A dream: from the altar to the world
I awoke in a panic. Two different groups have recently asked me to do Lenten days of reflection (see below). I chose as an organizing theme Pope Leo’s inaugural exhortation, Dilexi Te (I have loved you). In it, the pope highlights the inseparable link between Christian faith and the poor.
The enemy’s voice upended my sleep. You’re making a mistake. No one wants to hear about that! After a fitful hour, I finally went back to sleep. And God responded to this accuser in a dream.
I was the deacon assisting the pope at a Mass (a sure clue this was a dream). We were in a vast, impersonal space—an auditorium made sacred by portable pews and a makeshift altar. Everything felt official, but slightly disconnected. Then came the interruption: a child wanted time with the Pope. My immediate reaction was practical, almost dismissive—that’s not happening.
But the pope had other plans. When the distribution of communion began, we were sitting together in the big chairs up front. With a simple nudge and a nod that said, “Let’s go,” he directed me to assist him as he walked into the congregation.
In my dream, the pope could not descend the stairs alone. He needed help. He leaned on me and I steadied him, and together we moved down into the assembly—away from prominence into the mass of humanity.
Several pews back sat a frail child who appeared to be receiving cancer treatments, with no hair and sunken, dark eyes. She was joined by a couple of other children, also fragile and in desperate shape. The Pope slid in beside them. No pretense, just presence. Just a huddled clump of bodies needing and leaning on each other. I stayed close, one arm protectively around the pope, yet feeling a wave of comfort and assurance myself.
The Communion line passed by us. Some noticed. Many did not. The Church passed by the Church.
There was a reception after Mass. The contrast deepened. The reception was noisy, disjointed, and a little uncouth; strangely indifferent to what had just been celebrated. Someone even lit up a cigarette. Smoke drifted toward the Pope’s face, who showed visible discomfort. The sacredness of the liturgy disappeared in this puff of smoke.
When I woke, the doubts returned with force: You have nothing new to say. People will resist this. There’s nothing of value here. But the dream had already provided a powerful image to rebuke this voice. The Pope—the Vicar of Christ—cannot walk down the stairs alone. The movement from altar to pew, from Eucharist to the poor, requires willing servants. Some will notice. Some will not.
The message was simple: Make the connection. Between Mass and mercy. Between worship and responsibility. Between the Body of Christ received and the Body of Christ encountered. The root word for Mass and mission is the same. The connection in my dream was unmistakable.
And the dream affirmed my choice. Dilexi Te it is!
May the Lord affirm both your dreams and decisions.
