Joseph had a dream.

Both of them.

a man sitting at a desk with his head in his hands

I dream often, most nights. Some grab me and drag me from my sleep, others are just me working through life. Chess dreams where I try to move a pawn diagonally and I know that’s not how it goes. You’ve probably had a stirring, emotive dream too. You can’t explain it, but you know it’s not just imagination – it carries weight. There’s something stirring in that moment, where God begins to speak you, capturing your attention. Sometimes it’s a message for you, or for others.

Both Josephs in Scripture knew that place. Like bookends in scripture; one in Genesis and one in Matthew. Different centuries, different callings – but both shaped by a dream they didn’t ask for, or expect. Both had different outcomes!

The first Joseph was a young man with the famous multi-coloured coat and a calling. His dreams were clear. Sheaves bowed. Stars did too. Nothing in scripture suggest that he was trying to be impressive, he just shared what he saw. Probably not with great wisdom, but he was a youngster! And it cost him. The dream marked him, and everything in his life seemed to fall apart after that. Betrayed. Abandoned. Forgotten. He didn’t ask for the dream, but here’s what we miss when we rush the story: the dream didn’t die in the pit. God was preparing the man who would one day carry the weight of nations. Not despite the suffering. Through it.

Then there’s the second Joseph. Older. Cautious. Steady. Righteous. He wasn’t dreaming of power. He was planning a nice little wedding. And into the middle of that ordinary faithfulness, God speaks: “Don’t be afraid to take Mary as your wife.” Afraid? Wife? A different kind of dream! No symbols. No grandeur. Just instruction – and trust. That kind of obedience doesn’t come from impulse. It comes from a heart already inclined to say yes.

What unites these two men isn’t just the fact they dreamed. It’s what they did next.

Joseph in Egypt walked the long road of endurance. He held the dream in silence until God opened the door. He didn’t push his way forward. He didn’t try to manufacture outcomes. He waited, served, and listened. Remember the heartache of thinking he’d been rescued when they lifted him from the pit – only to send himm on to Egypt. When when the time eventually came, he stepped into leadership with wisdom not forged by pain, but by the realisation that God was with him.

The camera lens moves; miles and years away, Joseph in Nazareth protected the promise when no one else could see it. He didn’t need centre stage. He was entrusted with the hidden years of Jesus’ life – the years no one writes songs about. He obeyed, again and again, in quiet faith.

Now here’s the encouragement for those of you carrying a dream: don’t despise where you are. Don’t assume that delay means denial. And don’t buy the lie that significance always looks public. Some of the most kingdom-shaking dreams are born in hiddenness.

If God has given you something – a word, a picture, a calling – it’s not yours to force or rush. But neither is it yours to bury in fear. The Spirit still speaks. Not every dream is from Him, but when He does speak, it carries the weight of purpose. And it’s not about spotlight or success. It’s about faithfulness. About formation. About being the kind of person who can carry what God entrusts.

Both Josephs remind us: the dream is real. The process will be slow. But the God who gives the dream is faithful. And He is shaping you for what He’s already prepared.

And maybe this is worth saying too, words matter. The Spirit didn’t stir vague ambition in those Josephs. He gave them dreams. Actual ones. While they slept, God interrupted the night with revelation. Not goals. Not well-articulated vision statements. Dreams. The kind you wake up from and know something holy has passed through your soul. These were the dreams that Joel was speaking of.

We throw the word around today – dreams, aspirations, desires. And fair enough. There’s room for language to flex as I did just a few moments ago. But let’s not lose the weight of what happened here. God wasn’t responding to their ambition. He was initiating His plan. While their bodies rested, His Spirit moved.

With that in mind, it has to be said; there was another Joseph. The one who didn’t dream but did something just as courageous. He carried no vision in the night, but he had a holy aspiration: to honour Christ when it looked like everything had come to nothing. Joseph of Arimathea. We get to know exactly where he was from. A man of means and a quiet disciple. He asked for the body of Jesus when others scattered. He gave up his own tomb for the One they thought was finished. No heavenly dream. Just a heart moved by honour.

So yes, some of you may dream. Others may not. But the Spirit still speaks. In visions and pictures, in nudges and convictions, in sacred longing to make Jesus known.

