Jesus and/or Harry Potter Try to Escape Jail and/or Azkaban

I’ve been on a dream hiatus for the past couple months, as you have probably noticed. Not that I haven’t been having dreams; they’ve just been totally lame. (Buying Christmas presents the day before, running from something dangerous with people only I know, lame stuff like that.)

But last night I had something that could maybe be called an acceptably-blogworthy dream.

First of all, I was Jesus. I think.  I was Him for the beginning of the dream, anyway. (My theology major friends at Bethel are probably shaking their heads. “That’s a horrible sin, Brian, pretending to be Jesus.”  Well it gets worse, my friends.)

I was in some sort of jail, awaiting, apparently, my crucifixion. Not very happy about this, I decided to try and escape.  Not very Christ-like.  As I looked out of my jail cell, which was pretty plain—cheap carpet, one bench, no bathroom—I called over my friend Hagrid, who was being forced to work for the dastardly (5 points!)  bad guy who was locking us all in there. (Here’s where it gets worse, theology majors…) I wasn’t Jesus at all; I was Harry Potter.

(This was probably related to the fact that I ate, drank, and breathed Harry Potter for the last couple months, reading through the whole series from Christmas to the first week in June.)

Hagrid said that it was probably not the best idea to try to escape, but he would let me out anyway. I pulled Hermione with me (yes, I was definitely Harry Potter), and we passed Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonnagal on the way, who pretended not to see us.

[It’s hard to draw a giant as a stickman, okay?!]

Luckily I found a beach ball along the way, which I used as a floatation device when I jumped off the island (did I mention this jail was on an island?) and into the freezing cold water.  I was prepared for this cold water because I had tried to escape the day before, on the other side of the island, which was actually a snowy mountain, and I skied down it as I met a 9-year-old girl who was training for the 2020 Olympics, but somehow I was captured and brought back to the jail.  (That’s right, people; I have fake memories in my dreams, which keep the plotline going.)

Anyway, I used the beach ball to float me across the sea to the mainland.

And I found there a series of doors. Bollocks (5 points!), I thought, I don’t want to deal with the freaking Chamber of Secrets again! But the first door I tried opened just fine to someone’s living room, and a little girl answered the door.

“Hi, little girl,” I said, freezing, “Will you please rescue me?”

“Okay,” she said, nicely.

I came in and dried myself off, but before I could even sit down, a person who I think was her father came in.  Oh no! He was one of the bad guys working for the jail!

“What, did you think I wouldn’t recognize you without your glasses?”

Dammit. Forgot about the scar.

And so I got kicked back to the jail, where I was put on the fast track to crucifixion. Apparently I was Jesus again.

Then something strange happened, something that has never happened to me in a dream.  As I was standing in line, waiting to be killed, my mind was transported to a different state of being and suddenly I was Brian Schroeder, watching The Passion of the Christ on my television.

“Urgh, this is too gruesome. It’s powerful and really means a lot to me, but I’m just not in the mood to watch this right now.”  I said, and I switched the Television off.

And then I woke up.