The Dream
As the guests came together in the brilliantly lighted parlour at the home of Mary Armstrong that crisp winter evening, there was nothing unusual in the appearance of the rooms to indicate that the party to which they had been invited was to be in any respect different from the round of gaiety to which they had been devoting themselves for the greater part of the winter. Some of the guests, as they greeted their young hostess, noticed an unusual degree of nervousness in her manner, but, attributing it to the excitement of preparation and anticipation, thought no more of it, and all were soon engaged in lively conversation.
The musicians were in their places, and the young people were beginning to wonder why the signal was not given for the orchestra to begin playing, when Mary, her sweet face flushed and pale stood up near the musicians. After closing her eyes for a moment, during which time the room became perfectly still, in a voice at first trembling, but clear and steady she said: “Friends, I know you will think me very strange, but before we do anything else, I must tell you about the dream I had last night.”
“My dream made quite an impression on my mind and heart and I must tell it to you. I dreamed that tonight had arrived, and you all had assembled in these rooms, when there came to the door, a guest who seemed strangely familiar, and yet whom I could not recognize. He had a rare face, peaceful, yet a little sad in its expressions, and His eyes were more penetrating than any I had ever seen before. He was dressed in neat yet very plain clothing, but there was something in His appearance, which told me He was no ordinary man.
“While I was trying to think where I had seen Him, He came up to me and took my hand and said, gently, ‘Don’t you recognize me, Mary?’ Surprised that He knew my name so well, I could only say, ‘Your face, sir, seems familiar, yet I cannot remember your name.’
“But I am one of the guests you invited here this evening, or, I should say, a guest that both you and your parents invited many times to come, whenever I am able to. You have invited me to make my home here; and I have come tonight to join your little company of friends.’
“I beg your pardon,’ I replied, ‘but I really don’t remember your name, can you please tell me what it is?’
“Then He showed me the palms of His hands, in which were scars which came from nail wounds, and He looked right through me with those piercing yet tender eyes; and I did not need to have any one tell me that this was Jesus.
“I was startled and for a moment stood still, not knowing what to say. Why could I not fall at His feet and say with all my heart, ‘I am filled with joy at seeing you here, Lord Jesus?’
“With those eyes looking into mine, I could not say it; for it was not true. For some reason, at that time I only half understood myself, and I really was sorry that He had come. It was an awful thought to be glad to have all the rest of you guests here, yet sorry to see Jesus! Could it be that I was ashamed of Him, or was I ashamed of something in myself?
“After a few minutes I recovered myself in a degree, and said, ‘You wish to speak with my parents I am sure.’
“‘Yes, Mary,’ as He accompanied me to where my mother and father sat gazing in surprise at my confusion in greeting an unexpected guest; ‘but I came this evening chiefly to be with you and your young friends; for I have often heard you speak enthusiastically in your youth meetings at church about how delightful it would be if you could have me visibly present with you.’
“Again the blush came to my cheeks as the thought flashed through my mind, tomorrow night is prayer meeting night and I should have been delighted to see Him there, but why not tonight, on this pleasant occasion? I led Him to my parents, and, in a somewhat shame faced fashion, introduced Him.
“They both gave a start of amazed surprise, but, convinced by His appearance that there was no mistake, my father recovered himself and bade Him welcome, as he offered Him a seat, remarking that this was an unexpected pleasure. After a somewhat lengthy pause, he explained to Jesus that his daughter, Mary, being very busy with her school studies, having had little variety in her life, had been allowed to invite a few friends in for a social evening, with a little quiet dancing to get some healthful exercise. Her friends were all of very good character and he felt that this was a harmless amusement, which the church had come to look upon in a somewhat different light from that which it was viewed forty years ago. Removing the objectionable feature of bad company had made this pleasant pastime a safe indulgence.
“As my father stammered out, in the presence of Jesus, these words of apology, which had fallen from my own lips, I felt myself flush crimson with shame both for my dear father and myself. Why should he apologize at all for what he considered unquestionably right? How hollow it all sounded there in the presence of the Lord! Did not Jesus know that my studies were not so pressing and that I was permitted to stay up late and have a social party with my friends several nights every week?
