The Procession
Last night I had a remarkable
dream. I was progressing down a large, long, white hallway with no ceiling
above, only blue sky. I don’t know how I was progressing down this unique
hallway. I don’t know that I was actually walking, but I was moving. If I was
walking, I was walking easily and confidently, with nothing to burden me. I
felt carefree and happy. As I progressed, I found something had materialized in
my hand. It was large and cold, hard and smooth. I opened my hand as I
continued down the hallway. It was a heavy, thick chain link. I didn’t think
much of it. I continued down the white hallway. I was aware that I was moving
and that I was going somewhere. I was happy to be going somewhere; I wasn’t
sure I knew where I was going, but the act of progression down this hallway was
pleasing and satisfying to me on some level.
Over time, more chain links appeared, and then more, and
then still more. As fascinating an experience as it was to have chain links
appear out of nowhere, it soon began to get old. And since they were not coming
one-by-one anymore but in lengths of chain (with an occasional lock), they
began to get heavy. Nevertheless, I began to be aware of other people in the
hallway. They may have always been there and they may not have, but if they had
been, I hadn’t noticed them. They appeared to be progressing at their own pace,
minding their own business. I noticed that others were also carrying chains as
I passed them by. Some of them were moving very slowly because of their burden.
I remember telling them that Jesus was the only one that could get them out of
those chains; that he paid the price to get them out and that only he could
loosen them. I said this in a most confident manner, but I was without feeling
or real compassion for them, although my own chains were becoming very heavy,
occasionally even wrapping around my legs.
I stumbled and fell. I was astounded. How could I have
fallen? How could I have
fallen? I lay there under the weight of my chains and locks and for the first
time looked at my legs. There were large lengths wrapped around them, with a
large, black lock holding the whole affair together. My arms were similarly
entwined. I couldn’t move very well at all. There was no way I could stand. I
was still concerned with progressing down the hall as I had before; I didn’t
want to lose any time and even convinced myself that I wouldn’t. But there was,
as I said, no way I could walk or even crawl, so I kind of scooted myself along
the floor. I remember that it was important to me in some way to look proper
while doing so, although I don’t think that was possible.
I saw still others in chains, but they were not as laden as
I. Although only ankle high to them due to my prone position, I would tell them
about Jesus and the keys he held to unlock their locks and remove their chains.
I was very earnest in my communication, and it had not as yet dawned on me to
ask myself why they would listen to me, since I was in a condition worse than
theirs! I think that not a few walked by shaking their heads.
It was at this point that I became aware of an adjacent
room; another hallway, really. I perceived that it was a hallway on the other
side of one of the great white walls between which I had been traveling. I was
enthralled, as I crawled along, with noises that I heard through the walls. It
seemed there were people there, and that they were traveling in the same
direction I was, but of course and alas, they were traveling much faster than I
was. I could tell this even though I could not see them through the wall. It
eventually dawned on me that this was a procession of sorts. Again, I could not
see what was happening, but it was a thought I had and I believed it within
myself.
Meanwhile, the chains continued to multiply. I could now
barely scoot under their weight. I was no longer aware of others in my hallway.
I heard and saw no one. I was alone. I strained to move at all, let alone
gracefully and at walking speed. Yet an alarming thing began to occur. As
slowly and as surely and as steadily as the sun rises, I began to realize
something. This was no ordinary procession, this that I heard on the other side
of the wall. This was a procession for Jesus Christ! It was a mighty, joyous
parade, and Jesus was somewhere in the middle of them all.
As subtly and as slowly as I had noticed the parade, I began
to hear heavy chains being dragged along. The chains wrapped around my body were
large, but the links of the chains that I heard being dragged must have been as
thick as my leg, or even my body. The sound they were making was deep and
reverberating, but the sound they were making also told me that they were being
carried. Someone was walking on the other side carrying chains that would have
instantly crushed me. I knew who it was, and the thought filled me with terror.
I stopped scooting along, out of breath. I took another,
longer look at my own state. Covered in chains and locks, I was embarrassed and
ashamed. An intense fear that Jesus would somehow see me like this seized me.
Laying alone amid my chains I muttered to myself, “Jesus is
the only one who has the key.”
The sound of the movement of the heavy chains on the other
side of the walls stopped. I managed to roll part way over onto my side (for I
had never fully given up my progression until now). Far, far above the walls,
Jesus towered. He regarded me. I don’t remember the details of his face. It’s
possible I was too ashamed to look directly into it. I don’t know that it was
particularly kind; I think I actually had rather disappointed him, or possibly
that I had disappointed myself to such a state that I now projected that
emotion on to him. I didn’t want anyone to hear what I was about to say but
him. I felt ashamed. I said to him only one word, in a shaky, small and
defeated voice as I lifted my fettered hands towards him.
“Please?”
