Dreams Followed

As we continue our May Soul Matters theme of Story, we tell another timeless tale that asks us to reflect on how and when we might follow our dreams, and where that decision might lead us. Read the sermon by Rev. Peter Friedrichs below or watch the complete service by clicking here!

How do experience the pull of your dreams? Do you consider yourself a dreamer? Does the night hold mystery and wonder for you? Do you keep a dream journal by your bedside so that you can capture and reflect on your dreams, picking through them for meaning and import? Or is nighttime for you simply an escape from the rigors of the day? Perhaps you’re an insomniac and you rarely sleep, much less dream, and maybe you don’t remember your dreams at all. What would it take for you to be like the Pedlar of Swaffham,[1] to pay attention to your dream and then, finally, to follow it?

The story Chrissy told today, one of the “timeless tales” we’ve selected for this month, is told throughout many cultures and many settings, so its message must be universal. But it’s not a simple story with an easy moral to it. Because the Pedlar of Swaffham followed his dream. he made the arduous journey from his home in the forest to the big city. He faced the trials and tribulations of his trek full of anticipation and hope. He had confidence in the truth of his dream – that he would find treasure under the bridge. But his dream didn’t come true. Or at least, his life didn’t turn out the way he had dreamt it. There was no treasure buried under the bridge.

And what of the other character in this tale? The one who told the Pedlar of his own dream – a dream of a treasure buried beneath a towering oak tree that grew behind a small hut in the woods – and how foolish he’d be to follow such a silly dream? I suppose the shopkeeper is, himself, the treasure that the Pedlar sought in the city. Without their fateful conversation the Pedlar might have simply returned home empty-handed, disappointed, and dejected. And the shopkeeper’s refusal to follow his dream is a cautionary tale for all of us. He misses out on the treasure because of it. But, and here’s a big “but,” whose treasure is it to begin with? And should that treasure belong simply to the Pedlar, since it was in his yard, or does he owe it to the shopkeeper to share it with him? There’s a moral dilemma here that we often overlook. Is the main message of this fable that God or nature or fate rewards only those who follow their dreams and pursue their passion? Let’s just say that there’s a little bit of moral ambiguity embedded in this timeless tale.

The part of this tale that I like to focus on, and maybe you do, too, is about how the Pedlar had to travel far to learn that his treasure was right there at home, right outside his doorstep, all along. How many of us have searched far and wide for treasure – for love, for acceptance, for accomplishment, for all the material wealth we’re taught to pursue – only to find out that the things that matter most have always been right here, right under our noses, right in our own backyards all along? But even this message isn’t as straightforward as it seems. Is the moral of the story that we need to see and appreciate what we have and, thus, not to venture out and pursue our dreams? That all we need to do is simply open our eyes to the treasure all around us? That’s a pretty good lesson, isn’t it?

But remember that the Pedlar would likely never have discovered the treasure buried in his backyard if he hadn’t had his dream. If he hadn’t made the decision to follow it, to make that arduous trip to the big city. If he hadn’t had the encounter with the shopkeeper. Maybe what the story is telling us is that we actually need to venture far from home in order to see, understand and appreciate the treasures that we have right in our own two hands. That, like Dorothy, we need time, distance and even to face some adversity before we can see that “there’s no place like home.”

The poet Derek Walcott, speaks to this in his poem entitled “Love After Love” which goes like this:

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

What Derek Walcott tells us, and what this timeless tale says, too, is that the journey is an essential part of the arrival. There is no returning without a leave-taking. We cannot greet our own reappearance with elation unless we’ve been away from our own front door, our own mirror. We cannot welcome ourselves unless we’ve been away from ourselves. You remember the parable of the prodigal son, right? The one son who stays and works diligently on the farm while his younger brother takes his inheritance and goes off on a great adventure. In the eyes of the one who stayed, the one who leaves is foolish, irresponsible and imprudent. The younger brother has gone out to seek fame and fortune, risked and lost it all. He returns home destitute. And what does their father do? He kills the fatted calf and throws a huge party to celebrate the wandering son’s return. The son who stayed put resents it, refuses to attend, but his father reminds him that “”you are ever with me, and all that I have is yours, but thy younger brother was lost and now he is found.” The Pedlar of Swaffham, the Prodigal son, Derek Walcott’s poem, could all be viewed as cautionary tales warning us against following our dreams, telling us we’re better off sticking close to home, because that’s where our true treasure lies. But I read them differently. I read them as admonitions against playing it safe and sticking around. These tales, and even the harrowing story of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, complete with flying monkey’s and murderous witches, urge us to follow our dreams and pursue our passions. Things may not work out as we’d planned, and we may return home happily or with our tail between our legs, but either way we’ll have a new appreciation for the riches that await our reappearance.

It’s important to ask ourselves with whom we more closely identify in the story Chrissy told today, or in the parable of the prodigal son. Are we the dream-chasing Pedlar and the adventuresome younger brother? Or are we more like the shopkeeper and the responsible older brother, keeping our feet on the ground, doing what needs to be done, perhaps denying our own dreams? Do we wish we were more like one than the other? Is it possible to balance the two? And when have we celebrated a return – ours or others’? What would it be like to welcome ourselves back to ourselves, especially after this grueling year that has just passed? How might we, as the storm begins to pass, “Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself?” How might we begin, once again, to feast on our own lives?

This day, and every day, I wish you peace. Amen.


[1] http://myths.e2bn.org/mythsandlegends/textonly11-the-pedlar-of-swaffham.html