Or Say It Isn't A Dream

Or say it isn’t a dream. That a dream isn’t the way it happens. That maybe there’s a silence in the house. An expectant silence. You are minding your own business. You’re cleaning or cooking or reading or surfing the web or whatever. You’re alone. And then you’re aware of something. Aware of a presence. A comforting presence, once you get past the startle. The sudden awareness of someone or something here. Right here in the house. But it’s okay. You almost see who it is, as you come into a room. Or you turn around. You almost see the person sitting there in the chair he’s chosen. Or standing there by the fireplace. Or by the sofa. Or the dining room table.

He might be wearing robes. He might look. But that isn’t right, because you might not be able to see him as you see flesh-and-blood earthly people. You probably don’t. He might seem to be wearing the traditional robe of someone from Palestine. Judea. Someone from that area. A couple thousand years ago. The dress that one sees depicted on men from that period. But he seems to be wearing this because you don’t see him directly. You sense him. Almost like he is only sensible through a sideways glance. A quick movement of the head. A change in the way sound seems to travel through the house, the way sound’s absorbed or not. A difference there.

And you say to yourself, this must be my imagination. I must be getting a little funny in the head. I must be losing my marbles. But this would be a mistake. This would be unfortunate. Because. Well. Because this would not be true. This would not account for the evidence. This would not admit into your mind experience that is just as real and valid—arguably more real and more valid—than what passes for the kind of experience we all say is daily. Normal. Verifiable experience. The experience of telegrams and anger, to reuse one author’s characterization. Or angry email, to recast the thought into this century. The experience of the Bunsen burner and the beaker and the test tube. Of the video tape and the. Well. You know what I mean. Of the court room. Of the dinner table. Of work. The shared experience of work.

But of course, he will appear in all these contexts. He is present in all these contexts. We know this. We know it theoretically. But there’s a practical knowledge most of us don’t have. A personal and practical experience of him with us also in these contexts. If he is theoretically here, well then. He must be actually here. And so one has a responsibility to open one’s eyes, doesn’t one. One has a responsibility to find him wherever he theoretically is because. Well. When a good friend gives you a call on the phone for example. Or a good friend knocks on your door unexpectedly. What do you do. Turn that good friend away. Is that it. You turn that person away. I don’t think so. In fact I know you don’t turn your good friend away. You pick up the phone and try to listen to what your good friend has to say. You open the door and let your good friend in. You ask your good friend what’s up. You want to know because. Well. This is a good friend. You love this person. You want to honor and care for and. You’re interested in what’s going on with your good friend because this is your good friend after all.

So it would stand to reason then, now wouldn’t it. That you. What am I saying. Why do I keep saying, you. I. So it would stand to reason that I. Both you and I. Would want to be a good friend to Jesus, if he shows up. Would want to understand what he’s doing. Would want to understand what’s on his mind. Why he’s here with us and what he would have to say to us. Would want to engage in a kind of conversation. A kind of an understanding. A kind of communication.

It may happen with words. It may happen with feelings. It may happen through physical sensations. It may happen through impressions or intuitions. It may happen however it happens.

And so in the house. In the quiet house. What happens is you stop. Or to make this clearer I’ll say that I stop. I stand or maybe sit. I wait. I wait for whatever it is that God the Father or Jesus or the Holy Spirit or one of the angels or archangels or whoever it is that has shown up. I wait for whatever it is that is coming if I let it. I wait for whoever it is who has come to help me understand what he would like. What he would want me to know. To sense. To conclude. Or alternatively what he would want from me. What he might have come to ask from me. What he would have me do. If I ask. If I wait and expect and ask. If I do not dismiss this experience as the result of an over-active imagination. If I don’t pretend it is so much dust floating in the sunlit air above the floor, beneath a window. If I have the honesty to understand this for what it is. If I have the integrity to admit it. Him. To step into and fully occupy my own skin. To invite him. To open the door. To welcome him. Into my everyday. My waking life.