Special to United Methodist Insight | September 10, 2026
Although I’m retired from vocational ministry, I still have church dreams several times a week. Some are positive. Some are negative. The fact that I still frequently dream about church—and that the dreams include a mix of both good and bad experiences—confirms my deep ambivalence about institutional religion. Two recent examples of these church dreams follow. They literally occurred back-to-back over two nights in June of this year. I’m able to share them in such detail because I carefully recorded them in my journal.
Dream 1: The Day Jesus Came to Church
The first dream involved me baptizing a twelve-year-old girl. She had severe mental disabilities and could not articulate any kind of personal faith. However, her parents, who were deeply devoted Christians and church members, wanted her to be baptized. And the congregation, who overwhelmingly loved and supported this girl and her parents, joyfully celebrated the occasion.
Given the girl’s mental limitations, her parents affirmed faith on her behalf, just as parents do for their infants and young children. In the dream, I followed my denomination’s liturgy for a child's baptism. It began with a brief introduction to the sacrament of holy baptism. It continued with the parental vows, including an affirmation of their faith and a promise to raise their child in a Christian home. Then it came time for the congregational vows.
I said, as I always did during child baptisms, “Do you, as Christ’s body, the church, reaffirm your commitment to Christ, and do you promise to support these parents as they raise this child in the love and nurture of Jesus? If so, say, ‘We will.’”
The congregation, in a spirit of great enthusiasm, virtually shouted, “We will!” And since they had already been doing so—beautifully—for twelve years, they obviously meant what they said. This child, in spite of her severe cognitive limitations, had been—and would be—deeply beloved by this congregation. By the end of the baptism, you could not find a dry eye in the sanctuary. When I woke from my dream, I felt deep gratitude for the loving and supportive Christian community that is often found in local churches.
Dream 2: The Day Trump Came to Church
The next night, I had a very different church dream. This dream involved a sermon I preached on Jesus’s parable about the judgement of “all the nations” in Matthew 25. I noted that the meaning of Matthew 25 is clear. When nations (and individuals) engage in compassionate acts of kindness for marginalized people (“the least of these”) like feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and caring for the sick, it’s the same as doing it for Jesus. When we do not do these things “for the least of these,” it’s the same as not doing it for Jesus.
I asked the congregation, “Based on Jesus’s criteria in Matthew 25, how would America be judged?” I answered the question by reviewing three examples from the text: “I was hungry. . . . I was a stranger, . . . and I was sick.”
First, I noted the massive cuts in food aid America has made over the past year and a half to hungry people all over the world, including the United States. I said, “If Jesus visited America today, he would have to say, “I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat.”
Second, I mentioned how cruelly America was treating strangers (immigrants) and shared several disturbing examples. I said, “If Jesus visited America today, he would have to say, “I was a stranger, and you did not invite me in.”
Finally, I focused on Jesus’s words about caring for the sick. I noted that our government had recently cut health care to more than ten million Americans. I said, “If Jesus visited America today, he would have to say, “I was sick, and you did not look after me.”
I concluded the sermon by saying, “If Jesus were to visit America in 2026, how would he judge us? The answer is clear. If we don’t change course—quickly—Jesus would judge America harshly.”
As you might expect, in my dream, all hell broke loose. Numerous people walked out during the sermon. Others accosted me after the sermon, telling me I had no right to criticize President Trump like that, even though I had not mentioned Trump or the GOP. Hundreds of emails, phone calls, and personal visits followed over the next week, condemning the sermon (and me) without mercy. I also received positive messages. But most were scathing.
The dream ended the following Sunday morning after an agonizing week of overwhelming criticism and condemnation from Trump lovers in the church. I told the congregation about the responses I had received from the sermon. Then I made an apology. I said it was clear that I had failed as a pastor. I obviously had not helped the congregation internalize the gospel or follow Jesus' example and teachings. I resigned on the spot and walked out the door.
Two Opposite Things Can Be True at the Same Time
These back-to-back dreams vividly reminded me that the church often follows the example and teachings of Jesus, and often fails to do so. The evidence (historical and current) suggests that we fail far more often than we succeed. It’s always been this way, and I suspect it always will be. As a result, tons of people, including me, have a deeply complicated relationship with organized religion.
On the one hand, as already noted, the institutional church massively fails to follow Jesus, especially in Trump’s America. I still cannot comprehend how so many white American church people (a significant majority of evangelicals, mainliners, and Catholics) admire, support, and vote for this evil, vile, corrupt, incompetent, and anti-Jesus disaster of a president. It absolutely infuriates me and makes me want to give up on organized religion completely. On the other hand, I also see (at least some) churches doing incredible Jesus-like things including feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and caring for the sick.
Notes from a Scholar
Soon after I had these two conflicting dreams, I read Bart Ehrman’s new book, Love Thy Stranger: How the Teachings of Jesus Transformed the Moral Conscience of the West. In the book, he calls attention to this massively incongruent dynamic of institutional religion. On the one hand, Ehrman affirms the church, especially the service organizations we have created. He says:
Such institutions have left an indelible mark on Western culture, providing life-saving and life-enriching benefits to millions of people over the centuries. Where would we be without hospitals, orphanages, nursing homes, and charities dealing with disaster relief, poverty, literacy, homelessness, and hunger? As an agnostic/atheist myself, with regard to at least this particular offshoot of Jesus’s teachings, I say: Thank God for Christianity. (p. 198)
On the other hand, Ehrman correctly notes the opposite reality. Although the church can be beautiful, it can also be extremely ugly. He says:
It is indeed very easy to detail the horrors brought to our world by those claiming to do the sovereign will of the Christian God: the savage destruction of pagan art and architecture in late antiquity; the violent pogroms against Jews leading eventually to the Holocaust; the bloody Crusades and ongoing violence against Muslims; the horrible tortures and forced conversions of the Inquisitions; the pious justifications of war and slavery; the ongoing hatred and violence in our own time against the “other” because of their race, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, place of origin, or most anything else. (p. 219)
An Unresolved Dilemma
Like Ehrman, and like many clergy and laypeople, I have a love/hate relationship with the church. I am both inspired by the church and disgusted with the church. I have been greatly blessed by the church, but also deeply wounded by it. In short, I have a hopelessly bipolar relationship with institutional religion.
Like many of you, I’m still trying to resolve this massive internal conflict. But I’m not having much luck doing so. Should I leave the church over its unending failures (not to mention its traditional beliefs that I can no longer affirm)? Or should I stick with the church despite its failures (and outdated beliefs)? Right now, I’m not doing either. I’m stuck in a sort of purgatory no-man’s-land when it comes to institutional religion. I’m not in, and I’m not out. If I ever find resolution to this ongoing ecclesiastical dilemma, I’ll let you know!
The Rev. Martin Thielen, a retired United Methodist minister, former megachurch pastor, and best-selling author, is the founder and author of Doubter’s Parish. This post is republished from his newsletter for readers.