Dear, L and R,
I write to you from the arid land that has become my home on an unusually cloudy day. There will be no rain. The drought continues. I had a dream some time ago that concerns you both and the time has come to share it. While I do not expect much to come of this, it must nevertheless be shared if for no other reason than to unburden my soul.
In the dream, I was a silent presence. Neither of you could see me. We were in a house made of old, rotting boards of wood, perched on tall stilts over a swamp. The air was humid. Uncomfortable. L walked over to a bookshelf where they removed a scrapbook containing pictures and articles of R’s hero and political events. R quickly rushed over, snatched the book away, and yelled, “Don’t touch that! It’s sacred.”
L sneered, “How can you possibly say that? How can you have that in here?”
R’s face reddened—not with anger, but rage. Silently, I watched, astonished at R’s rapid escalation into this fearful state. R shouted. L backed away, puffed out their chest, and began shouting over R. You both engaged in one upping the other. Such dreadful clamour would not be possible in the waking world. The fragile house creaked under the weight of your words, and I feared it would collapse, sending us into the murky depths below. I moved to the door. As a sensitive soul, this display was simply too much for me. However, in the doorway, a Presence stopped me and whispered:
Watch. Listen. This is the important moment.
I obeyed and realized that R and L’s words were becoming similar with every bellow and shout they could muster. Slowly, their voices and words synced up and they stood before each other yelling simultaneously:
“You are a hypocrite! You do not treat others the way you want to be treated!”
This accusation trapped you both, and you seemed unable to move beyond it, as if time itself had frozen in that moment. There were no new words—only this single, unyielding judgment.
And I despaired, for I realized that once all the arguments over value systems, belief systems, political paradigms and ideologies were stripped away, this one sad truth remained: L and R, you have become the same. You have both forgotten your true selves. You have abandoned the Way of Love—the path of Christ, who calls us to love our neighbor, love our enemy, and love God. The Golden Rule has been twisted into a rule of accusation instead of a rule meant for reconciliation. I woke up and recorded this terrible dream, hoping I would never have to send it to you. Alas, my conscience demands I write you this letter.
I do not expect L’s family or R’s family to care much about this, but I ask that those who still follow Christ pause and reflect on its meaning. Here in the desert, we do not have faith in political powers of any kind, for they are, as the apostle Paul warned us, the “powers and principalities” of this world. The dream reveals the ultimate end of those who give themselves over to political ideologies as though they are “sacred”, placing them as equal to Christ and his Kingdom, which is of course idolatry. What is the fruit of this? Where does it lead? In the dream, dear L and R, you were no longer the sheep you once were, but wolves. Sheep follow their Shepherd, embracing His way of love, mercy, and reconciliation—the very ministry we were entrusted with. Wolves, on the other hand, follow only their own hunger for power. They hunt others and are driven by one desire: to dominate, to control, to rule over both their pack and everything outside it.
I implore you to think once more about what you are doing, saying, and believing.
Sincerely,
E
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