Every Saturday night, without fail, (I was a preacher), just before waking, around 5 am, I’d have a dream that would race my heart and sweat my side of the bed – every frickin’ Saturday night!

Lost and Alone

The dreams would always be the same theme, often the same dream. I was scheduled to preach somewhere, and I can’t find my car. Or, I’m in my car and I’m lost, and I can’t find the church, or can’t get to it, every street is blocked or a one way the wrong way.

In another, I’m on stage ready to perform and I can’t find my manuscript. I can’t remember what passage I’ve chosen for the morning, and it’s in the program, and I don’t have a program, or a Bible. (This last dream always took place in my growing up church in Boyden, Iowa.) I’d ask for a program and someone would hand me one, and then I’d think, I can fake this. Maybe.

Naked and Not Alone

I’m the naked one, of course. I’m the only one naked, of course. I know I’m naked. It’s just hanging out there for all to see. It’s not pretty, not even in my dreams. I’m looking for a pair of underwear, or a towel, or a swimsuit, or anything. I’m in my old high school, in the hallway between classes. Sally’s always there, and she’s like, “What the ….?” Awful, awful dreams.

Back then, I probably needed therapy. Well, probably no probably about it. Probably still need therapy. Again, probably no probably about it. Instead, I have you!

“Had myself a Dream Last night, Same one!”

Background story: There is this pastor I know, someone who is a friend. Sally and I were working for his church, leading tours. We had a hand-shake deal of five years, five tours to Israel-Palestine. We did two, maybe three, can’t remember. Went great. He loved us. We loved him and his wife, especially his wife. She was great. His people loved us.

Then I did a podcast with son Josh about prophecy, especially as it concerned Jesus and the NT’s claim, and orthodox Christianity’s claim, that the prophets’ “did foretell it.” The “it” being that Jesus is the long awaited Messiah, a suffering savior. That “it.” Both Josh and I expressed doubt, and raised questions about whether or not the Hebrew Scriptures actually foretold the Messiah that Jesus and the NT and orthodox Christianity claimed Jesus to be. Frankly, I don’t think it does, at least not clearly, and foolishly, I said this, out loud. (Viscast)

Oops! Right? And no, I’m not going to defend myself here. I’m tired of having to defend a point of view, or the honest questioning around any subject. Not going to say, “I love Jesus, so don’t worry!” “I love the Bible, I’m okay!” “Jesus is LORD!” Either my life is evidence of my faith, or my faith is just a clanging bell.

The Dream

So, in my dream, I’m working for the above mentioned pastor, who by the way called me the day after the podcast aired to tell me that I was fired. “I love you Marlin, but well, you just can’t say those things, you know?” I know. You can think them, but you can’t say them. You know?

In my dream I preached a sermon in that church. Not a good sermon. Bad sermon. Seriously, just bad. Not bad in the Oops kind of way, just bad in a performance way.

Now, it’s later in that Sunday and I’m sitting in a row of chairs next to his wife on my left and he left of her, but I don’t know this, because it’s dark. But I’m sitting there in the dark feeling awful about the bad sermon I had preached and wishing I could explain to him and her what happened and that I was really pretty good at this preaching thing. Then the lights came on and there they were. I leaned over and started to explain, but he interrupted and said, “There were visitors in church this week, Marlin, visitors!”

Oh my God, that’s like the worst thing that could happen, right? You blow the sermon with visitors in church! Visitors! He and his wife got up and walked off with a group of about twenty people following them like ducklings. And I’m just sitting there. God, I’m so scared sitting there. Loser!

Thank God for Coffee

It’s five o’clock, on the dot, this morning, today. I have to pee. I always have to pee. I have a prostrate the size of a softball. My heart is racing, my t-shirt is soaked, and I’m wondering why I’m doing this blog thing.

But, I’m doing it!