The tenor of my dreams, nightmares, and night terrors has changed dramatically in the past few months. As an ex-evangelical, I really do have a hard time thinking that our foe is on the prowl with me. However, as a Lutheran it is difficult to ignore all the bits and pieces of the Christian Book of Concord that talk about how wily and relentless is our foe.
While one would think having a break from the reliving the horrors of my past would be a good thing, it is not. Simply put, I have become a murderer in my dreams. With great ease, I dispatch others. At first, I was killing aliens. But now ...
Cold.
Heartless.
Without mercy.
The worst dream the devil was there. It was one of those night terrors where a palpable presence in the room and where I struggled to wake from the dream, caught in semi-consciousness, caught in horror. I still cannot even think, much less write about the details of that dream. Only the whole of it. I was his. Willingly.
Back in my evangelical days, we would have bible studies, where each shared what the Scriptures mean to us. After that sharing and figuring out ways to apply those insights in order to strengthen our relationship with Jesus, we would end with prayer. The leader would ask for prayer requests, and we would go around the room sharing ours. Once finished, the leader would ask, "Who will take ______'s prayer request?" Once the requests were all divvied up, the leader would ask who wanted to start and who would finish. Then, prayer would commence.
The thing about the prayer request is that, for the most part, they were extremely distanced from the person speaking them. My aunt's cousin's broke a leg. My boss's daughter's friend has cancer. My neighbor's father lost his job. And then there were mine.
Full of struggles.
Doubt and confusion.
Longing for wisdom and direction.
I was a sinner. I knew it. That whole vitreous life having been forgiven the day I accept Jesus never came for me. I never felt as if my relationship was strong enough. I struggled to believe that I had done all I could to be right with God. I ached to be better, to be stronger, to know that I was saved.
Silence.
Silence greeted the query as to who wanted to take my prayer request.
Defaulted to the leader.
Mumbled.
Hastily spoken.
Often forgotten in the process.
Evangelicals are saints; they are not really sinners. Sin was taken care of on the cross. Life is victorious and godly and holy and a process of deepening and strengthening and tending to that personal relationship with God begun the moment you invited Jesus to be your personal savior.
I was a desperate and despairing evangelical.
When I first read the Book of Concord, it was from beginning to end. I did not discover the pure doctrine through the Small Catechism. I discovered it through the Augsburg Confession. The second article of which, that article that immediately follows the declaration of our Triune God, is that of Original Sin. Because of original sin, I cannot fear or love or trust God without the gift of faith. I cannot.
Not by reason.
Not by might.
Not by longing.
There will never be enough words to express the utter, absolute, truly ineffable relief at learning all those struggles to make myself more holy, more godly, more faithful were there because I cannot do those things. I already am them in Christ.
I have oft said that I miss, with deep and abiding longing, the fellowship of prayer that I enjoyed in the evangelical world. Yes, I was the elephant in the room. I was awkwardness personified. But I was still surrounded with people who would pray at the drop of the hat. Pray with you. Pray for you. Pray for the world. Pray for the neighbor. At the end of the bible study. In small groups as a break in the church service. At special gatherings.
I love the liturgy.
I love the offices of prayer.
I now cling to the cry of forgiveness and renewal that is Evening Prayer.
But I miss the fellowship of prayer.
I try to compensate by asking others to read the Bible to me. I even ask them to sing to me. Yet that only makes me the Lutheran elephant in the room. I am still awkwardness personified. And my requests still fall flat and are often ... forgotten.
Here's the rub. I cannot fear and love and trust God without the gift of faith. Yet what if even being baptized and receiving the Lord's Supper there is no love and trust, only fear? What if because of what you endured you have no real love, no real trust anywhere within you? How can you love the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and body and soul if you have no love? What if learning about disassociation and emotions and the freedom that brings in understanding who you are also brings soul crushing despair?
Because you know.
It is not the shame of what happen that kills you. It is the truth that you still disassociate, you still are as numb and absent as you were then. Even with the gifts of Christ. Even with the wonder and awe that is the Psalter, that is God's message of certitude that you are known by Him.