The dream or aspiration can come in the night or comes like a whisper in the middle of your day, so don’t dismiss it. God speaks in, and through those moments.

Keep going…

The Greeks Were Right

We’re all standing on the edge of something.

We would see Jesus ...

Can I ask you a question? Have you ever had someone ask you a seemingly innocent question that sounded simple on the surface – but you knew, deep down, or at least suspected, it carried more weight than they realised?

The gospel narrative in John 12:21 has that air about it; “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” If anyone asks, that’s what they said. Very polite, and straight and to the point. Greeks. Outsiders. Travellers at the feast, yes, but still standing on the edge of what you and I might call covenant history. Interestingly, they found Philip. The one with the Greek name, from Bethsaida, a small fishing town known for borders and trade. Maybe that’s why they picked him specifically. Maybe he felt like someone who’d understand.

John, looking back as he writes his gospel notes that Philip doesn’t welcome them and rush excitedly straight to Jesus. What’s going on? He goes to Andrew, and then together, they go to the Lord. He hesitates? That pause, so subtle and deliberate, carries weight and would have been noticed by the Greek enquirers. It’s not gatekeeping or obstruction. It’s reverence. These weren’t just men wanting to meet Jesus. They were asking to see him. And that’s not casual – the disciples are aware of the weight of the moment.

You can feel Philip weighing it internally. What are they hoping to see? Do they want a moment, a quick handshake, perhaps a nod, or are they reaching for the Man? Agenda? And behind that, something deeper; what if Jesus doesn’t respond the way they’re expecting? You know what it is like when you have seen celebrities close up. They look smaller than on television. What if he doesn’t look impressive enough? What if, when they see him, they leave disappointed? Or worse, and more likely, what if he speaks in riddles again, and even Philip isn’t sure what to do with it? Introducing someone to Jesus was never casual. There’s a kind of holy weight in it. There still is. So Philip slows down and checks in with Andrew. When people start asking to see Jesus, you don’t just push them forward, you listen. You pay attention, read the room.

That’s what makes this awkward moment so timely and why it finds it’s way to the printing press. We’re used to looking at everything. Faces, feeds, breaking headlines. We scroll past dozens of lives before breakfast. We’re saturated in moments, edited, clipped, and set to naff background music, but when was the last time we saw anything that actually held us? It happens, but not often.

We weren’t made to live off filtered fragments of life. No algorithm can anchor a soul for the long haul, and yet for all our access, we still find ourselves aching for something real, that ‘something’ that doesn’t flicker and crash when the Wi-Fi stutters. Something that doesn’t vanish, disappear when the screen goes black.

When Jesus hears their request, he doesn’t offer a welcome or a word of thanks. It’s an odd response. Knowing Jesus He probably had been expecting them. Acknowledging them He simply says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (John 12:23). Then he speaks of death! A seed falling into the earth. A life laid down and then a challenge, “If anyone serves me, he must follow me” (v.26). (You can’t guarantee what Jesus is going to say, even to new enquirers!) This is not a metaphor tucked in moody soft-lighting. It’s a roadmap. And it’s one many never take. We have to unpack it, because we are in the story. It’s probably not what the Greek visitors expected either.

It’s perplexing but, ‘you want to see Jesus’ and in response he immediately speaks of a grain of wheat falling into the earth. Not inspiring. Not marketable. Not good clickbait for a social media influencer. Just quiet death in the dark. And somehow, that’s where the glory is. Jesus commands the pace of the narrative that strains at the leash like a warhorse wanting to gallop.

And maybe that’s the real tension – our tension. Not that we don’t want to see Jesus, but that we’d prefer to see him on our terms, without being interrupted. Without having to shut the laptop. Without having to be still. We say we want him, but we’d rather not be led to where the seed breaks open. Where God is at work as only He can be, in ways both mysterious and powerful, with a fullness of omnipotence that almost makes you want to write it in hushed tones and capital letters.

Philip’s pause is more than historical detail or story-filler to get the word count up. It reflects the deep gravity of the moment. Introducing someone to Jesus isn’t just a task, it’s holy ground and to seek him for ourselves will always mean coming nearer to the cross. Not just his, but ours too.

If we still want to see him, we’ll find him where the noise dies and the seed breaks open.