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| Rembrandt's painting of the Prodigal Son |
Last night on the dream-stage of my brain, I was one of his closest trusted assistants and we had a friendly relationship. I followed him around with a notebook and paid attention in meetings for him so he could doze off. Meetings to which he wore a full deerskin Daniel Boone outfit complete with coonskin cap (thank you, dream costume department, I'm not sure what to think about that). We had a poignant conversation in which he confessed that he was very worried about what would happen to him when he died. I asked him if he had ever heard the story Jesus told of the prodigal son and he said no, he had not, so I began.
There once was a loving wealthy father who had two sons. The younger son demands his half of his inheritance before his father is even dead, takes off for another country and squanders the money in wild living until it runs out. Then there is a famine in the country and the only job he can find is tending pigs. He is so hungry that he wishes he could eat the pig's food. At that moment, he “comes to his senses” and thinks of his father, a good man, who might hire him as a servant if he gets on his knees and begs for forgiveness, and then at least he would have food and shelter.
While the son is walking down the road towards home and still a long way off, his father sees him and recognizes him in the distance. He goes running to meet him and throws his arms around him, and while the son is trying to stammer out a speech he has prepared about how he has messed up and is not worthy to be called a son anymore, the father is hysterical with delight and is yelling for his servants to come bring clothes for his son and start planning a giant party for his homecoming. "This son of mine was dead, and now he is alive! He was lost, and now he is found!" (the story goes on very interestingly and I recommend you read it yourself, but this is as much as I told our president in dream-land).
As I told this story, Donald began to sit up and a it seemed a great weight lifted off of his shoulders. Something changed in his face, an expression of daring hope that I have never seen before in real life in any pictures or videos of him.
As usual after one of these dreams, I woke up thinking, incredulously, that pigs are more likely to fly first than to see DJT have an authentic, all-encompassing change of heart. It is very, very hard for me to imagine such a thing becoming reality. But once again, I choose to interpret such a dream as a reminder to pray for this person who I do not like at all in real life. He has committed unspeakable atrocities against vulnerable people... but Jesus seems to tell us that even a Donald can come to his senses, by the grace of God. And when and if he does, he will learn that he is loved unconditionally, not based on any achievements or victories or peace treaties. Nor is it love nullified by his history of cruelties and injustices. He will become a person who can look at his life clearly, grieve at what he has wasted, and understand how he has broken his Father’s heart over and over again with how he has treated those he was supposed to love, serve, protect and lift up. True repentance will make him become a willing and glad participant with the Father in restoring all that he has abused and broken. This is the truth for any of us, no matter who we are or the level of our crimes against God and humanity.
Our Father,
who is in heaven,
holy is your name!
Let your kingdom come,
and your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven:
so that your child Donald may come to his senses, run toward you, and be transformed as only you can transform. Let his heart discover what it means to be truly and unconditionally loved, that your love might begin to pour out as a new refreshing spring from his dry and dusty heart. Let he who is dead come alive, and he who is lost be found. Amen.
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