy as being from town, knew a little bit about his family and where they lived, but didn't actually know his name. He did know that the guy had never been in the church here, and that was probably why he looked so uncomfortable.
The pastor said, "Hello," and the visitor asked if he could talk for a minute. His hands were shaking, and his voice was quivering. This was not a simple case of the nerves. As he sat down, he explained, "You're probably going to think that I'm crazy, and maybe I am. But I just don't know who else to go to about this."
He was asking permission to talk about something, and the pastor gave it. I'll try to retell the story exactly as the visitor told it.
He began by saying that his name was Fred, and he talked a little more about his family and what they all did. In fact, he talked quite a bit about those things, the whole time sounding like he really wanted to talk about something else. The pastor tried to help him along a bit by asking, "So, what can I do for you this morning?"
Fred sighed, and looked at his shoes. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I want to talk about a dream. Not one of mine, but a dream my son had a few months ago. Can I tell you about it?"
"Sure."
"Well, it was one afternoon last June. I was out cutting the grass in the front yard. My son came home from work, rode his motorcycle up the driveway, and went into the house. He came back out a minute later with a couple of beers and asked if we could talk. We sat in the yard chairs and had a beer."
His eyes apologized for the beers, but the pastor shook his head and said, "No problem. Go ahead."
"Well, my son started telling me about this dream he had the night before, and wondered what I thought about it. In his dream, he was riding his motorcycle home from work, but was taking a different way home than he usually did, riding down Route 17. Anyway, he was just riding along, there by the grocery store, where the railroad tracks cross the road, you know? So, he was riding along, and this station wagon was coming from the other direction. When the station wagon got to the grocery store, it pulled in the parking lot. Then, for some reason, it pulled right back onto the highway again. But the driver went too far and pulled over into the wrong lane of traffic, right in front of my son. His motorcycle hit the station wagon right in front of the passenger door. My son flew across the hood and landed beside the highway right on the railroad tracks. He was killed in the crash."
Fred paused.
"Wow, that's a pretty powerful dream," the pastor said. "I can see why you'd be upset."
Fred took a deep breath. "No, you don't understand. That's not what bothers me. You see, I just now came from the funeral home." He looked at his shoes again.
The pastor felt something stirring inside. If it had been a movie, the orchestra would have started playing something really soft and slow, but with definite suspense. Fred continued.
"My son was riding home from work last night on his motorcycle. He had stopped by to visit at his sister's house and was taking a different way home than usual. He was coming up Route 17, you know, about where the grocery store is? Well, according to the police report, there was a car coming the other way on the highway, a family in a station wagon coming home from vacation. As they got to the grocery store, the wife asked her husband to pull in to the store so she could get some milk. Since they had been gone, they would need some fresh milk for the next morning. As he pulled into the parking lot, she said that she would wait and get milk in town where it would be cheaper. The husband spun the wheel to pull back out of the parking lot, and overcompensated, pulling across the road into the wrong lane."
The pastor almost spoke the rest of the story along with Fred.
"The motorcycle hit the station wagon right in front of the passenger door. My son flew across the hood and landed beside the highway right on the railroad tracks. He was killed in the crash. He landed exactly where the dream said he would land. The police have pictures."
Fred looked at his shoes again. This time he just stayed there.
He then looked the pastor in the eyes, and with the eyes of a father who does not understand, asked, "What does it mean? The dream last summer ... why did he have that? Tell me, what do you think about my son's dream?"
The pastor was caught off guard. He had slipped into clergy-mode, and had begun thinking of the funeral service and how it should be done. That is, after all, what Fred had come to ask him to do. Since the family does not have a church, obviously someone recommended him for the task. This one would be difficult. He had begun running through the litany of questions that needed to be answered: which funeral home was in charge, when is the service, where will it be, do you have favorite scripture, or hymns?
But this was no funeral invitation. That would come later, but first, there was something different. Fred wanted to know about the dream.
The pastor found himself mentally running through every seminary theology course he had attended, and every book he had read. He thought of existentialism, and a whole collection of other "isms," but they all seemed to help more with things like funeral plans, and less with answers about four-month-old visions. He tried to find his official clergy response, coming out of his professional training, and personal faith grown out of years of study. Was it a warning to the son? Does God do that kind of thing? If so, why aren't others warned?
Fred watched him.
Finally, the pastor found his answer. What could he say about a dream four months ago, that fully described the event that just took place a few hours ago? What could he say about a young man who appeared to have been given a vision of a life-changing, or more accurately, life-ending event, far ahead of time? What could he say?
The pastor leaned back in his chair and said, "Wow. I have absolutely no idea what that means. What an amazing story."
Okay, so what would you have said? As Paul tells us in the writing today, sometimes the only response to a situation is to point to God and say no more. Sometimes, anything additional we might add is not only unnecessary, but probably just gets in the way of the truth. Sometimes all we can say is, "Wow."
For the record, Fred seemed satisfied with the response. Although he didn't understand much theology, he did understand "Wow." Fred understood that sometimes we are just forced to close our mouths and our minds and sit in awe.
This was one of those times.
____________
Note to the reader: The story of "The Dream" is a true story. The names were changed, but the experiences described are just as they happened.
