Dreams: A Conclave of Misfits

As I said before, there are a few times in my life that I have had a dream that I have suspected were more than a dream; experiences that were with riddled with meaning and were not just the result of an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. Often these dreams leave me with undeniable symbolism, wonder, and meaning. This blog category is not about explaining these experiences, nor bragging about them. Rather, this blog category and the posts in it, are just about journaling those dreams that have been unforgettably vivid and meaningful. Maybe others will have insight, and perhaps others will be encouraged. In the least, I will be able to look back on them. This dream about A Conclave of Misfits from April 21, 2025.

I had a peculiar dream last night. It was set a few years into the future, and somehow, I found myself in a conclave of Catholic cardinals and brothers, gathered to discern the next pope. Strangely, I was there too—dressed in priestly attire, invited because of the ecumenical work I had been doing around the world. Apparently, my presence had become known—especially among marginalized communities—and to my own surprise, I’d been welcomed into this sacred space of discernment.

Even more bizarre, I found out I was being nominated for a high role in the Church—pope – by those that I had been working with, largely an ignored and marginalized group within the larger Catholic Church. This truly would become a conclave of misfits.

A Conclave of Misfits

For weeks, the process unfolded like a strange mix of ritual and spectacle. We sat at a table at the front of the room and defended our theology and answered millions of questions. There was a push within the groups I knew, and some other Catholics, for something different – non traditional. Much of this was televised (but those inside didn’t know)—though I only realized later that it had taken on a reality TV feel, with snippets broadcast to the public who was eagerly following along. Eventually, the candidates came down to me and a female priest (I understand the irony, a non-Catholic and a Female Priest in contention for the ‘Seat of Peter’ of the seat of “Papa”). As the last two candidates, including me, were expected to lead homilies, pray blessings in Latin, and present on important topics. The sweat poured from my head in the hallway knowing what task was ahead for me.

The Beauty of Ecumenical Community

Despite the strangeness, I loved the ecumenical community that had formed. Conversations were rich, connections were real, and though I wasn’t truly “in,” I felt a sense of belonging. There were some that did not like me, nor think I should be there, but that is a reoccurring theme of my life. However, when the final test approached—leading a homily, praying in Latin, and presenting in Latin—I panicked. I told a friend, “I can’t do this. This isn’t my place. I’m not Catholic, and my Latin is terrible.” The insecurity I carry of struggling with languages (Biblical and Global) emerged in my dream. However, in the dream, he—and others—offered deep encouragement to be me. They believed in me. And with their support, they ushered me through the doors from the hallway into the meeting room.

There in the final discernment, I took my seat beside the final candidate: a woman. (Yes, to my Catholic friends, I know how this stretches the limits. It’s a dream—I’m just telling the story of a dream.) She didn’t care for me at all as I sat there. I was just humbled to be in the process. We presented, I bombed, and she passed with flying colors. I enjoyed her presentation.

I didn’t win. But I made it far—far enough to rattle some expectations. Something I did during the final round flopped and everyone freaked out. I think it was a mispronounced Latin blessing. However, after the conclave’s final vote, the announcement came: the first woman pope. She didn’t particularly like me—likely due to my non-Catholic background—and yet there I was, watching it unfold.

A New Pope

As I walked out of the conclave, everyone else stayed to celebrate. On my exit, I was looking up at the Vatican and the announcement of the new pope. Millions had gathered. I remember feeling a mix of emotions: a strange excitement about the process, relief that I hadn’t been chosen, and embarrassment over the mistake. Social media was abuzz. I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram, seeing friends and colleagues (like Tim Diehl and Matt Wiggins!) posting paragraphs about how the new pope was the obvious choice—not necessarily because of her strengths, but because of my failures with Latin.

Reflection In The Dream

In the gathered crowd, mostly unnoticed, I took off the collar and walked away to return back to my ecumenical work. Embarrassed, yes. But also free. The dream ended with me in the crowd, phone in hand, applauding her election—carrying both release and humility. I was returning to the ecumenical work I apparently loved. In some way, I had stepped into a version of myself that wasn’t mine. And in stepping out of that, I had rediscovered who I truly am.

It was a strange dream to say the least.