| Author | Message | ||
| Jude the Obscure |
MARCHING ONWARD TO ZION, BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL ZION By Jude the Obscure In a dream last night I found myself standing on the crest of the central green hill in a large neighborhood park in a newish housing development somewhere in the suburbs of Anytown, USA. I was watching a company of Trailfinders, youth ranging in age from, oh, say the third grade or so, on up to about the twelfth. They all wore khaki uniforms -- boys in suntan beige, girls in forest green -- wreathed with triangular scarves of various colors. They also sported wide bandoliers covered with colorful insignia patches indicating the completion of star study, Bible study, tadpole study and the like. And they held long wooden dowels bearing wedge-shaped yellow banners -- with nothing on them -- against the deepening blue of the cloudless late afternoon sky. Oh, yes, and they had on black jackboots all polished to a mirror finish. They had just finished marching and stood, not at parade rest as one might expect, but at rigid attention, eyes looking neither to the right nor to the left, not even looking at their leader. He looked college age, their leader. And he reminded me of myself at his age ñ dedicated, rigorous, single-eyed and self-righteous to a fault. But in his medal-bespangled uniform with the loud chevrons and rockers sewn onto his sleeves, he also looked like the master sergeant major in Pasadenaís annual Rose Bowl Parade. Self-righteous, maybe, but did I ever look quite that ridiculous? Ridiculous or not, I soon became caught up in the nostalgia of my own past. I too had marched in a drill team in Trailfinders. And later I had served as a drill instructor at the national Conscientious Objector Medical Inspector Corps (COMIC) camp at the Conference campmeeting grounds at Grand Legend, Michigan. Thus enamored, I sauntered over to them to bask in the glory of the more pleasant of my many Trailfinder and COMIC memories. If they noticed me, even through their collective peripheral vision, they betrayed no sign. Taking their lack of interest as a lack of rejection, I took a place beside the platoon composed of the oldest kids, the ones who looked like academy seniors. ìMind if I march along with you?î I asked Master Sergeant Major Sir. He didnít say yes. He didnít say no. He didnít smile. He didnít frown. He only shrugged his shoulders and said something indistinct, like, ìNyeah.î Did that mean no? Did it mean yes? I never did find out. He gave no other sign. All I remember is, when he gave the command -- ìForward, harch!î -- I harched right along with them. We did right flanks, left flanks, right obliques, left obliques, column rights, column lefts and to-the-rear harches. I fell into the rhythm and was actually enjoying myself until Master Sergeant Major Sir began speeding up the pace. ìRight flank, left flank, right flank, left flankî ñ so fast that I began to think he was trying to shake me. But I had once been skilled, and I actually did pretty well, considering how rusty I was. Well, we harched all over that hilly green park until at length we came to a ìCompaneeee, halt!î Now, as you veterans know, itís customary for a commander to indulge his troops at least a parade rest at this point, if not a fall-out. Not Master Sergeant Major Sir. He kept us at dress-rehearsal, dead-aim-ahead, full-rigid attention. Then, singling me out with his eyes, he finally addressed me. ìSome people just donít fit into Trailfinders anymore, do they?î He clasped his hands behind his back and swaggered over to me until his chin was only inches away from mine. His eyes narrowed to slits. Then, raising his voice so the entire company could hear, he snapped, ìDo they, Mister?î I stared straight ahead, striving not to move a muscle, not even to breathe, and said nothing. Poor judgment on my part. His face went white. ìI asked you, politely, Mister, do they?î Then he literally roared, ìAnswer me!î ìN-no, Sir. I-I guess not, Sir. Is there something wrong with my marching, Sir?î ìIs there something wrong with my marching, Sir?î he mimicked. ìOr is there something wrong with your hearing?î ìN-no, Sir. Thereís nothing wrong with my hearing.î The corners of his mouth tightened downward in an expression of supreme contempt. ìThen, do me a favor." He jabbed his thumb toward the youngest platoon, the third graders. "March over there with them!î Some of them began to titter -- but only until Master Sergeant Major Sir's steely glare gunned them down. I marched smartly over and took my place next to a straight-faced, tight-lipped kid holding one of those yellow, wedge-shaped banners with nothing on them. Meanwhile a group of neighborhood kids had accumulated on the sidewalk and were gawking at us. They had skateboards, off-road bikes, soccer balls, footballs, Poke-mon trading cards, Gameboys, hackey sacks, and I canít remember what else. ìHey, lookit that old dude!î said a little black boy in baggy, below-the-knee shorts, chawing on a wad of bubblegum the size of a golf ball. "Old dude! Old dude! Old dude!" sang a boy the size and shape and almost the color of a prize-winning pumpkin at the county fair. ìWhatcha doiní out there with those freakies?