Dream 57
We are back at the lighthouse.
Other lighthouses stretch down the coast to our left and right, many lights are out from lack of resource and manpower. Ours flickers on the brink of being extinguished.
Before us, the sea is filled with children. Hundreds of millions of children. Most of them from Africa, born to take a breathe a few breaths and then to drown.
Behind us, on dry land, children are born into safety and security. I take solace in this and turn to face the sea once again.
Me:
“I wish that I did not know what know.”
The rain falls heavily. Fat drops of water puncture the earth enthusiastically as thunder cracks somewhere above us.
The thing about a dream is that your imagination controls everything in it and in my dreams, when I cry, the sky cries with me.
The rain now comes down at such a pace that I can no longer see further than arms length.
Gatherer:
“Speak what is upon your heart son of sorrow.”
Me:
“I dare not. Many will read my every word when I awaken.”
Gatherer:
“You must. For all who read hunger for truth.”
Me:
“More than Four hundred million children under the age of fifteen in Africa. Most with no chance of knowing a life that does not consist of lack. Widespread corruption and nightmarish quality of life. How is the body of Christ so numb to this?”
Gatherer is beside me. Listening with his usual attentive focus.
Me:
“A few churches build wells, some send missionaries and a few evangelists do crusades here and there but 90 percent of churches spend more money on their yearly audits than they do on missions.
Seventy-Five percent of the world’s poorest nations are in Africa.
Seventy-Five percent!
How are we so blind to this and why are we doing so little to change it?
Surely we have the power as the body of Christ to do something?
The Christian economy is a multi-trillion-dollar economy; yet there are one and a half billion people on the planet who have never even heard the name of Jesus Christ.
Let alone the hundreds of millions in easy to reach places that we simply do not reach…
How is it possible that so many of us are either blind or just don’t care?”
My eyes are dry and my heart feels cold but the sky throws down fat drops of rain that taste salty upon my lips. My Spirit weeps with a flood of travail while my soul coldly looks on.
As the rain subsides I can see the lighthouse again. I look out over the sea where children drown by their tens of thousands every day and look back to dry land where churches are filled with singing, dancing and rejoicing.
There is a big, shiny church on the beach with golden doors and expensive cars parked outside.
I watch as a young man writes down his dreams for a nice car, calling it forth in faith. He gets a job and celebrates when his income is enough to buy his dream car.
I look on dispassionately as he testifies of the goodness of God and tells people to have faith so that they too may have a nice car.
Behind me a few more thousand children drown.
We can do nothing about it. Our resources have run dry again and we wait for people to send what they promised.
A few dollars come in but not enough to make any kind of meaningful difference.
I leave the sea to go to the church with the golden doors and ask them for help.
They get emotional, take up an offering for a few thousand dollars and go back to trusting for sports cars, watches and big houses.
I am grateful for the help but it disappears into the mission field in a few hours.
We pull in a few hundred children before our ropes snap and the lighthouse bulb goes out.
Me:
“Tell me Gatherer: Why bother? Why even try? We need to build theme parks, schools, hostels, orphanages and farms to feed these children when we rescue them but I don’t see the resource and I don’t see the manpower. Look at those churches on dry land, how their members flit from one church to another like big washing machines and then they call it new members and new salvations.
To me it looks like corporations and shops taking each other’s customers and building bigger corporations and shops. I really do not see the point of all of this. Look how rude and offish most of the leaders are, how they speak to one another and of one another.
Do you see this stuff Gatherer?
Look at how little money goes into children’s ministry! Look at how little is done for young people.”
I look at the sea for a while longer, tens of thousands of children drown daily. More drown than are saved.
A pastor in a big, expensive car arrives at the lighthouse. I secretly hope he will respond to my plea and turn to greet him.
Pastor:
“You are pushy and disrespectful. Your ministry is not the only ministry on earth!”
Another pastor arrives wearing an expensive watch that could fund our lighthouse for a year.
Pastor 2:
“Why is everything always so urgent with you? My people are offend at the last time you ministered at our church. Why must you guilt trip people all the time and weigh them down with your own vision? Your ministry is not the only ministry on earth.”
Another pastor arrives. His suit and shoes could feed a thousand children for a month. I secretly hope that he can see the drowning children behind us and help us.
Pastor 3
“Why do you judge us by what we wear and drive? Do you think that God is limited by money?”
I don’t bother answering. It is too much effort. I would prefer to die.
All three continue speaking their wisdom. It makes a lot of sense in their own ears. Behind me another ten thousand children die. My spirit begins to weep in frustration.
Rain begins to fall in a curtain of thick drops again.
Pastor 1:
“Look how heavy the atmosphere is when you are around. So you not know that the yoke is easy and the burden is light?”
Pastor 2:
“Look how you get upset when you do not get your own way. You are rebellious!
Pastor 3:
“You need a spiritual father. Bring your talents to my church and submit to me. I will heal you!”
I suddenly feel sick and vomit on their nice suits. They are angry, offended, call me names, call me a delusional dreamer. Another thirty thousand children drown in the sea behind me.
My heart breaks with a loud crack like a gunshot.
The missionaries down the beach hear the explosion and want to help but they have similar problems. Pastors lecture them, a few send them some pennies. A close friend comes to me to tell me that he can no longer work among the poor. He is tired. He is going to start a church in a wealthier area. I hug him. I don’t blame him. I love him. We weep together for a while and he heads inland. Another ten thousand children drown behind me.
The pastors leave.
I weep.
I weep.
I weep.
I weep.
I weep.
Nothing changes.
I get tired of weeping and turn to the sea again.
Another thirty thousand children die while we stand there.
Me:
“Gatherer. How are we to bear this? How am I to survive this broken heart?”
Gatherer places his hand upon my shoulder.
Gatherer:
“It is the cross that the righteous bare son of sorrow. Do not grow weary of doing good. You will reap in due season.”
Me:
“And what of these lighthouses down the beach, many have nothing. They simply struggle along. Hoping that help will come. It never does.”
Gatherer:
“You will be a great conduit for them son of sorrow.”
I don’t believe him. I am too tired for more promises. I walk into the sea and look down at the dead bodies floating at my knees.
Me:
“Hear me well Gatherer. Until there is resource I do not want to hear from angel or demon again. Both man and angel speak with great intention. Meanwhile thousands drown. I will not take part in the heartless selfishness of mankind. Until there is money and manpower, let me sleep. I can no longer see these images Gatherer.”
I lift a dead body out of the water and begin to weep.
The child weighs nothing.
Water streams out of her mouth as I hug her dead body.
Me:
“FOR WATCHES AND CARS???????? Curse them and curse their justification. They are thieves and liars and conduits unto themselves!”
A hopeless scream comes out of me. I smack the water with one hand and hold the dead body with the other. The rain intensifies to such power that I can no longer breathe.
Me:
“I will hear no more promises. I will see fruit or I will turn against the entire tree.”
I rip free from Gatherer’s hand on my shoulder and allow the waves to crash over me until I sink below the waves.
Fatigue washes over me.
I close my eyes.
I wake up.