Did I really just say that?

Fast from seeking understanding.
Feast on mystery.

These suggestions from my spiritual director loomed yesterday morning as I woke up from a very vivid dream. In the dream, I was in a big, church-looking building. It had tall, gothic-style ceilings and gigantic archways. It was also being attacked with grenades. Walls were crumbling, chunks of the ceiling were falling all around me, and I couldn’t get out. I knew I was going to die in there. Someone took me to a side room where a guy who seemed to hold some authority was seated. He asked me if I was afraid to die. As the archways collapsed behind me, I didn’t feel anxious or scared. I remember not feeling like this death was really going to happen, even though I was trapped in a time bomb. I told the man, “I’m sure the moment I die will be scary, but I’m not afraid of death because with Christ by my side, I will never really die.” He started to laugh at me. I remember speaking these words and immediately wondering, “Did I really just say that?” Then, I woke up.

I don’t know what to make of this dream — I’ll leave that to a psychologist to figure out. But I share it for two reasons. First, the dream led me into 45 minutes of really fruitful reflection. Journaling with God reminded me how important it is to carve out space during the days to contemplate and reflect. God speaks through many avenues — in nature, in Scripture, in friends and maybe even in dreams!

Second, the content of the dream itself raised a question that I think is worthwhile to consider, especially during Lent: What does it mean for me to die and live with Christ?

There’s probably some uppity theological answer out there, but this morning I felt invited to view this question through a different lens — the lens of faith. My need to understand the technicalities can be suspended with this lens. I’m free to just be with the mystery. To be grateful for it, to be moved by it, to act better because of it. Faith is the reason I can buy into the mystery that is Christ’s love. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I’m hungry for the feast.

Like what you read? Give Jessie Bazan a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.