The door was open, so there was no knock. The man just kind of appeared, leaning against the sill and looking pretty uncomfortable. The pastor recognized the guy as being from town, knew a little bit about his family and where they lived, but didn't actually know his name. He did know that the guy had never been in the church here, and that was probably why he looked so uncomfortable.
The pastor said, "Hello," and the visitor asked if he could talk for a minute. His hands were shaking, and his voice was quivering. This was not a simple case of the nerves. As he sat down, he explained, "You're probably going to think that I'm crazy, and maybe I am. But I just don't know who else to go to about this."
He was asking permission to talk about something, and the pastor gave it. I'll try to retell the story exactly as the visitor told it.
He began by saying that his name was Fred, and he talked a little more about his family and what they all did. In fact, he talked quite a bit about those things, the whole time sounding like he really wanted to talk about something else. The pastor tried to help him along a bit by asking, "So, what can I do for you this morning?"
Fred sighed, and looked at his shoes. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I want to talk about a dream. Not one of mine, but a dream my son had a few months ago. Can I tell you about it?"
"Sure."
"Well, it was one afternoon last June. I was out cutting the grass in the front yard. My son came home from work, rode his motorcycle up the driveway, and went into the house. He came back out a minute later with a couple of beers and asked if we could talk. We sat in the yard chairs and had a beer."
His eyes apologized for the beers, but the pastor shook his head and said, "No problem. Go ahead."
"Well, my son started telling me about this dream he had the night before, and wondered what I thought about it. In his dream, he was riding his motorcycle home from work, but was taking a different way home than he usually did, riding down Route 17. Anyway, he was just riding along, there by the grocery store, where the railroad tracks cross the road, you know? So, he was riding along, and this station wagon was coming from the other direction. When the station wagon got to the grocery store, it pulled in the parking lot. Then, for some reason, it pulled right back onto the highway again. But the driver went too far and pulled over into the wrong lane of traffic, right in front of my son. His motorcycle hit the station wagon right in front of the passenger door. My son flew across the hood and landed beside the highway right on the railroad tracks. He was killed in the crash."
Fred paused.
"Wow, that's a pretty powerful dream," the pastor said. "I can see why you'd be upset."
Fred took a deep breath. "No, you don't understand. That's not what bothers me. You see, I just now came from the funeral home." He looked at his shoes again.
The pastor felt something stirring inside. If it had been a movie, the orchestra would have started playing something really soft and slow, but with definite suspense. Fred continued.
"My son was riding home from work last night on his motorcycle. He had stopped by to visit at his sister's house and was taking a different way home than usual. He was coming up Route 17, you know, about where the grocery store is? Well, according to the police report, there was a car coming the other way on the highway, a family in a station wagon coming home from vacation. As they got to the grocery store, the wife asked her husband to pull in to the store so she could get some milk. Since they had been gone, they would need some fresh milk for the next morning. As he pulled into the parking lot, she said that she would wait and get milk in town where it would be cheaper. The husband spun the wheel to pull back out of the parking lot, and overcompensated, pulling across the road into the wrong lane."
The pastor almost spoke the rest of the story along with Fred.
"The motorcycle hit the station wagon right in front of the passenger door. My son flew across the hood and landed beside the highway right on the railroad tracks. He was killed in the crash. He landed exactly where the dream said he would land. The police have pictures."
Fred looked at his shoes again. This time he just stayed there.
He then looked the pastor in the eyes, and with the eyes of a father who does not understand, asked, "What does it mean? The dream last summer ... why did he have that? Tell me, what do you think about my son's dream?"
The pastor was caught off guard. He had slipped into clergy-mode, and had begun thinking of the funeral service and how it should be done. That is, after all, what Fred had come to ask him to do. Since the family does not have a church, obviously someone recommended him for the task. This one would be difficult. He had begun running through the litany of questions that needed to be answered: which funeral home was in charge, when is the service, where will it be, do you have favorite scripture, or hymns?
But this was no funeral invitation. That would come later, but first, there was something different. Fred wanted to know about the dream.
The pastor found himself mentally running through every seminary theology course he had attended, and every book he had read. He thought of existentialism, and a whole collection of other "isms," but they all seemed to help more with things like funeral plans, and less with answers about four-month-old visions. He tried to find his official clergy response, coming out of his professional training, and personal faith grown out of years of study. Was it a warning to the son? Does God do that kind of thing? If so, why aren't others warned?
Fred watched him.
Finally, the pastor found his answer. What could he say about a dream four months ago, that fully described the event that just took place a few hours ago? What could he say about a young man who appeared to have been given a vision of a life-changing, or more accurately, life-ending event, far ahead of time? What could he say?
The pastor leaned back in his chair and said, "Wow. I have absolutely no idea what that means. What an amazing story."
Okay, so what would you have said? As Paul tells us in the writing today, sometimes the only response to a situation is to point to God and say no more. Sometimes, anything additional we might add is not only unnecessary, but probably just gets in the way of the truth. Sometimes all we can say is, "Wow."
For the record, Fred seemed satisfied with the response. Although he didn't understand much theology, he did understand "Wow." Fred understood that sometimes we are just forced to close our mouths and our minds and sit in awe.
This was one of those times.
____________
Note to the reader: The story of "The Dream" is a true story. The names were changed, but the experiences described are just as they happened.
