I Have a Dream
Then he dreamed another dream and told it to his brothers and said, … “Behold, the sun, the moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me.” But when he told it to his father and to his brothers, his father rebuked him…
While it isn’t fair of us to draw a character-sketch of young Joseph from this brief encounter, I can’t help but picture him as anything other than a pampered boy strutting around in his father’s coattails. Joseph knows he’s special; he’s got the fabric to prove it; and I think he’s lorded his superiority over his brothers long before the dreams start coming. Why can’t he just mull this vision in the quiet of his heart the way Mary mulled the angel’s news that she’d give birth to the Messiah? It’s as if he jolts out of bed that morning, gathers his family in the kitchen, and dramatizes the dream with Shakespearian verve. Where’s the giant of a man who’ll turn down Potiphar’s wife to his own hurt?—who’ll suffer in a dungeon for years?—who’ll rescue an entire nation from famine?
Anyone can dream of greatness. But unless we learn to empty ourselves, to take on the form of a servant, and to become least among our brothers, a dreamer is all we’ll be.