Water Dripping from the Ceiling

On Sunday my husband and I were driving through town and we were listening to National Public Radio which announced that services honoring Our Lady of Guadalupe were being held to bring Caucasians and Hispanics together. We passed a full parking lot which we hardly ever see full. He commented that something big must be going on. I said Mass is happening at the Presbyterian Church. Later that evening we were watching "Dinner: Impossible" on the cooking channel and the chef was at The Ice Hotel in Quebec. The hotel had a chapel made of ice with pews and an alter.

So, funny enough, I had a dream about church last night:

I dreamt that I was in an old city with cobblestone streets and a tornado or storm was coming and I was seeking shelter. My grandmother was with me and she led me into a Presbyterian church that had large marble stairways displayed in flights leading down, down, down, really far into the ground, similar to the depths of the Paris catacombs - maybe a quarter mile into the earth. It was a safe place to weather the storm. The storm could never reach us or shake the walls in this cavernous sanctuary. Everything was softly lit and palatial, lots of polished taupe marble and when we reached the bottom, there was a chapel that was half-filled with people who were getting settled in for a mass that felt semi-Catholic. We sat in a pew.

I remember feeling apprehensive because I am no longer Catholic. I felt that I owed respect, so I sat through the service...until the end. At the end, the pastor said that this congregation and church was so blessed because as of late the statue of the Virgin Mary was weeping. In disbelief, I got from my seat and inspected where the statue was and saw that -- like the Parisian catacombs -- water was seeping through the earth and dripping down the front of the marble face of Mary. It streamed down her face and it pooled onto the marble floor. I pointed at it and angrily shouted, "No, she is not weeping - condensation is coming through the ceiling!" Everyone just sat there with their hands folded as if they did not hear me, rocking back and forth and praying the rosary. In lieu of my past Catholic split and realization of Truth, I felt almost like picking a fight because of this ridiculous situation. I screamed "Don't you ever question these things? They are not tears! It is not a sin to question!" No one answered, they just kept repeating their prayers and ignored me, hell-bent on believing that the Virgin was actually crying. I felt that while I was in a physically safe place, I was in a place that felt wrong. And frustrating. And untrue.

I woke up and my first thoughts were that 1) Truth cannot be found in beautiful marble churches and in deep underground sacred havens of prayer. 2) That the obvious problem of "miracles" and putting faith into statues and people other than Christ would be pretty close to blasphemy if I were God looking in on these things. Not to mention the misuse of one's brain in questioning things such as streams of water that are mistaken for celestial tears. 3) Safety and feeling safe and accepted does not guarantee that you have found Truth and going into the storm, whilst difficult, may be better than sitting through false safety.

I do feel like I am screaming at people who are stubborn and unwilling to question any aspect of faith sometimes...especially elders (maybe this is where my grandmother came into my dream). However, I feel thankful that I have come to break out of the blind following of incorrect dogma to see the water dripping through the ceiling.