I Have a Dream

Scripture: Genesis 37:1-8, 18-28, 41:1-14, 25-32, 39-41

From the time he was young, Joseph was a dreamer. He dreamed dreams that others could not understand. He saw visions of a world turned upside down, a world where the last would be first, where the youngest would lead the eldest, where justice would rise like the dawn, where the oppressed would stand in dignity and not bow in shame. And his dreams infuriated his brothers.

His brothers, who had labored under the status quo, who had lived their lives by the rules of the world as they knew it, could not bear the thought of a different order. Joseph was already the favorite—his father’s beloved, adorned in a robe of many colors, marked as special, set apart. They saw him as a threat, an interruption to their expectation that power would be given to the eldest and the strongest, that blessing would flow in the way it always had.

They wanted to silence the dreamer.

And so, they stripped Joseph of his robe. They cast him down into a pit. They trafficked him to a foreign land, and they thought they had rid themselves of his disruptive dreams.

But God was not done with Joseph. The dreamer would dream again.

Joseph, in chains…Joseph, in the prison of Pharaoh…Joseph, betrayed and broken—still he dreamed. He dreamed of a world where famine would not have the last word. He saw, in the shadows of Pharaoh’s visions, a plan for preservation, a way forward, a way where life for all could flourish even in the face of suffering. And though the world had cast Jospeh aside, though his very identity had been an affront to the structures of power, God lifted him up. The presence of God was upon him.

Centuries later, shortly before his crucifixion, Jesus and three of his closest disciples went up a mountain. As they got to the peak, suddenly something miraculous happened to Jesus right before the disciples eyes. The presence of God was upon him. The light of God shone through him. Jesus stood transfigured. And the disciples caught a glimpse of the glory of heaven reaching down and touching earth. In this story of Transfiguration from the New Testament, the disciples, Peter, James, and John, beheld a vision of what was possible—a world where God’s justice and mercy would reign, where love would triumph over fear, where the most vulnerable would be seen, and known, and cherished. They had a dream of what could be, and they didn’t want the dream to end.

But church, what happens to those who have prophetic visions of doing justice and loving mercy? What happens to those who see the world not as it is, but as it could be? What happens to dreamers?

Joseph’s brothers threw him into a pit. Pharaoh’s courts sent Joseph to prison. The religious leaders and the Roman empire nailed Jesus to a cross. His disciples were persecuted and put to death. And today—today, my friends—dreamers still make those who labor under the status quo feel threatened.

Yet, the story of the Transfiguration reminds us that even when the world is unable to see, God’s truth still shines. On that mountain, Jesus revealed the kin-dom of God breaking into the present. His disciples glimpsed a world transformed, just as Joseph dreamed visions of justice long before they came to pass. But the disciples, like Joseph’s brothers, struggled to understand. Peter, overcome by the moment, wanted to stay on the mountaintop, to contain the glory, to avoid the difficult path that lay ahead. Yet Jesus knew that the vision was not meant to be hoarded or kept secret—it was meant to empower them for the work of justice.

Both Joseph’s dreams and Jesus’ Transfiguration call us to see beyond present suffering to the justice of God’s kin-dom. Both remind us that those who dream of a new world often face rejection and persecution, that transformation does not come without struggle, and that a divine vision should compel us to act.

Our siblings who are transgender, who are nonbinary, who are LGBTQ, who dare to live into the fullness of their God-given soul-identities, are being stripped of their rights, their dignity, their very place in society. Policies that once protected them are being erased. DEI programs that were meant to lift up those long excluded are being dismantled. Children in our schools, young people yearning to live authentically as the ones God is creating them to be, are being silenced, and shamed, and told that their very existence is a problem to be solved rather than a gift to be celebrated.

The dreamers are still being sold out for silver and gold.

But hear me, church: the dream will not die. The light of Christ will not be extinguished. The God who lifted Joseph from the pit, the God who raised Jesus from the grave, is the same God who stands with the oppressed today. And though they strip away rights, though they cast down and silence and seek to erase, God is still at work, lifting up, empowering, and calling us to stand boldly for justice.

So, my beloved, I have hope today. I have hope because the Transfigured Christ still shines brightly before us. The beauty of God’s creation is evident all around us. The image of God is still present in us.

This beauty was on full display this past February as we hosted a juried youth art exhibition titled, “The ‘Beloved Community’ of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.”

The youth art exhibition, featuring works by approximately 75 students from Sudlow Middle School and the Creative Arts Academy of the Davenport Community School District, served as a powerful testament to our church’s commitment to the Matthew 25 initiative of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), particularly in our mission to Dismantle Structural Racism.

The exhibition, was not just an artistic showcase—it was a call to action. Through oil pastels, mixed media, 3D art, and graphic design, students visually expressed themes of protection and racial justice, of equity and unity, echoing Dr. King’s vision of “Beloved Community.” Many pieces showcased students’ reflections on racial inequality and their hope for a future rooted in justice and reconciliation. The exhibition was about more than just art—it was about creating safe and sacred space in our community for youth to participate in dialogue and action.

And that they did.

Starting in January, art teachers at Sudlow Middle School and the Creative Arts Academy incorporated the theme of the exhibition into their curriculum, integrating guest lectures and presentations on racial justice to help students explore the historical and contemporary realities of structural racism. The art exhibition was the culmination of that work, bridging education and artistic expression. It was a vivid and hopeful reminder that young voices play a vital role in dismantling the structures of injustice and building a more just world.

Because of these students, I have hope today.

And I pray that you do too. We cannot lose hope. If we lose hope and give into despair, then the toxic and destructive voices win. And the children of our community deserve better.

They are our hope, so I keep dreaming.

I have a dream, today. And I know you do too.

I have a dream that our schools will be sanctuaries, not battlegrounds—that every child will know that they are beloved, and cherished, and safe.

I have a dream that the church will not stand idly by while the vulnerable are cast aside, but that we will be a place of radical welcome, a beacon of light in the darkness, a community where people of all races and gender identities and sexual orientations, can come to know the love of God without condition.

I have a dream that we will not fear change, but embrace it as the movement of the Holy Spirit—that we will see in the struggles of today the birth pangs of a new world where justice does roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

I have a dream today, that, like Joseph, we in the church will dare to speak prophetically as we interpret for the world the dreams God has placed on our hearts—that we will see the vision, understand the times, and that we will act with courage.

Because church, this is not just my dream. It is God’s dream. It is the vision Christ showed us on the mountaintop, the kingdom he proclaimed, the truth for which he lived, and died, and rose again.

So friends, let us dream. Let us rise. Let us work until every valley is lifted up, every mountain is made low, every voice is heard, and every precious child of God is free…free to be who God is creating them to be.