Dreaming

Text: Jeremiah 23:23-29 Other texts: Luke 12:49-56

Fantasy is great. In the Harry Potter books, people transport themselves instantaneously, which is a lot better than flying commercial airlines or driving from here to Chicago. Harry and his friends have a magical tent in which are bunk beds, a bathroom and kitchen, and a big soft armchair, which is a lot better than camping in the rain in the White Mountains. And the books also contain fantastic evil, personified and pure, without compassion or regret. But as Harry and Hermione and Ron get older, their lives become more complicated, just like real people. Not that they are beset by other-worldly troubles—which they are—but that they have begun to act like real people, complex creatures of friendship and jealously, courage and cowardice, love returned and love unrequited, hopes realized and hopes just as often frustrated. And the people they meet are both bad and good, strong and weak. In other words, just like in real life.

It is helpful sometimes to put ourselves in a fantastic world, different from our own. Fantasy is a kind of slack, a place known to be unreal, safe because the threats, no matter how dire, are phony. But it is not good for long-term solace. People know that, which is why eventually even in fantasy, reality intrudes as it does with Harry Potter. Even in the artificial computer world of Second Life, where people meet in the guise of avatars of their own making, as beautiful and powerful as they like, there is now advertising and commerce, winners and losers, the A-list and the rest of us.

“I have dreamed, I have dreamed,” said the false prophets mocked by God in Jeremiah. The dreams God speaks about are not visions of promise and hope, but fantasies. And the dreams that the people of Jeremiah’s time dream are the same ones that people have always dreamed. Dreams of power, dreams of wealth, dreams of security through strength, dreams of control, dreams of flawless love and beauty.

Sometimes these dreams are told by professional dreamers—people who have a stake in getting others to dream along with them, for commercial, political, or personal advantage and gain. But just as often we dream them ourselves, even against our own wisdom. I sometimes fantasize about owning a big house, forgetting the upkeep, taxes, maintenance, clutter; the moral shame of having more than I need; my own lack of interest and skills in carpentry and plumbing and furnaces. People dream of being their own bosses, or becoming a CEO, forgetting that they hate making decisions, or traveling all the time, or worrying about whether they can meet payroll. People dream of finding the perfect spouse or partner, forgetting that long-term relationships are built on promises and grow in the face of conflict and both unexpected joys and unwelcome struggles. Fantasy is great. You can go a long way on the force of your fantasies. But you cannot go all the way.

A prophet speaks about reality. Prophecy and dreaming—at least the kind we are talking about—are opposites. A prophet is a truth teller. A prophet is not sentimental. A prophet is anti-sentimental. It is tough job. Jeremiah did not want to be a prophet. No one would. In a land of dreamers, who would want to speak the truth? Prophets get into trouble. But getting into trouble is part of what it is all about. Being Christian, that is.

In the passage from Hebrews we just heard, the author lists what we might call Heroes of Faith. In the first half of the list are people who were strong, just, powerful, victorious. Gideon, Samuel, David. In the second half people—unnamed—who suffer, are persecuted, impoverished. There are not two lists here. All of these, it says, were commended for their faith. They all make up the “great cloud of witnesses.”

It is not an accident that the word for “witness” here is the same as the word for martyr. Clouds of martyrs living in faith. People who witness—that is, people who tell it like they see it—can get into trouble. It is important here to not confuse cause and effect. The scripture does not call us to suffer so that we might witness (that is, tell the truth about the world and God). It calls us to be truth-tellers, which in turn might cause us problems. Being a martyr—that is, getting in trouble on account of one’s faith—does not make one more Christian. It is not necessary or even desirable. And following Christ does not necessarily lead to conflict, but it probably will.

So when Jesus speaks about the division he brings, he is not promoting discord. This passage in Luke is descriptive, not proscriptive. If someone does what Jesus says to do—such as always placing people first before structure and power—then some folks are going to be bent out of shape. And fathers will be divided from sons, mothers against daughters, and all the other combinations—friend from friend, kin from kin. It is not inevitable, but it is likely. People will name those who follow Jesus as seditious, naïve, unrealistic, disloyal, geeky, arrogant, radical. Or they’ll do worse.

So Jesus speaks here to let people know what they are getting into—what we are getting into.

Christianity is not a faith of dreams, it is a faith of prophecy. We can take comfort in the presence of Christ in our lives, and in the intimacy of God in the affairs of humans, but ours is not a cushy faith. We are not called to take refuge in a religious fantasy. An opiate, as some have called it. Our God is not a God of fantasy but of reality. Of joys and difficulties. We are not avatars in an elaborate game of Second Life. We are real, complicated, people, and our God is a God of our lives as we actually live them.

In the psalm for today God speaks out for people who are weak, who are lonely, who are uncertain about what to do, who go hungry, who are at the mercy of others. In other words, just regular people like you and me who do regular things and have regular, complicated, sometimes great and sometimes difficult lives. A prophet reiterates God’s desire and guidance: that all care for the poor and troubled, and that all of us need care.

Our God may be an awesome God, but that does not mean we have to be awesome, too. God comes to us not in our dreams but in real life. Here. Now. In your life as it is. In this time. In this place.