Pilate’s wife dreams, interprets and applies …
Everyone has dreams. Today’s dreams rarely represent Biblical dreams where God brings revelation, purpose and insight. Even in Church today some may say they have a dream, what they mean by that is an idea, an inspiration, something that demands their energy and attention. As far as notable dreams go it’s easy to overlook this one we are about to look at, especially in Charismatic circles where we talk about the dreams of Joseph, Joseph, Daniel and Abraham. I’m alluding to one dream, a troubling one like Nebuchadnezzar’s – with similar physical disposition!
In the darkest moment of history, in the thick of betrayal, politics, and the face of a bloodthirsty, unjustifiably angry crowd, the clearest voice of warning doesn’t come from a disciple, a priest, or even a prophet. It comes from a woman we never meet again except in myths and legends. Just one short, brief line, whispered through the noise of Matthew’s Passion narrative to Pilate: “Have nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much because of him today in a dream” (Matthew 27:19). Today. Not just on waking. Inner turmoil gripped them.
Pilate’s wife. No name. No follow-up. Exit stage left.
In the ancient world, as in Africa and the Middle East today, dreams weren’t dismissed with a shrug or a few doodles on a psychologist’s notepad. They were loaded; heaving with meaning. Greeks saw them as visits from the divine. Jews held them in tension. Genuine dreams could carry God’s voice, but they were always considered, unpacked, never assumed. Either way, when it came to dreams, people knew something holy or terrible might be trying to get through while the world slept.
And in this woman’s case, it wasn’t vague symbolism. It was suffering. She didn’t wake up pondering riddles or wondering what it meant. She woke up in distress. That’s the language Matthew uses. Suffering. The kind that shakes you down to the bone. The kind that doesn’t leave when the sun rises. And stays with you all day.
She doesn’t just report a dream. She gives a verdict, it’s about “that righteous man”. Righteous. She knows. It’s not a word used lightly, especially when the crowd is sharpening its knives, picking up stones, and needlessly angry. Somehow, as sleep lifts and the weight of night-vision stirs her, she sees Jesus for who He really is. Not guilty. Not dangerous. Righteous. It’s unambiguous and comes with the kind of clarity that Pilate can’t quite grasp, for all his political savvy. And it comes directly through revelation.
This woman, this Gentile, is given insight. Revelation. Not through Torah. Not through temple sacrifice. But in a dream that brings overwhelming anguish. God has spoken to her about the truth of the man standing trial outside. And she doesn’t just have the dream. She interprets it. And then, courageously, she applies it. She does what many fail to do with divine revelation. She acts. She intervenes. She pleads. “Just back off. Let it go. Don’t get involved with this man’s blood.”
But does Pilate listen? He’s in trouble when he goes home.
Matthew tells us what happens next. Pilate turns to the crowd and asks a question that has rung out ever since: “Then what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” (Matthew 27:22). The dilemma now belongs to them. Slopey shoulders. The question has shifted. The spotlight swings to the crowd. They’ve seen the man. They’ve heard the name. They know the charge. What now?
And like all crowds intoxicated by fear and self-interest, they choose the wrong thing. They choose release for Barabbas. And for Jesus? “Let him be crucified.”
Let’s not forget Pilate’s wifey. The woman had heard. She had seen. She had suffered. The divine had spoken, not in the temple, but in the silence of sleep. And still, despite everything, the world pressed forward toward the cross.
It would be an interesting evening in Pilate’s household.