September 21, 2025 - Revisiting Jacob's Dream Today and Dreaming Different Dreams

Reading:  Genesis 27:1-4, 15-23; 28:10-17 Jacob's Dream

Half of the people can be part right all of the time
Some of the people can be all right part of the time
But all of the people can't be all right all of the time
I think Abraham Lincoln said that
I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours
I said that.     Talkin' World War III Blues: Bob Dylan

We are living in a time of fracture. Families estranged over politics. Friendships frayed by a single post. Congregations splintered by unspoken hurts. In such a world, where belonging feels fragile and disagreement feels dangerous, what if peace began, not in grand declarations of principles, but in how we speak to one another?

Our words are increasingly less neutral. Many often deepen wounds or begin to stitch them closed. In the Jewish tradition, lashon hara warns against speech that harms, anything that diminishes another unnecessarily. In the Buddhist tradition, “Right Speech” asks: Is it true? Necessary? Kind? If we paused long enough to ask these questions, how many fractures could be healed?

This is the context from which I approach this week's reading: Jacob lies down in the wilderness. He is fleeing from his mistakes, estranged from his family, and uncertain of his future. With only a stone for a pillow, he rested on hard, uncomfortable ground and was restless in his soul. In that vulnerable night, he dreams of a ladder set upon the earth, reaching into heaven. Messengers move up and down, carrying heaven’s weight into the ache of earth and bearing earth’s grief into the mystery of heaven.

This vision was not given when Jacob was strong or righteous. It was given when he was broken, when his story had collapsed. The ladder appeared not above a palace or a temple, but in this rocky wilderness, where Jacob had nothing but uncertainty.

Currently, our nation is passing through a wilderness moment. The stories I was once told about our nation, our communities, and even God's church appear to be unraveling. I have recently questioned, "Hadn't we already climbed higher and moved beyond brutality, prejudice, and exclusion?" However, I also know others who long to return to simpler times when the neighbors we encountered daily were more like us. Or maybe they may just desire to achieve more authenticity and better opportunities than I ever thought possible when I was young. People accuse each other of being woke or of being helpless dreamers.

And yet, perhaps, like Jacob (and like the Akedah text from last week), when we feel as though we are falling apart, it is here that God interrupts us. Not to reassure us that we are blameless or particularly righteous, but to remind us that heaven still touches earth, even here, even now.

No dream removes Jacob from the wilderness or saves him from the danger facing him. Instead, he is shown a connection. He is shown that God is already present in the mess of the moment, and that there is no place where the holy cannot meet us.

Is this unraveling really a failure, or an invitation? An invitation to honesty. To humility. To the fierce truth that we are both broken and beloved, both capable of harm and called to healing. To embody some of that truth-telling we all saw in the Holy Disruptors that we studied this summer. 

The peace of Jacob’s dream is not the absence of struggle. It is in the threads of connection between heaven and earth, God and us, woven together even in our rocky wildernesses. However, we should remember we may be among the messengers Jacob saw moving up and down, carrying heaven’s weight to earth and bearing earth’s grief into the mystery of what we call heaven.

This call is not to climb ladders as if to escape, but to stand at the base and recognize where we are as messengers needing to recognize our unique connections. To live and dream with honesty in the tension of this moment. To resist despair, but also resist denial. To let grief humble us, and humility open us to fierce love.

Hopefully, like Jacob, we will be surprised by grace in unlikely places. May we awaken to admit to one another, with trembling honesty: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.” And may this moment not harden our hearts, but humble and move us to grasp and grapple with mounting each of our collective ladders..

This is another moment where we may choose to be broken open, not apart. To listen to, respect, and live in each other's lives and dreams.