DREAM of the MIGRANT WORKERS
Posted by: prophetic <prophetic@...>
DREAM of the MIGRANT WORKERS
-by Bryan Hupperts.
There is a huge immigration debate in America. Our borders are
overrun with illegal migrant workers who are often depicted as:
aliens, uneducated, dirty, fruit pickers, field hands. These
prejudicial images and stereotypes arent pretty.
Against this backdrop, I had a detailed dream where I was
standing in a sea of people before the throne of God. I saw well
known ministers, invisible ministers, people who had falsely
accused me, people who had justly accused me, and many
people I didnt know. Weird, but everyone had a black spot on their
chest. The numbers were too vast to count. I was standing pretty
close to a tele-evangelist known for $1,000 suits and for boasting
of many healings. I had the distinct impression he was impatiently
waiting for the Lord to finish speaking to hand him a microphone!
We were all wearing name badges and (like military insignias)
badges of rank. The Lord spoke to this vast group yet we each
heard him as if he were only speaking to us individually, Lay down
your ministry, your vision, your promises. I have new assignments
for each of you. We all assumed a promotion. Then all went dead
silent while the Holy Spirit ministered to each of us. To me he
spoke, I want you to become a field hand, a migrant worker. Go pick fruit.
I was horrified. What is lower than a fruit picking migrant worker?
I burned with shame wondering what my family would think. How
would we live? What about my hard won education? I have
struggled with Lupus for years and cannot stand being in sunlight
for long stretches of time. Such a call to work in the fields would
surely kill me!
Finally, I bowed my head while weeping and said, Thy will be
done. I stripped myself of my nice suit and donned the cheap
clothing of a migrant worker. I told myself that if all I am capable
of doing is harvesting fruit for the Lord then I would do it with all my
heart. I felt something inside of me begin to shake violently, burn
and finally die.
Though he slay me, yet will I serve Him, indeed! It occurred to me
much later that migrant is just another way of saying stranger and alien.
Anyway, I looked up and saw a great separation take place. I
realized that the Lord had whispered this exact same calling to
everyone there. We were all being called to be migrant fruit pickers.
This vast company were all ministers of the Gospel. The hard
shock was that the great majority of those standing there heard
this call to go be migrant laborers and had said, No.
I could hear the angry complaints: I built this church
I am too
important
This ministry cannot survive without my leadership
If these fruit picking fools actually succeed, send the tithers to
my church
and on and on. I could see sheep being culled from
goats. It was like watching the birth of Gideons Army. Our ranks
were greatly thinned and we were an unimpressive, motley lot.
There was not a name tag, title, or rank insignia to be seen.
So there we were in our migrant worker clothes like people you
would glance at and turn away from uncomfortably pretending that
you did not see them. I noticed we all had a dark hole burned in
our chests where the black spot had been and someone called
out and asked about it. The Lord of the Harvest replied, That thing
that burned and died in each of you was your blinding pride. And
he breathed on us and the hole was filled with a kind of liquid light,
His abiding Presence and glory!
I thought, Oh, you cannot fill that which is full. You can only fill a
vessel that has been first emptied. I looked back at the great
company of ministers who had disqualified themselves from their
true callings and was suddenly glad to be in ragged clothes and
holy company. The black marks on their chests were like a plague
infection that suddenly began to ooze and spread. I thought,
Theyre dead already and they dont even know it.
God is looking for those who will faithfully laborer for him to bring
in the great harvest of souls that the seed of His blood had spilled
into the earth to bring forth. Faithful Labor: There is no other qualification.
The Lord told us, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few.
Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his
harvest field. Go forth. Be fruitful and multiply my Kingdom!
As our company marched off into the harvest field to be inglorious,
nameless field hands, I could hear those left behind sneering in
contempt, shouting out catcalls about what fools were all were.
They seemed oblivious that the Lord of the Harvest was standing
in their midst watching, listening, weighing their every word. And
his eyes burned with holy fire.
As a man with Lupus, I have to be very careful about where I go,
what I eat, how long I am outside. Sunlight can kill people like me.
I often get accused of being a hypochondriac because my
symptoms change like the tide and I was ill for years before I got
the correct diagnosis....
Anyway, in my dream, I realized I was surprise! standing with
a few who had harshly judged me and realized that I had, in anger,
turned around and done the exact same thing to them! I repented
deeply. As I stepped into the harvest field and felt the sun beating
down on me, I realized I had just joyously accepted a death
sentence. I suddenly felt a surge of healing power flood through
me and I was instantly made whole! Funny, but the power did its
work and then stayed pulsating in my hands.
Rev
no,
Evange
no,
Pasto
no,
Just a happy fruit picker,
Bryan Hupperts
© 2007