I had a dream once...but not a recurring one. This was long after I had stopped going to church and became an agnstic.
In this dream, I was sitting up against a wall in the sanctuary of the church, where the Mass goes on. The Mass wasn't going on though. I was making out with some priest - this I know because he was in his priestly garbs - and he had his roman collar on. That's all - we were just making out.

He was a stranger to me - I didn't recognize him. I suppose if I'm going to make out with a stranger,

it might be a good thing from my vantage point, that he was a priest. But it was so enjoyable.
No one was there. It was quiet. Just him and me. It actually was the same church which I went to for quite some time. Sometimes, I would go to evening Mass, and since the priests knew me, there were two of them who would allow me to stay after by myself and so they would lock the church behind them. They actually weren't supposed to do that.

I enjoyed those quiet moments alone in the darkness and when I looked up at the beautiful stained glass window which shone so brightly as a result of the light from the cemetery outside overlooking it, it added even more to the quiet ambiance.
When I woke up, I laughed and i felt so good. This isn't something that I could see myself doing in my waking life - I mean, making out with a priest - but who knows what we're capable of. I wonder who and/or what that priest actually represented? And in the sanctuary - just on the opposite side of the tabernacle where Christ as the blessed sacrament is supposed to reside in that little box. What a great sacriledge. What a heathen I am.
I'm pretty sure though that there has to be a much deeper meaning here than my commiting such a terrible sin.
Any takers?
"Look closely. The beautiful may be small."
"Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me."
“Whereas the beautiful is limited, the sublime is limitless, so that the mind in the presence of the sublime, attempting to imagine what it cannot, has pain in the failure but pleasure in contemplating the immensity of the attempt.”
Immanuel Kant