Insights from a Dream

I really like dreaming. Generally speaking, I'm a pretty inhibited person. We all have inhibitions and filters, but I don't really know how to turn mine off. I'm not simply talking about our verbal filters that occasionally keep us from saying stupid thoughts aloud. There are feelings and thoughts that I've taught myself not to notice. Quick example: I was taught to never say anything bad about someone else. I internalized that lesson to the point that I seldom allow myself to think negative thoughts of another. On the plus side, I tend to see the good in people and it helps me to empathize. On the other hand, there have been times when I've turned a blind eye to problems in relationships that have needed attention.

All that to say, when I dream, I don't have the mental capacity to live with the same inhibitions that I carry with me in life. Thus, my actions and words in a dream often hold insight into my heart that I can't get anywhere else. Of course, looking at dreams for meaning is nothing new, I guess I'm just explaining to you and to myself my reasoning for looking for meaning in dreams. 

I don't remember the context, but last night there was a young man in my dreams who I've never met. I doubt that he exists outside my dreams, but when I woke up this morning, I realized that I he has been in my dreams multiple times. He is tall, dirty blonde hair, and almost always smiling. He speaks often of the Holy Spirit, and is defined by passion and zeal. The way he talks and prays is always somewhat airy, as though he lives more in a lofty world, barely tied to this physical one. 

In sharp contrast to all of that, his eyes are piercing, sometimes blue and sometimes a disconcerting red. In my dreams, I'm always afraid of him.

Who is this man, and why do I fear him?
I think there are a few things that can be taken from his presence in my dreams. I grew up in a church called Faith Community Chuch, under the evangelical-free denomination. Though I consider myself a generally open person, I think this young man, we'll call him Joe, shows that I still harbor misgivings about more charismatic walks of Christianity. When I recall how I felt about Joe in my dreams, I recognize that I did not trust him. I felt afraid partially because I wasn't sure how to respond to his expressive nature, but I was also afraid that his loud and exuberant worship was only an outward act, a poor replacement for honest worship.

Strange, I am more willing to accept soft singing, hands raised, eyes closed as honest worship than I am willing to accept dancing, off-key singing, and a wide smile. Intellectually and theologically, I do not value one over the other; I know that there's beauty in the diversity of how we worship God. But when the rubber meets the road, I still find it hard to trust those who are different from me. If I limit the way that God interacts with others to the same way that He interacts with me, I place a limit on God Himself. Such a limited god is an idol, and an idol that looks a lot like me. When I project my own form of worship, my own walk onto others, I create the gospel in my own image.

Shoot, that's a scary thought. My misgivings about those who I might consider charismatic are an indication of my own self-worship. By taking a closer look at someone I dreamed about, I stumbled upon my own deep brokenness (again). There are so many stones to turn over in my head and in my heart, how much brokenness is hidden underneath?
Thank God, that God is God. I need Him desperately, because without Him, I'm worth nothing. It's at times like this that I can see most clearly that without the redemption and love of God, I truly have nothing of value to offer.