. . . ut, speaking the truth in love . . . (Eph. 4:15).
I have to admit that it was an odd dream. In it, I dreamed that I found myself visiting two completely different churches on the same day, with -- it must be said -- two entirely different approaches to the Christian faith. I must confess that both approaches repulsed me, although at the time I did not really know why. But when I awoke, it did not take much thinking to figure out what the dream meant.
The first church was very defined -- very orderly. The pulpit was massive. Off on the congregation's left was a rack, and hanging from the rack was the kind of skeleton you might see in a medical school somewhere. On the other side of the pulpit was a huge wall chart, again of a skeleton. On this chart every bone in the body was clearly labeled -- labeled so plainly that someone in the back row could easily read each label. By the pulpit was an overhead projector, presumably in order to show more skeletons to those who had not yet gotten the drift. It was evident that the sermons here had a lot to do with skeletal anatomy.
I sat quietly, about two-thirds of the way back, waiting for the service to start. Hoping not to appear too obvious, I briefly looked around. What I saw was strange, but somehow, in this place, it didn't really surprise me. The place was full, but the people certainly weren't. They were all walking skeletons -- bones with skin stretched over them, and maybe a little flesh. They had Bibles, and they all had notebooks open so they would be prepared to begin taking notes when the message began.
When the preacher began, the congregation lowered its collective head, as one man, and started taking notes furiously. I was the only one looking at the preacher, and felt totally conspicuous. The preacher was calm, deliberate, and very precise. I have a hard time remembering dreams after I wake up, but I think his message was on the importance of the femur. If I remember correctly, without the femur there is really nothing to stop a doctrinal slide into a rank semi-Pelagianism.
After about twenty minutes of this, I determined that I could not take it anymore. Using both femurs, I slipped out, unnoticed. As I crossed the foyer, I could hear the voices of the children, from down the hall somewhere, singing in a sort of calm monotone. I recognized the words, but there was really no tune to recall. The neck bone's connected to the head bone . . . now hear the word of the Lord!
As I went outside, I turned for a last look at the church's sign -- Bare Bones Church -- then turned around and walked out to the parking lot shaking my head. It was remarkable. There was nothing wrong with what the preacher had said -- every bone was in its proper place -- and yet everything was still wrong.
As I walked away, a thought occured to me, and I laughed. I wondered how many bone "reformers" had tried to improve that place by rearranging the bones in the wrong order.
Out by the sidewalk, I walked out into the sun, and stood there for a moment enjoying the relief.
But after those moments passed, my thoughts turned again to the subject of worship. After all, I was in a strange town; it was the Lord's Day, and I wanted to worship the Lord and get some fellowship and teaching.
About three blocks away, on the other side of the street, I saw a sign for another church. As I got closer, I saw the name -- Happy Clappy Fellowship. Below the name of the church was a somewhat predictable slogan. It was "the church with a smile." At least worth a try, I thought.
The parking lot was full, so I walked quietly into the back of the sanctuary -- but for a moment I thought the place was empty. But as I went to sit down in a pew near the back I saw that it was occupied. The occupant looked like an overweight man -- without any bones at all. Because of this, he had slidden down in the pew. This is why I had thought the church was empty -- none of the heads were visible from the back of the church. But as I looked up and down each of the pews, I could see that they were all filled with the same kind of Christian fillet.
It took a while before I could even identify where the faces were. But when I finally figured it out, I saw that everyone I looked at was happily beaming at me. There were no jaw bones to work the flesh around their mouths, but if there had been, I have no doubt I would have been told -- many times over -- Welcome!!
Finally I found an empty seat and sat down. I surmised that a song was in progress from a surrounding melodic hum that pervaded the sanctuary -- although it was difficult to make out the words. There was a song leader up front who looked like a bean-bag chair draped over the top step of the carpeted stage. It looked like something Salvador Dali would paint. There were two globules for arms waving in time with the music. I sat intently, trying to identify the words. Finally I recognized, not them, but it. The one word they were singing was alleluia, over and over and over. But as long as I didn't look around, the sound was pleasant enough.
This lasted for about a half an hour. I glanced at my watch, wondering how the message was going to fit in the time remaining. But I really needn't have worried. They were not behind schedule at all. Apparently, the preacher was assigned five of the last ten minutes remaining in the service for getting up to the stage. When he arrived, what I could make out of his short and muffled message was very simple indeed.
"Warm good flesh . . ."
"Bones . . . bad enough . . ."
"Systematic bones . . . really bad."
" . . . don't want what happened to them . . ."
"God is love . . . friendly church."
I briefly glanced around to see how the message was being received. The pile to my right was shaking uncontrollably. On my left there was a damp spot near the top. I could hear the sound of weeping throughout the sanctuary. The message was apparently being delivered with considerable power.
Suddenly it occurred to me that if I were still around after the service, I would be greeted by most of these people -- and presumably hugged. Time to head out.
Out in the sun again, I made my way down the street. Shame, I thought, and awoke.
