The Dream of Pastor Wills

“No sir, we’re really not – well, I would, you understand, but our schedule simply will not allow it. Yes sir. Yes sir. No – ah, have you tried Reverend Andrews? He is. Yes sir. Look sir, it’s a good cause and all, and I’m really sorry – maybe next year. Uh huh. You too. Goodnight.” Pastor Wills hung up the phone and scowled. It was nine o’clock at night – well past his normal business hours. He had been lounging in bed, watching television, when they called again. They were persistent, at least – this was the second call today.

“Who was that, honey?” called Mrs. Wills from the bathroom, where she was quietly soaking in the bathtub.

“Some guy from that pro-life group over at Temple Street Church. Wanted us to have a speaker this Sunday. I told them we couldn’t work them in – told them twice today – but I’ll bet they call again. Some people can’t take a hint.” Pastor Wills flipped back on the television and thought, we’re having a special attendance drive this Sunday – and those people know that a lot of church members don’t agree with their cause. We’ve been bringing in a lot of people. No sense running them off just to make some do-gooding group happy. I’d hate to offend anyone, not with all the progress I’ve made. “It’s a shame, really,” he said out loud, “the way some people are, so single-issue. All they care about is their one little problem. Need to get a hobby or something.”

Pastor Wills leaned back in bed and stared at the flickering screen, hardly paying attention to the reality show that was on. His wife slowly ambled out of the bathroom and dropped down onto the bed beside him.

“Well, I’m tired,” he said after a few minutes of silently watching the screen. “I have to get up early tommorow, honey, what with the crew of Super Apostle arriving and all.” A metal rock band, or pop group, the pastor wasn’t sure precisely, was in town, and had agreed to perform, though the price had been rather high – but they were said to be wildly popular. It had been arranged for them to set up the next morning – a Saturday – and give a concert that afternoon with another following that night. The main event would be Sunday morning.

“Goodnight.”

He laid his head against the pillow and soon fell asleep, the dull drone of the television fading, like a long pulsating echo, into the night. He slept soundly for a while, never hearing nor feeling his wife get up and turn off the television and lay back down. After some time – he did not know the hour – he felt that he was awake, that his feet were upon a sidewalk. A dream, he thought. Yes, a dream, certainly – there was, before his eyes, the church building of all things. It seemed strangely bigger and construed at odd angles, in the grotesque manner in which ordinary things sometimes appear from within the subconscious. He was standing in front of it, next to the road, looking at the sign. North Park Worship Center. It was a different sign, a larger sign – not the one Wills knew from reality – with much bigger letters; but they were hanging off, unsecured, and some were missing and all distorted and exaggerated. Leaving the malformed sign, he made his way inside. It seemed the logical thing to do, if one acts logically in dreams. Pushing through the great glass doors he strode slowly down through the entrance hall into the area they called the plaza: here was the café, MacDonalds, gift store, exercise center, and offices, all in one central location in front of the main auditorium.

There was a great crowd standing at the Starbucks café just inside the plaza, but they were all grey and faceless – he could hear them talking, but they sounded cold, lifeless, and he recognized no one. They stood quite still – frozen, some seemed to be – sipping their drinks or waiting in line, but largely ignoring those around them. In the background Wills could hear a clinging noise: money, he imagined, clinging loudly in a cash register, louder than it should sound, and an unending cascade of metallic clamour. He briskly walked on, further in until the noise of clinking coins subsided.

There were many people inside, many more than usual. He did not walk into the auditorium, but instead wandered down on the right side of the plaza past the rotunda of fake trees and plastic benches and towards the gift shop. It was open and many people were inside, but none were moving about; they were only staring blankly at the merchandise. These people too all looked gray and eerily lifeless, and they were utterly silent. He brushed against a young lady but she did not move, only swayed slightly and scowled in his direction but did not speak. Coming to the children’s gift section of the store, he absent-mindedly reached for a small trinket on the shelf but could not seem to grasp it. He started at this, but after a moment of unsuccessfully trying to pick the toy up, turned away and walked to the book aisle. He tried his hand at removing a book from the shelves. This time it remained tangible, but when he opened the book, there was nothing in it: only blank pages, sheets of white paper. He threw the book down, and picked up another, only to be confronted by the same thing: blank, completely blank. He hastily walked out of the bookstore and into the auditorium where the service was beginning. Finding a seat he sank into it and stared up at the stage.

There seemed to be a great commotion about the podium as various men rushed about. Some were carrying instruments of various sorts, some waving pamplets and books. Wills could not determine what they were doing, but it seemed to be a promotional of some sort. Wills was shocked to see himself on the stage dressed in a casual t-shirt, shorts, and sandals, as was his usual style. Upon seeing himself, he could only distract his attention from his image for a moment – only long enough to look out over the audience briefly. It was as ghostly and gray as the people at the café and gift shop were, and they were silent, which was the uncanniest thing of all. But he could see them only for a moment, and then his eyes were back upon himself, a strange fixation of the sort so often found in dreams – seemingly unshakable. The service started. Pastor Wills stood at the podium and welcomed the crowd and said a prayer; but the words were unintelligible. The crowd mechanically nodded their heads down with him, then shot back up at the conclusion of the very brief prayer. Music began playing, and Pastor Wills sat down. The music was loud, and sounded rather like static. For a short time the people stood, then sat down, but all the while swayed mechanically to the droning beat. As the music ended, Pastor Wills stood back up and began to speak again. He spoke for some time, or so it seemed to the real Wills, and again the words were indistinct, reverberating harshly through the building.

