Crooked Pastors Dog my Dreams

I have a lot of dreams that seem to have no significance at all, but last night I had one which seems to have come from God.

I was living in my childhood home. My mother was there. She had an unconscious animal she thought was a rabbit. She had drugged it for some reason. She gave it to me. I put it on a little table, face-down with its limbs hanging off. It lay there oblivious, like a fat kid sleeping off Thanksgiving dinner.

I felt that I was supposed to shoot it, because that’s what you do with wild rabbits in your yard.

As I looked at it, I wondered how a rabbit could be so big. It looked more like a fat, neutered dog. I thought my mother ought to know what a rabbit looked like, but it certainly seemed like she was wrong.

I realized the animal was really a young coyote. Now I knew what to do with it. I went to get a gun. I walked toward my bedroom.

The coyote woke up and started menacing me and standing in front of me. I found myself wearing one of those protective outfits attack dog trainers wear. I held my arm out in front of me. I wasn’t really afraid of such a small animal, but I didn’t want to be bitten. The coyote showed its teeth and barked at me. It had very long jaws. When it barked, it actually said, “WOLF!”

To get to my bedroom, I had to go down a hall full of tool stations and big, stationary tools. I had to twist and turn to get past them. In the bedroom, my gun safe was full of disassembled pistols. I found a slide here and a body there, but I couldn’t put a gun together. I picked up the assault rifle I keep by my bed and tried to shoot the coyote. The trigger didn’t click, and nothing came out of the barrel. The gun was coming apart in the middle. I tried to pull the forestock toward me to put it back together, but I didn’t get anywhere.

A bunch of coyotes ran into the house from across the street. Some came in the bedroom window. I realized they weren’t pure coyotes. They were part dog. Such animals are called “coy-dogs.” I was surprised to see how many there were. I had thought there were only a couple in the area.

They really didn’t like me. They were united against me because I was a threat to their predation.

A big one that was really just an old sheepdog came in through the window and stood on the sill. It was not aggressive. It seemed tired of the coyote life. It wanted help. It had a collar and tags. I tried to read the tags so I could call the owner. I also saw a pure German shepherd walk through the room.

I never managed to shoot any of the coy-dogs. It was frustrating. I knew my neighbors hated them, and here I was with a chance to get rid of a whole pack.

I don’t know everything about the dream, but God told me a few things.

My mother, as usual, represented the church. The coy-dogs were pastors. The word “pastor” literally means “shepherd,” so it makes sense that the coy-dogs were pure herding breeds and crosses. The pastors were wolves, in the Biblical sense. They were hypocrites who only cared about eating the sheep and taking their money. They were like Kenneth Copeland, Benny Hinn, Steve Munsey, Joyce Meyer, Joel Osteen, T.D. Jakes, John Gray, and the rest of the usual suspects.

The old sheepdog was a pastor who wanted to go back to serving God. He was very unhappy with what he had done with his life, and he wanted to change. He was haunted by the knowledge of the waste.

The coy-dogs were not real wolves. They were smaller, except for the shepherd and sheepdog. They were not scary. They might have seen themselves as big, frightening, powerful predators, but you could injure and drive one off pretty easily with a good kick to the teeth.

The one that was mistaken for a rabbit reminds me of Richie Wilkerson, Kanye West’s young hipster pastor. He was frisky and bursting with confidence that he was a big, bad wolf, but he couldn’t back it up with any real strength.

I believe God was showing me that there are crooked pastors out there who are not to have their ministries completely destroyed. God will not help his children destroy them. They’re part wolf, but they’re also part shepherd, and God will not annihilate their ministries. They will come around eventually. My mother represented churches that enable such people. They fawn on them and give them money, and that puts them to sleep.

There are corrupt preachers who are completely irredeemable, but some preachers can be saved.

The pastors ganged up on me because I threatened their income and reputations. This has actually happened to me in real life, so no surprise there. Business as usual. It means nothing to me, because like the animals in the dream, these guys bark but aren’t man enough to bite. Preachers have lied about me and conspired against me, but they never had the guts to confront me. When you want everyone to think you’re a sheep, you can’t go on the attack in public. You have to sneak around at night, behind closed doors, like a cockroach or a termite.

I’m not sure why my mother thought the first coy-dog was a rabbit and not a sheep or sheepdog. It may be because rabbits are unclean by kosher standards yet very edible. A rabbit could symbolize a gentile.

It’s an interesting dream. The only real revelation in it–the only thing I didn’t already know–was that so many hypocrite pastors could be saved. That’s very good news, but I am tired of these people and their lies and slanders, so it also means I have to more patient than I want to.