This one was just as vivid as the one the other night.
I was touring somewhere in Europe. At least, it felt like Europe, but it was someplace I'd never been. I was visiting some ancient and glorious structure, surrounded by the inevitable throngs. But this was a place that had been sacred at one time. In my dream, it had been downgraded to a museum, a destination, a peculiarity, a tourist trap. That kind of thing.
It was grand, with large halls and high ceilings. Marble was everywhere, in tones of deep rusty red shot through with white veins and pale blush pink streaked with brown. Great statues proclaimed the Passion, moving for their colossal scale as well as their incredible detail. At the center, at the focus of worship, was a Pieta.
For those unfamiliar with a Pieta - and there are several - it is a statue based on the moment when Christ's body is taken down from the cross. She, the mother of the Lord, is having a very intimate moment with the lifeless body of her son. Of the Son. Captured in her face is the utter despair at the loss of her child. One can sense her grief and pain. Yet, there is also something else there, something hinting at the knowledge Mary had perhaps... She seems to know that while His body may have been destroyed, His Spirit continued on, and that He would take His body again in a glorious resurrection. So, obviously there is pain and loss, fear and suffering. Yet there is also a kind of redeeming grace, a love and a hope, and a sweet joy from knowing that His pain is now over, and that He would rise in glory.
The Pieta in my dream was a gorgeous sculpture, similar in scale to that of Michelangelo's Pieta in St. Peter's in Rome. It was done of a deep, chocolate colored marble that glistened on its relatively short plinth. It was surrounded by benches and chairs, rising in a semi-circular pattern like an amphitheater on three sides of the room.
It seemed odd, really, that this downgraded structure, this profane mockery of what had once obviously been such an important center of worship and divinity, should still retain this room in this state. Certainly, none were sitting, contemplating the majesty and import of the event captured in stone. Crowds filtered through, took their pictures, and moved on.
Two young men took the opportunity to address the throng. Near the Pieta was a small raised area with a slender lectern, offset from the main axis of the room so as to not dominate the visual focus of the room, and angled slightly so that the speaker seemed to be addressing both the chamber and the statue.
These two young men began to harangue the statue and the religion it symbolized. They proclaimed the triumph of reason over mythology, of logic over hope, of modern society over ancient tradition. They said that there is no need for God today, that man's ultimate and crowning achievement was the dissolution of the need for God. Mankind was now free, they asserted, to live lives without fear of an unknown God exacting justice and punishment arbitrarily and unnecessarily. They decried any religion, furthermore, as being that vehicle which kept people down, bound to outdated traditions and mythology, and subject to and reliant upon the whims of a clergy who demanded obedience and sacrifice.
The crowd, as crowds will do, began to be stirred up by the diatribe. Some began jeering at the Pieta, mocking the mute stone.
Then I stood up.
I was seated in the room about 1/3 of the way up, and I advanced to the lectern. At each step, the people surrounding me fell silent, until gradually a hush settled over the room. The two men at the lectern heard the hush and looked around, startled. They fell silent, too, and moved off the raised area. The room was by then completely silent.
I began to speak, emotion close to the surface:
I believe in God. I believe in a loving Heavenly Father, who lives and has in interest in the lives and events of His children. I believe that each of us has a sacred opportunity and responsibility to approach Him and establish a relationship with Him. Why do we pursue earthly, temporary relationships with such vigor, attempting to satisfy ourselves with that which can only fade away? If we pursued a relationship with God the same way we do these fated relationships, we would surely find Him, as He has promised. The reason our relationships with Him fail is not because He doesn't care, but because our love for Him has grown cold. We are like teenagers who feel they don't need their parents any more, thinking we are wise enough to carry on on our own, forgetting the whole time the Source from whence we sprang, from whom all our lives depend, and from whom we ultimately depend on for the fulfillment of our fondest desires and hopes and dreams.
I stopped speaking. The entire thing had lasted just a very few moments, but the whole atmosphere in the room changed. Some people, once arrogant, hung their heads in shame. Quite a few more appeared thoughtful. But most just left the room, perhaps afraid of what had just happened.