î ìTheyíre not freakies,î said a tall, skinny, freckle-faced, older boy with spiky orange hair. ìTheyíre dorks!î ìThen you must be a dork too!î yelled a little boy, maybe four or five years old, pointing straight at me. He had a haystack of blinding-blond hair that hung down over his eyes, making his face look like a sheep dog's. He was so cute and so serious and so funny that I couldn't fully suppress my laughter. But none of the other Trailfinders cracked so much as a simper. They just stood there, at rapt attention, staring straight ahead. Uh, oh. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw it happening: Master Sergeant Major Sir was approaching like a peacock in full display, hands clasped behind his back -- a sure sign of grief to come. ìYouíll stand to attention, Mister Old Dude!î he sneered, eyes glinting like twin stainless-steel ball bearings. "That means no smiling, no giggling and no grimacing. The rest of us just happen to be waiting for the Lord to come and take us all into the kingdom of God! Now, just what do you happen to be doing while we're doing that? Huh? Answer me!" Despite all my efforts to keep a straight face, I broke into a broad grin. ìSir, Iím already a citizen of the kingdom of God! Jesus Christ's words in Luke chapter 17, verses 20 and 21.î ìYouíre already a citizen of what? What does that mean? Thatís not in the Bible. Wipe that smirk off your face!î Then, turning smartly on the heels of his mirror-finish black jackboots, he strode over to the sidewalk and faced the kids, throwing a mighty ìForward, harch!î command over his shoulder. Suddenly it dawned on me that we were marching straight at kids, children, some not even school age yet. I could hear Master Sergeant Major Sir barking out his divine warning: ìYou better get out of our way!î At first they scoffed at him, ìYeah yeah yeah, dork face!î But as the pounding jackboots neared, they all scattered. All except the five-year-old boy with the blinding-blond, sheep-dog hair. He stood motionless, seemingly riveted to the concrete. Then he started to cry. From across the street a tall skinny girl about 10 years old, with the same blinding-blond hair hanging down past her waistline -- I took her for his older sister -- started yelling at him. ìCraiggy! Craiggy! Get over here! Now!î The boy turned and tried to run but tripped over a fallen off-road bike, and his crying turned to screaming. Master Sergeant Major Sir towered over him. ìGet up and get out of our way, you little imp! Onward Christian soldiers! Prepare ye the way of the Lord!î His words cut me to my core. Here I was marching with these jackbooted nazified zombies from heck bearing down on a helpless little boy. His only offense: He called me a dork and made me laugh! Was I still even human? Suddenly something inside me snapped. I broke rank and ran straight for the kid. Only Master Sergeant Major Sir blocked my way, still towering above the kid, still ordering him off a public walkway. ìNo!î I yelled. ìYou get out of my way!î He turned around and faced me, saw the onrushing wall of jackboots behind me and barked out, ìTo the rear, harch!î They were behind me, and I couldnít see whether or not they were obeying. But at any rate it was too late to stop my own hurtling body. Or was it? God forgive me, but okay I didnít really want to. I slammed into him, caromed off, scooped up the boy and carried him, whimpering, to the arms of his sister who had just reached our side of the street. Meanwhile Master Sergeant Major Sir had spun out and tumbled into a sprawling heap on the parking strip. ìYou hurt me! You hurt me!î he screeched. ìI'll sue! Iíll sue you for your last buffalo nickle! I wasn't going to let them hurt the boy! I only wanted to scare him a little! Scare him into the ark of safety before it is forever too late! He needed to have the fear of the Lord put into him! He was scoffing at the Lord's anointed!" Ignoring him, I turned around to see what the Trailfinders were doing. True to form, they had blindly followed orders once again. They had done a to-the-rear-harch -- just in time. I watched them as they marched away in the opposite direction, in lock step, a headless body, still waving aloft the wedge-shaped yellow banners with nothing on them. Tramp, tramp, tramp . . . . As my dream images began to dissolve into wakefulness, the Trailfinders were disappearing over the crest of the central green hill in a large neighborhood park in a newish housing development somewhere in the suburbs of Anytown, USA. Tramp, tramp, tramp . . . . I woke up with the grand old marching hymn still ringing in my ears: "We're marching to Zion, beautiful, beautiful Zion. We're marching upward to heavenly Zion, that beautiful city of God." Still, I wondered about my little dream Trailfinders. Without their Master Sergeant Major Sir to tell them what to do, when to stop, would they ever? Would they pile up against some building or concrete block wall somewhere, and tramp forever in place? Or spill out over the freeway? Okay, so I did worry about them a little. After all, rush hour traffic was just beginning. | ||
