How to be a Holy Mess: Chapter III

The Dream
I was back at Ella G Clarke Elementary School in the auditorium. It was empty as I made my way up the darkened theatre aisle to the stage where my current Bishop, Roger White was standing at a table. He was dressed in the full Episcopal drag—mitre, (that weird hat) and all. As I walked down the aisle, I proudly touted a lunch box. It was one of those old fashioned kind of lunchboxes—the kind that I associate with blue-collar workers of ‘50’s-- black, metal, and arched- top. However the arch-top of this lunch box was translucent. Inside sat my lunch. A perfectly cute lamb,

almost cartoon-like, she had blue eyes with long lashes and peach colored hooves. She even had one of those darling little Christian flags that one sees churchy medieval lambs holding—the kind with the red and white cross on them—a real honest to goodness Agnes Dei Lamb!

I proudly sported my lunch down the aisle, up the stage and to the altar. The Bishop was saying Mass and holding up the wafer, talking to the cookie, as I like to call it. As I stood there watching him say the Mass, I leaned over to the bishop and asked when lunch was. Soon he told me. Good I said back. I wondered if he might exchange lunches with me. The concept of eating such a cute little lamb was not at all appealing.

So there I stood with Bishop White on the stage of my childhood theatre. He held a ratty brown paper bag in his hand and I had my little cartoon lamb in the lunch box. Carefully, slowly he handed me his paper sack and I gave him my box. We kept our eyes glued on each other—afraid that one of us might abscond with both lunches I suppose. I remember such trades in childhood. With the exchange at last brokered each of us turned away to check out the spoils of our swap. Reaching my hand into the bag, I pulled out a small-bloodied, dirty body the size of a baby bird. The body of Christ lay in my hand. My hand was now stained with mud, piss and blood. His skin was stretched thin across his chest and ribs. I could see his heart and lungs struggling for life as he lay in my hands dying. This was my feast. I looked up into my Bishop’s blue twinkling knowing eyes.
***
I don’t remember much of that last discernment meeting. I know that I shared my dream and said that I desired to exchange this perfect Agnes Dei Lamb image for a messy existence.

I remember we laughed. They had been waiting for me to be me with them. I was and life has been a mess ever since.