I left feeling exhilarated.
I was touring somewhere in Europe. At least, it felt like Europe, but it was someplace I'd never been. I was visiting some ancient and glorious structure, surrounded by the inevitable throngs. But this was a place that had been sacred at one time. In my dream, it had been downgraded to a museum, a destination, a peculiarity, a tourist trap. That kind of thing.
It was grand, with large halls and high ceilings. Marble was everywhere, in tones of deep rusty red shot through with white veins and pale blush pink streaked with brown. Great statues proclaimed the Passion, moving for their colossal scale as well as their incredible detail. At the center, at the focus of worship, was a Pieta.
For those unfamiliar with a Pieta - and there are several - it is a statue based on the moment when Christ's body is taken down from the cross. She, the mother of the Lord, is having a very intimate moment with the lifeless body of her son. Of the Son. Captured in her face is the utter despair at the loss of her child. One can sense her grief and pain. Yet, there is also something else there, something hinting at the knowledge Mary had perhaps... She seems to know that while His body may have been destroyed, His Spirit continued on, and that He would take His body again in a glorious resurrection. So, obviously there is pain and loss, fear and suffering. Yet there is also a kind of redeeming grace, a love and a hope, and a sweet joy from knowing that His pain is now over, and that He would rise in glory.
The Pieta in my dream was a gorgeous sculpture, similar in scale to that of Michelangelo's Pieta in St. Peter's in Rome. It was done of a deep, chocolate colored marble that glistened on its relatively short plinth. It was surrounded by benches and chairs, rising in a semi-circular pattern like an amphitheater on three sides of the room.
It seemed odd, really, that this downgraded structure, this profane mockery of what had once obviously been such an important center of worship and divinity, should still retain this room in this state. Certainly, none were sitting, contemplating the majesty and import of the event captured in stone. Crowds filtered through, took their pictures, and moved on.
Two young men took the opportunity to address the throng. Near the Pieta was a small raised area with a slender lectern, offset from the main axis of the room so as to not dominate the visual focus of the room, and angled slightly so that the speaker seemed to be addressing both the chamber and the statue.
These two young men began to harangue the statue and the religion it symbolized. They proclaimed the triumph of reason over mythology, of logic over hope, of modern society over ancient tradition. They said that there is no need for God today, that man's ultimate and crowning achievement was the dissolution of the need for God. Mankind was now free, they asserted, to live lives without fear of an unknown God exacting justice and punishment arbitrarily and unnecessarily. They decried any religion, furthermore, as being that vehicle which kept people down, bound to outdated traditions and mythology, and subject to and reliant upon the whims of a clergy who demanded obedience and sacrifice.
The crowd, as crowds will do, began to be stirred up by the diatribe. Some began jeering at the Pieta, mocking the mute stone.
Then I stood up.
I was seated in the room about 1/3 of the way up, and I advanced to the lectern. At each step, the people surrounding me fell silent, until gradually a hush settled over the room. The two men at the lectern heard the hush and looked around, startled. They fell silent, too, and moved off the raised area. The room was by then completely silent.
I began to speak, emotion close to the surface:
I believe in God. I believe in a loving Heavenly Father, who lives and has in interest in the lives and events of His children. I believe that each of us has a sacred opportunity and responsibility to approach Him and establish a relationship with Him. Why do we pursue earthly, temporary relationships with such vigor, attempting to satisfy ourselves with that which can only fade away? If we pursued a relationship with God the same way we do these fated relationships, we would surely find Him, as He has promised. The reason our relationships with Him fail is not because He doesn't care, but because our love for Him has grown cold. We are like teenagers who feel they don't need their parents any more, thinking we are wise enough to carry on on our own, forgetting the whole time the Source from whence we sprang, from whom all our lives depend, and from whom we ultimately depend on for the fulfillment of our fondest desires and hopes and dreams.
I stopped speaking. The entire thing had lasted just a very few moments, but the whole atmosphere in the room changed. Some people, once arrogant, hung their heads in shame. Quite a few more appeared thoughtful. But most just left the room, perhaps afraid of what had just happened.
I left feeling exhilarated.
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