The real Wills was growing weary, and to relieve his boredom he stood up, though his eyes were still on himself on the stage. But as he stood, he caught a glimpse of a man sitting in the front row. The man was dressed in a simple black and white suit, and had very white, thinning hair. His clothes were rather frayed and appeared old and did not fit well, but he stood out like a beam of light in a deep cavern, stark and bold. Wills shivered sharply when he saw him, though he scarcely knew why. Still standing, Wills watched the man. He was strangely captivating, so much so that Wills could no longer watch himself on the stage. Suddenly the black and white dressed man stood up. Wills was shocked, and his shock continued as the man boldly strode onto the stage.

He motioned to the pastor, who leaned to listen to him. Then, upon the man’s bidding, the pastor sat down. Wills sat down as well and stared at the floor, no longer desiring to look at the old man. He was indeed old, old perhaps beyond a normal man’s years, or normal reckoning. And yet, upon his face there burned an unquenching vigour, as of fire, or the unbearable glow of the sun in the evening-gloam. It pierced through the gray shadows of the audience and caused them to stir uncomfortably. Murmurs went up in the cold mists. The man spoke, and remarkably, his words were perfectly understandable. Wills trembled.

“Men of North Park! I see that you are very religious. Why, I have found cups of coffee bearing Bible-verses across their sides, and t-shirts with religious slogans imprinted upon them. You seem to value such things, for I have seen many people with them – indeed, there is even a shop for purchasing them here in this very building! I see that you have built a great building; yes, it’s so large I could scarce see the sun, save for its distant glow, from the sidewalk outside. I see many people are here, and I have heard much music and much talking, all dealing with religion. Yes, yes, you are very religious.

“I asked to speak, and your pastor allowed me. I must admit I wonder at his dress, for I know that he is not a man of poverty. No, your pastor has a very lovely home, and I saw his car as I walked here. So I wonder at his strange choice in clothing. But I am glad he allowed me to speak, and am little judge of dress anyway.

“I have walked a long ways. A very long ways. I have seen many people, though not all of them have seen me, I suppose. I have been met by many, and some have welcomed me, some have not. Some have taken me against my desires, and beaten me, and abused me, tortured me, yes, even killed me. But they are enemies, and I knew that, and expected evil from them. Cruel, yes, they can be, but – but I do not hold it against them. They are, as I said, enemies, and it is expected. No, the cruelest cut, the cruelest is from kin. I have walked among my brothers, and they did not see me. They ignored me! I have displayed my wounds, and they have turned quickly away and hid their faces. I have dared to speak to some, and they have cursed me and muttered evil things under their breath. My own kin! Bound to me by flesh and blood! I shall not lie, my friends: I have often lain in hunger, upon the brim of death, rotted in cold prisons, been run through with bayonet, burned in the flames: and my own kin ignored my cries.

“But that is not all. These same kin were not in bonds with me. No, rather, they lived safely and comfortably. They too were very religious, yes, and they knew some of the Faith – that is why we are kin, you understand. They built great temples, perhaps to our Lord, but, I am afraid, it was more to themselves. They moaned and cried out for blessings – for themselves and their people – and yet they had long been overflowing in blessing beyond blessing. They abound in material goods, and prosper! Though, perhaps, it was a curse upon them. They have not known suffering – and they have not known much faith. They desired blessing, but did not know blessing, nor did they truly desire it. It is strange….

“But I am not worthy to speak. For it is not I who live, but Christ in me. I have died, died to myself and to this world, and it is by His grace, for I am of all men most unworthy to speak. It is His words I bring. The scars I bear I bear for His glory. I do not speak in my honor, but for Him and through Him. For you, men of North Park, are my kin. You have mocked me in silence. You have not even troubled to lift me in prayer, never thinking beyond your own bloated desires. You have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, untroubled by any others – hardly troubled for your own souls, save to give them a pittance of your time and effort! You have cursed members of your own body, you have forgotten them, and do not desire to look upon them. Here, look upon these scars! Look upon them whom you have forsaken!” At this the old man tore back his coat to reveal great gaping scars and burns upon his chest and sides. The people in the building began to stand up and leave. Some began yelling and shouting crude words. The old man stood upon the stage, his head bowed, weeping loudly. The crowd emptied steadily, until only the old man and Wills remained. Wills looked about wildly, but all had left, save himself and the old man, his horrible scars still exposed. Wills could stand it no longer. He fled, but the image of the old man went before him – he could not force it from his mind. With a start he awoke. It was morning, and his wife was sitting up in bed blinking against the morning light.

“Ughh, what a weird dream,” said Wills as he pushed himself up against the bedframe.

“Oh?” said his wife sleepily.

“Yeah, only a dream of course – a bad one though. It was about – well, I don’t really – really remember all that well.” He strained to think of something else, but the picture of the old man and the departing crowd only grew in his mind. “You know, we really ought to do something.”

“Do something? Honey, are you alright?”

“I mean, what if some whackjob were to force his way up on the stage one Sunday and just start ranting? He might say I had let him or something, like when I’m gone somewhere, and someone’s filling in. We really ought to get some security guys, just in case-”

“Is that what your dream was about?”

“Sort of – I don’t know. No, it was only a dream. Forget it. Only a dream.”