| Lydell |
Jude, you probably won't like what I have to say. But it reminds me of a certain dream my husband had several years ago. He and I were "plowing" the parking lot of our SDA church. We were dressed in extremely old fashioned clothes. I was pulling the plow and my husband was trying his best to force it down into the soil of the parking lot. No matter how hard we tried, no matter how many times we went over it, that plow just couldn't find anything to bite into. The message to us was when things are impossible, it's time to quit the job and move on to something else. The reason I was reminded of this was that the two things that struck me about your dream was the drill sargent's "some people just don't fit anymore" and the fact that no one else there was listening to you or reacting to you or showed any interest in or concern for others. Just one woman's opinion.... And I'll make one observation. If you are wondering if the dream was truly from God or not, a good test is that if it is from Him you will KNOW that you know that you know that it is not something to be ignored. And it won't go away. | ||
| Jude the Obscure |
Dear Lydell, thanks for your observations. You are a perspicacious person, no question. There is also no question but that my dream was from God. I've never yet had a dream from the devil. My dreams always teach me something about myself, my relationships with other human beings, and my relationship with God. Incidentally, I didn't dislike your remarks, not at all. In these realms and matters, there are no clear-cut, right-or-wrong answers. This isn't chemistry, after all. "For now we see through a glass darkly...." 1 Cor. 13:12. But there are precious lessons to be learned. Also, thank you for sharing your husband's dream. So intriguing and so true. Plowing a church parking lot with a pioneer sod-cutter wearing pioneer clothing! Interesting that he would dream of YOU pulling the plow, while he directs it! What do you make of that? Finally, yes I realize now that the denomination of my parentage, family, birth, upbringing, education, career, etc., etc., doesn't want me. You certainly plucked out a relevant quote, "Some people just don't fit any more." That's no longer an issue with me. The fact that I don't "fit" in the way that Master Sergeant Major Sir indicated doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing. I firmly believe that I'm following God's leading. Again, thanks for sharing. Jude | ||
| Lydell |
"perspicacious" whoa, now there's a word to make the spellchecker go tilt! Yeah, I asked him at the time why it was that I was pulling the plow and he was pushing. He said that he could only imagine that it was because it was taking such physical strength to push the plow down into the ground. I decided that was a tactful enough answer that I let it go. haha >My dreams always teach me something about >myself, my relationships with other human >beings, and my relationship with God. Wish I could say the same. My dreams usually run along the lines of the 6 foot tall giant duck chasing me. (If there was spiritual symbolism in that one, I don't even want to know about it!) So when I woke up from a dream the Lord HAD given me, I argued with Him when it seemed He was encouraging me to get out of bed (3 a.m.) and right it all down. "No way, Lord, see I know what my dreams are like. If it's from you, you'll have to keep it there until morning." And the next morning the thing was still there in my mind very clearly and stayed for nearly a year before he explained it to me. That turned out to be a particular ministry time that I needed to go through to receive healing from an old hurt. I would disagree that there are no right-or-wrong answers. His answer will be the right one, and the Holy Spirit is very able to make it clear what exactly that is, if we are willing to hear. Tho, it may take some time... | ||
| Jude the Obscure |
Lydell, No argument from me about the Holy Spirit's answers always being the right ones. If we don't have those, we're lost for certain. But we still "see through a glass darkly." It won't be until our Lord returns that we will "see face to face." For now we must be content to "know in part" and to "prophesy in part." For now we are like children. We talk spiritual language like children. We reason spiritually like children. We do not really ever reach spiritual adulthood until "perfection comes," i.e., Jesus coming in the clouds. This is what I mean by no clearly defined, right-or-wrong answers. Not because the Holy Spirit isn't perfect. But because we're not. This passage I'm drawing from (1 Corinthians 13:9-12) is also relevant in that it blows away the SDA idea of reaching perfection in this life, of "standing before God without a mediator," i.e., without the Christ who said, "I will never leave you or forsake you." I don't know how Paul could have put it more bluntly: "When perfection comes, the imperfect disappears" in a "now" vs. "then" context. Whoosh! There goes the "point of fundamental belief" that forces us to think we have to be perfect without Christ in this lifetime. This is why I think