A Good Friday Dream

Well, this kind of thing never usually happens to me, but I had a dream last night that was eerily appropriate considering today is Good Friday. So, here it is:

The beginning is a bit vague now, but I think I was travelling overseas somewhere - it wasn't San Jose, but wherever it was, it was near a river. I was walking along and came across a small sheepskin rug that was arranged in such a way that it looked like a nest, and inside was a container holding 12 tiny little eggs. I stopped and looked more closely and realized that the eggs were alive - that there were little baby birds inside. I reached out my hand and cupped the eggs - they were really really warm, as if they were generating heat, and I realized that they were about to hatch. There was nobody else around, and I knew that if I didn't do something the babies would die because it was too cold. So, I carefully cupped one little egg, just as it started to hatch. Sure enough, a tiny baby bird emerged, with dark brown feathers, it's eyes still sealed shut, and it's wings folded back from being curled up inside the egg. It squirmed around in my hand, but was obviously content. Then another one hatched, and then another. There were now three little birds, and as I tended to the second and third ones, the first slipped into some kind of puddle of water, but I rescued it. They didn't make any noise, but needed my warmth and protection. The other eggs didn't seem ready to hatch yet, but I could tell that these 3 (or 4 - thinking back, I think there might have been 4), desperately needed my help, and I realized I had to pick them up and take them with me.

We started to walk along the road. The sun was shining, everything was very clean and neat, but I could tell I needed to get the birds somewhere. I just didn't know where. They started to grow at an amazing rate. Already they were the size of small hens, but they were absolutely beautiful. It's strange to think of a chicken as being beautiful, but they really were. They had these wonderful dark brown feathers that were soft and smooth, and they cuddled close to me and needed me to protect them. (ie these were not the standard springtime little yellow baby chickens). Suddenly three men started to notice me, and I had this feeling that this was bad. I tried to walk in the other direction, and not look at them, but I could tell they were worked up about something, and were headed directly towards me. As they got close I could see that they were angry, yelling and screaming, and trying to get in a fight with me.

At first I couldn't understand the problem, but then I realized it was because I was a Christian. I don't think I've experienced persecution before, but in my dream it suddenly became very real. I had obviously done nothing wrong, and yet these people were crowding around me, yelling and kicking and trying to punch me. I kept saying I hadn't done anything wrong, and I didn't want a fight, and please leave me alone, but they were too worked up. Then someone picked up a stone and threw it at my head. I think the first time I managed to duck, but then another stone came flying in and smacked me hard, and then another, and another. These weren't giant rocks, just small pebbles, but big enough to really hurt. As I was trying to find a way out, another man came up with a big, 1 gallon, cardboard carton of milk, ripped open the top, and started dumping it over my head, while laughing and mocking me, which got the rest of the crowd laughing also.

All the time I was still holding these beautiful hens, and trying to keep them safe, but I was starting to realize that I couldn't protect them from the persecution, however hard I tried. At that moment somehow I suddenly found a way out and everybody disappeared. I barely had time to pause for breath before animal control suddenly appeared. There were two people driving in an old, beat-up, modified golf cart, like the ones you see in movies that they use for picking up the balls from driving ranges. There was a cage around the whole thing, to protect the people inside. They stopped, got out and came rushing over. They wrenched the hens from my hands and started to chastise me for having taken them away. I tried to explain that I wasn't taking them away, I was trying to protect them, but they wouldn't listen. They just kept accusing me of taking the hens away from their mother, and reiterating that the hens had to go home to be with their mother. "I *know* that" I repeated to them, getting more worked up, but they still didn't really listen, and simply bundled up the hens and drove off.

It wasn't too traumatic to see them go away - I knew that it was the right thing, and the best thing for them. But it was intensely frustrating that the animal control people didn't understand me, and didn't seem to want to try and understand me. It was very important to me that they recognize that I was actually trying to *help*. In fact, I went back to the nest and the other chicks had all died, because it was too cold. It was sad, but I realized that I had done all that I could. At this point I went to the animal control place and was able to visit the hens, and watch them through a window. They were in a room that was heated and protected. They were safe and sound, and playing happily.

Bizarre, huh? What do you think it means? Anything? Maybe I've just been eating too many Peeps. Actually, I really haven't eaten any Easter candy yet this year.

The part that really sticks out for me is that I was being persecuted and basically stoned for being a Christian. A weird dream to have right before waking up on Good Friday. After breakfast I was getting my things together to go to work and I sliced my thumb on a piece of paper. It kind of hurt at the time - it wasn't one of those little tiny papercut nicks, it was a real good, long papercut that drew blood and everything. But a split second later I just looked at my thumb and thought "you're complaining about that? Today? On Good Friday?" But you know what, we're obsessed with the physical aspects of this world. Go watch The Passion. Go listen to a Good Friday sermon. You'll hear and see plenty about the physical pain and suffering that Jesus endured for us.

But the Gospel accounts really don't focus that much on the physical aspects of his death. There are just enough details so we know what happened, but no more. Maybe it was too much to recount, maybe it was considered culturally inappropriate. Or maybe it's because the spiritual separation and pain was far more painful for Jesus than the physical pain. Abandoned by his friends, his followers, and finally, at the last moment, separated from God as he took on the full weight of our sins. That awful moment is what sticks with me and gives me chills as I write this.

"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"

I can't even bear to put myself in that position and consider what that would feel like. It is simply too horrible to imagine. In a bizarre way, the physical pain I can imagine, and I can sympathize with, and sort of understand. The spiritual pain and anguish, the separation from God - that's just too horrible to even imagine. I think there must be some connection to my dream, but I haven't figured it all out just yet.