“Then father, anxious to relieve my embarrassment, said, ‘I am sure we can leave these young people safely to themselves, and nothing would please me so well as to take you, my Lord Jesus, off into my study for a talk.’
“‘No,’ said Jesus, ‘Mary has often invited me, and I came tonight especially to be with her. Will you introduce me to your friends, Mary? Some of them I know, but some I don’t know.’
“Of course, all this time you, friends, were looking much in our direction, wondering at our embarrassment, and perhaps guessing that we had been made uncomfortable by the arrival of a not altogether welcome guest. I led Him first to some of the church-members among you, and every one of you looked rather uncomfortable after the introduction.
“As it became known who the guest was, faces changed colour, and some of you looked very much as if you would like to leave the room and go home. It really seemed as if the church members were just as unwilling to meet Jesus as those who were not Christians.
“One of you came up quietly and whispered to me, ‘Shall I tell the musicians not to play the dance music, but to look up some religious songs?’ Jesus heard the question, and looking at us both squarely in the face, simply asked, ‘Why should you?’ and we could not answer. Someone else suggested we could have a very pleasant and profitable evening if we should change our original plans, and invite Jesus to talk to us. But Jesus simply asked us, ‘Why should my presence change your plans?’
“After I had introduced the Lord Jesus to you all, and no one knew what to do next, Jesus turned to me and said: ‘You were planning to dance, were you not? It is high time you began, or you cannot complete your program before daylight. Will you not give the word to the musicians, Mary?’
“I was much embarrassed. If I was living according to what I knew to be right, then Jesus’ presence ought only to add joy to the occasion; yet here were all my guests, as well as myself, made wretchedly uncomfortable by the presence of Him whom most of us called our best Friend. Determined to throw off this feeling and be myself, at His word I ordered the musicians to play for the first dance.
“The young man with whom I normally dance did not come to dance with me, and no one went onto the dance floor. This was still more embarrassing. The orchestra played once more, and two or three couples uneasily went out to the dance floor and began to dance in a rather formal fashion. I was almost beside myself with shame and confusion, when Jesus turned to me and said: ‘Mary, your guests do not seem comfortable. Why do you not, as their hostess, relieve their embarrassment by dancing, yourself? Would it help you any if I should offer to dance with you?’
“My confusion gave way to an expression almost of horror, as I looked into those tenderly sad eyes and cried, ‘You dance! You cannot mean it!’
“‘Why not, Mary? If my disciples may dance, may not I? Did you think all this winter, when you and others of my disciples have gathered for the dance, or the card-party, or at the theatre, that you left me at home or in the church? You prayed for my presence in the prayer meeting; you did not quite want it here; but why not, my dear child? Why have you not welcomed me tonight, Mary? Why has my presence spoiled your pleasure? Though I am ‘a Man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief,’ yet I delight to share and increase all the pure joys of my disciples. Is it possible that you leave me out of your pleasure, Mary? If so, is it not because you feel that they do not help you to become like me and to glorify me; that they take your time and strength and thought to such an extent that you have less delight in my Word and in communion with me? You have been asking, ‘What’s the harm?’ But you should be asking, ‘What is the gain?’ Have you done these things for the glory of God? If it is inappropriate for me to dance, would it not be equally inappropriate for my disciples also to dance?
“It was plain to me now that what I was doing was wrong. Overcome with self-reproach and profound sorrow, I threw myself on the floor at His feet, and sobbed out my repentance.
“With a, ‘Daughter, go in peace; thy sins be forgiven thee,’ He was gone. I awoke and found that it was all a dream. And now I want to ask you, my friends, shall we go on with the usual program tonight, or shall we discuss together what we, as young people can do to make the world better for our having lived in it? Shall we live to honour and glorify God?”
The vote was unanimous in favour of forgetting the party and making plans to be more useful in society. This was by far the best social evening so far that winter, and there were many more similar gatherings in the future.
Ever after these youth remembered this dream and kept before them the thought of “What would Jesus do?” allowing this to control their decisions and actions, and what a blessing they were in the world.