so many SDAs are "nazified zombies." It's not because they're bad people. It's because they hate themselves by knowing they're not perfect (in and of themselves) and never will be. Faith is still the only answer. It might be great to get into a time machine and go back and see, touch, and speak with the risen Jesus -- as did some 500 or so witnesses. But we can't. We can't prove Christ's bodily resuscitation. And as far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing. Because if we could, there would be no room for faith. And, "Without faith it is impossible to please God." SDAs need to be rescued. They need to hear the gospel. I agree that probably few are called to this task. And I'm fully aware that there are those who frown on what we SDA "spiritual spies" and "missionaries to the Adventists" are doing. But that's not our problem. And we do not have to answer to other people, only to God. Parables, allegories, elliptical language, hyperbole, poetry and dreams can pack enormous explanatory punch. They can reach people essentially unreachable by logical and doctrinal methods. If such techniques are impermissible, then why did Jesus use NO LOGICAL ARGUMENTS and conduct NO BIBLE STUDIES at all? Period. He told stories, lots and lots of stories, often highly imaginative ones, such as "the rich man and Lazarus." How many times did Jesus say, "The kingdom of heaven [or God] is like unto a ... " and then proceeded to tell a story? How marvelous to watch a conceited rich man being consternated over the impossibility of a camel going through the eye of a needle! Why leave these marvelous tools to Satan, just because we live in a so-called "scientific age"? Why are we so "proof oriented"? Why not use the imagination to glorify God? After all, the prophet Joel prophesied, "In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. You sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams." Quoted by Peter in Acts 2:17, NIV. Since when have dreams become a private matter only between one's self and God? That is certainly not a biblical concept! Or why should dreams be restricted to mere "signs"? A spiritual experience composed primarily of "signs" is dreadfully impoverished. Why did Jesus say, "This is an evil generation: they seek a sign; and there shall no sign be given it"? Luke 11:29. Let's not bury our talents, n'est pas? -Jude | ||
| David Oltmans |
Dear Jude, Here's my take on your dream: 1. The uniforms signify closed mindedness. The patches their own works. The SM is the harsh leader (read SDA denomination) of closed mindedness and expects total obedience from his charges. 2. The jackboots are symbols of oppression. 3. The late hour of the day indicates that these "kids" are being led into darkness. 4. The constant position of attention indicates that these "children" will never be allowed to think for themselves. 5. A guidon tells others who you are. In a military organization, the yellow guidon pennant may say "A Co. 2/68". The yellow indicates Armor branch, the A is the company; the 2 is the second battalion and the 68 is the 68 Armor. The fact that your dream pennants have no designation means that the Trailblazers stand for nothing, or do not know what they stand for. Either way they are losers. 6. The SM's "Nyeah" means that he is suspicious of you and your motives. The fact that you had to ask permission to join ranks means that you are viewed as disloyal and that you will always be viewed with suspicion. 7. The kids with toys represent a normal, creative childhood, unburdened by the restrictions of jackboots and drill. It is in contrast to those in ranks who are being brainwashed 8. In our vernacular, a "dork" is a person who does not fit in. When the kid tells you that you are a "dork" he is confirming what you already know about your participation in the Trailblazer group. 9. The SM's attack on the normal kids is an attack upon freedom, and that is why you responded to it the way you did. You identify more readily with the free child than the jackbooted ones. 10. SM's "rear harch" sends the mindless Trailblazers away into the setting sun, mentally unprepared to consider the truth. They will always have to be told what to do. 11. The SM's explanation of his actions is the same self justifcation that the church uses when it abuses it members and converts. It never really does anything "wrong" because of the "standard" which it must uphold. The SM does not know that we are already citizens of the kingdom. His admission means that he is a false teacher. | ||
| Colleentinker |
Hi, JudeóI truly am an admirer of your writing! Just keep your harching Forward! I have one observation about your dream besides the obvious parallels with headless movements and dictatorial commandants. It's interesting to me that you find yourself marching with children. The SM reminds you of yourself in other times, but you find yourself falling in with children and even attempting to rescue a child (an unspoiled child being threatened by coersive power, at that). Is there anything about your own childhood that you'd like to share? You are a great addition to this forum! Thanks for your insights! |
