THE BODY OF CHRIST

      Forty years ago when I was a student at a nearby Bible college, now a small private university, a professor shared a poignant dream with my New Testament class.

    “Sis.” Breush, as we referred to her, was a middle-aged English woman at the time, and has long since gone on to her reward. Interestingly enough, she was married to another faculty member, a sandy-haired Australian man, Percy Breush.

     Professor Breush seemed more intent and focused than I had ever seen her, as she shared the fascinating dream; perhaps from the night before. 

“I was standing at the throne of God,” she said. “And I gazed directly into the eyes of Christ. His soft brown eyes seemed to exude great empathy. Every auburn hair was in place. His cheeks were ruddy, and his teeth were as white as snow.

    And it was then that I looked downward, and in my dream I suddenly caught my breath. For whereas Christ’ head was nothing less than perfect, His shoulders were slumped, His chest was sunken, His ribcage was emaciated, His arms were withered.

     And it was then that the allusion became all too clear. The Body of Christ. The Body of Christ. The Body of Christ is not a healthy one. For there are those among us, those who invoke the Name of Christ, who have been an embarrassment to His cause, who have failed miserably, and who seem content to live a mediocre life, who often fall on their knees before the throne of God, only to rise and sin again, as though nothing happened, who make a mockery of that Holy Name.

     As scripture reminds us, ‘These things ought not to be.’”

     As I have previously implied, forty years have come and gone since I heard that dream recounted. And I have often wondered if I might be the only remaining student who remembers having heard dear Sister Breush share that poignant dream with our class members.

     At the time I first heard the details of that dream I was not only a college student, but also worked part-time as a janitor at the same institution; in order to help cover my tuition. I have kept my teacher’s dream alive, since I have often shared it in my own classroom. You see, I have been employed at my old alma mater… twice.

     The little janitor got promoted.

     But that is only a post-script. I am grateful for the privilege of sharing my professor’s dream, again, and again, and as a result my dear teacher has been given the opportunity to, in essence, go on living, to go on making an inestimable difference among a broader audience, and to go on impacting

… The Body of Christ.

by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Unconventional Devotions" Copyright 2005

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