I need war stories. I need to hear about the battles others face. I need to know that I am not the only one with gaping wounds that fester, wounds brimming with doubt and confusion. I need to know that I am not the only one whose mind in the world of sleep is the very antithesis of what she wants.
Paul gave one. He told all of humanity from the moment he penned Romans until the moment this earth passes away that the bottom line is that he does not do the things he wants to do and he does the things he does not want to do. Paul battled his mind and body. Paul the saint who was first a persecutor and murderer of saints. Paul, though being the saint, was still the sinner.
But I don't hear that about Paul. I hear about his great and wonderful faith. I hear about all that I should be as he was. All that no being anxious. All that being content in all circumstances. All that confidence in Christ. All that freedom from condemnation. All that.
What I see and hear is what I am not doing. What I see and hear is that I need to still be looking for those good works. The same steps to godlessness. The same paths to holiness. The same disciplines for a closer relationship with Christ. It's all just different words that take me to the same place.
What is my fruit of faith? I spend the nights murdering others in my dreams. I am the right hand of the devil.
Three kindnesses, three bits of mercy, came to me this week that I am trying to be more real than the dreams that fill my nights:
- My best friend told me about some of her dreams, where she is not the person she wants to be.
- My friend Mary told me that the faith Christ gives is not an incomplete or imperfect faith.
- A pastor friend wrote me the following: The righteous do not look at their works. When Christ Jesus says they have them, they are surprised. Why? Because our eyes are fixed, not upon ourselves, not upon our actions, not upon what we have done or left undone (for we could count all that as rubbish, as skubula, or as my son would say, "poop"). We rather look to Christ.
And here is the thing - those who are in Christ, who have been justified by Christ, redeemed and forgiven - they are surprised when anything is said well of them. We are but unworthy servants! But this is the truth - it is not just that Christ forgave you from a distance and left you on your own - He has forgiven you, He dwells in you, so now every single breath you take, every act, whether it is simply rolling out of bed in the morning or what have you - this is a good work - for when the Father sees you do this, He sees Christ Jesus, He sees His beloved Son with whom He is well pleased.
Just as everything in your life, if understood simply from your own perspective is sin and dross and (_insert vulgar term of your choice here_), in Christ every thing you do is indeed truly a good work.
You are redeemed, forgiven by Christ the Crucified - the Father cannot say anything to you but "Well done, good and faithful servant" - because He sees the faith of Christ.
Even when the dreams are not night terrors, I struggle to make the transition from dream to reality. I have these dreams of very specific houses that are mine in the dream. I could write all about them, about the problems of each that I find myself addressing over and over and over again. But the bottom line is that when I awake I struggle to grasp that the house that I am in is the reality, not the dream.
Just as I tell Baby Bunny stories of his life with us when he is cowering on the other side of the fence or whisper sweet nothings to Amos, reminding him all that he is to me, when he has climbed my shoulders in fear, I tell myself stories about this house. Stories of the master bath beautification or the parlor bath wall or the now golden walls of the solarium. I will sometimes crawl, shaking and near senseless in fear and confusion, to the bathroom and touch the tub that is no longer that lurid turquoise or lean against the pedestal sink that has made using a sink less painful or press my face to the sweet shadow wall that is no longer florescent lime green. I look about and take in all the changes, the absence of art deco lights and the addition of flowy white shower and window curtains, the matching hardware on walls and toilet ... all things that add simple beauty to the space, all things the work of my hands. This is the real house. This is the real world.
When I awoke weeping this morning, I thought of the dreams Becky shared with me, dreams that are so very opposite of all that I know of her, all that I have known of her for almost two decades, knowing that they are not her reality, and tried to believe that mine are not my reality. That I am not that person. I struggled to cling to Mary's reassurance that the faith I was given is complete. And I wept equally as deeply, trying to hope my rolling out of bed really and truly is a good work.
I want so very much to know the words I will hear will not be "I never knew you." but rather "Well done, good and faithful servant."
Because.
Because God sees the faith of Christ.
Because God does not see the one whose heart is mostly numb and absent and knows not how to love.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
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