The Church of the Damned

~ This was among the most vivid dreams I've ever had. A year later, it makes more sense. ~ 

It was around 3:00 a.m. on a June morning in 2021. I dreamed that I planned to visit a small church in a small town where I had once served as pastor. But, unfortunately, the church and village in my dream were neglected and overgrown with weeds and low-hanging branches. Unsealed cracks in the streets allowed shoots to poke through them, and bald patches of earth showed through all over lawns and even cemeteries. The little rectangle meeting house where I had served was no longer gleaming white, and the large oaken doors no longer glowing with fresh lacquer. Now, gray, unpainted slats topped by an un-louvered belfry wrapped faded stained glass and a corroded bell. 

A long-dead churchman stood near the signboard that once bore my name. As always, his bib-overalls contained his Dutch Master’s cigars in a pencil pocket, and his shirt collar opened to reveal white chest hair on reddened skin. “Preacher,” he said, “It’s good to see you.” Come in and sit for a spell. 

Dirty red carpet and faded brown paneling accentuated the ambiance as dust-filtered light beams cast through yellow and white pieces of stained glass. The familiar communion rail, pulpit, and backlit cross stood where they’d always been but covered in dust. An electric Wurlitzer and faded Kimble upright piano bracketed the scene. My companion spoke softly, “We’ve all died, Reverend” and then the light faded to darkness.  

Suddenly, I found myself far from that familiar place and standing near a large church building with a vast parking lot surrounding its square, Masonic lodge-like structure. The premises seemed as neglected as the little church I’d just left. Inside the main sanctuary, there were rows of theater seats beneath high ceilings and before a long, solid altar rail with a great, high pulpit at the center. Chairs for a large choir with a grand piano and majestic pipe organ on either side sat behind the pulpit. Curtains hung at regular intervals between tall, rectangular stained glass windows that cast dim light under dangling darkened fixtures. Everything was dust-covered, but not so much as the little church I’d just left. 

“What a magnificent building!” I declared to my companion. He said nothing but only stood still, watching me as I explored the sanctuary. I eventually wandered up to the pulpit and found that I had to stand upon several stacked wooden boxes to see over the top. While I teetered there, my companion called across the void, “Why don’t you try it out?” So, I began to sing a favorite old hymn in my most resounding baritone. The sound of my voice filled the large room, and I thought about how wonderful it would be to preach and lead worship in this place. After finishing a verse of the hymn, I boldly proclaimed the gospel of Christ, crucified for our sin, resurrected to bring new life in God’s favor, giving new birth in the Holy Spirit. My preaching boomed through the air, and it seemed glorious to me. Then, in the blink of an eye, I was outside, in the parking lot again.

Astonished, I asked my companion, “What happened?” He replied, “It’s a church of the damned,” and then disappeared. I stood there in confusion for several minutes before finally attempting to reenter the building. I unsuccessfully pulled on massive, metal-clad wooden doors locked from within. Somehow, I knew they were barred with a long wooden beam, so I walked the perimeter of the building until coming across an open door. When I made my way back into the sanctuary, I saw people sparsely scattered throughout the rows of seats. A tall, thin man wearing a dark suit and narrow tie stood in the pulpit speaking, but I don’t remember what he said - only that I fiercely rebuked him and demanded that he stop. In a flash, he stood in front of me at the back of the room. He seemed to tower over me as he glared down at my face. In another instant, the two of us stood in the same posture but outside, in the parking lot. 

Sensing danger of a spiritual nature, I began to condemn the man in the Name of the LORD. I said, “In the Name of Jesus Christ, I reject you.” “By the power of the Holy Spirit, I demand that you depart from me,” I repeated the phrases over and over, and as I did so, the face and head of my adversary changed. Hair faded from his head, and pointed ears straddled his pale, bald scalp. His eyes were red with rage, and I feared him. I thought, “Why isn’t this working?” “Why am I afraid?” “I know who this is, and I believe in my authority from the LORD. Finally, I cried, “LORD, save me!” and then I awakened from the dream. 

I have pondered the dream’s meaning ever since and have only a couple of conclusions: First, the churches of my denomination are dying or have already passed. Second, some of the seemingly healthy churches are dead in spirit and even led by the Enemy. My powerlessness in the face of the Enemy was a reminder that my life and times are in the LORD’s hands and, I must not take pride in the authority he gives me.