I just saw my Lord, Jesus Christ, for the first time within conscious memory. In my dream He was with three European-looking men, all on the tall side, dressed in simple robes. Though one of them had a grey beard, his eyes twinkled with innocence and youthful eagerness to hear his Lord’s next words and follow His next steps. The setting was nondescript, except for the presence of a round white table. The Lord seemed to welcome me as a familiar friend that He saw often. I had a large book with me, from outside the mainstream Christian tradition: The Yoga Sutras, perhaps, the Bhagavad Gita, A Course in Miracles, or Swedenborg’s Heaven and Hell; seeing it, He nodded and smiled, as if to say “Yes, I know that book; it’s interesting and you’ll learn something from it.” He laid the book on the table top, took out a pen and signed His name in black ink on the cover, a big, strong, sprawling but simple signature in a script unknown to me. I laughed inwardly at the thought that I’d just been given the autograph of the Incarnation of God, but no one else in the world would recognize it for what it was. He then turned His attention to something else and I woke. My wife was just getting into bed. “I just saw the Lord in my dream,” I told her before falling back asleep.
And then I dreamed of Him again. This time He was in a dark grey suit, standing on the curb of a Manhattan sidewalk in a solemn attitude of prayer. Directly across the street, to the south, rose a tall, dark, forbidding-looking monolith. Among the followers around Him was a beautiful, fine-featured blond woman of about twenty who stuck out her elbow to display angry red burn-marks covering the upper half of the inner surface of her right forearm. I recognized them as nuclear radiation burns and felt grieved. Standing near me, my friend A.B. was on her cell phone, calling her teen-aged daughter at home in Queens Village. And then my alarm clock started to give its wake-up warble and I popped awake, only to discover that the alarm had gone off only in my dream. I took it as a signal to get up and waste no time in recording what I could remember of my dream-experiences.
There are dreams, and then there are dreams. I take this one, or rather these two, as carrying messages for me.
Now the first one is that I am indeed His disciple, and one loved by Him. I’d gone to bed unsure whether I were qualified, or called, to write an article on Christian discipleship for publication. The dream relieves my doubt. The second message is that, as I’ve put my study under His guidance, He trusts my discernment as I read widely among books purported to contain spiritual wisdom.
The third message is that He Himself is praying alongside us for a world that’s in deep trouble. My faith echoes Jesus’ words in John 16:33b: “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” But those radiation burns on that young woman’s arm cry out for His healing now.
I think that this may be the first time I’ve ever blogged about a message I’d received that seemed to have been only for me. But I make it public because something is telling me that it might speak to someone else, too.
Tags: lord jesus christ