He Didn't Wait To Love

On Sunday, we tuned in to a sermon on the life of Joseph, part of the series “Head Full of Dreams.” The message focused on the formation required to carry a dream—emphasizing waiting, growing in character, and learning not to alienate others when communicating what we see.

We both found truth in some of this. Some dreams do require growth. Some visions are not yet ready to be lived out. But as we listened, another truth rose to the surface inside of us—not as contradiction, but as a tension that must be honored.

The repeated emphasis in the message on Joseph’s immaturity, his inability to communicate well, and his need to grow into his gift began to reshape the Genesis account. It was as if the suffering he endured—betrayal, violence, exile—was something he brought on himself by lacking character. This framing, whether intended or not, shifted the weight of the story from the wrongdoing of others to the deficiency of the dreamer.

That raised deep concern for us. Because this pattern shows up not just in Joseph’s story—but in how churches often respond to dreamers and prophets today.

“Ministers of the Gospel must comfort the afflicted, but they also have the prophet’s duty to afflict the comfortable.”
— Obery M. Hendricks, The Politics of Jesus

When the church shields the comfortable by scrutinizing the dreamer’s maturity or delivery, it abandons that prophetic responsibility—and instead comforts the powerful.

When the Dreamer Becomes the Problem

This dynamic shows up again and again: when someone speaks a vision that challenges the status quo, the focus often shifts—not to the truth they’re naming, but to how they’ve named it.

Instead of sitting with the discomfort of what’s being revealed, we turn our attention to whether the person was “ready” to speak at all. And in doing so, we risk mistaking our discomfort for their fault.

But Joseph’s brothers didn’t hate him because he was immature. Genesis is clear:

They hated him because their hearts were full of jealousy and anger. (Gen. 37:4, 8, 11)

The issue wasn’t Joseph’s tone or timing. It was that his dream revealed something they weren’t ready to face.

This Pattern Isn’t New

Would we say the same about Dr. King? That “I Have a Dream” was premature? That his arrest or assassination were the consequences of poor communication?

Of course not.

And yet—people did say those things. They told him to wait. To speak more gently. That it wasn’t the right time. In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, he grieves the white moderates who agreed with his cause but objected to his tone.

“The time is always right to do what is right.”
— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Waiting often serves those in power more than those in pain. The call to delay justice isn’t neutral—it’s resistance to transformation.

Misguided Scrutiny: The Speck and the Plank

“Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own?”
— Matthew 7:3 (NRSVUE)

When sermons focus on Joseph’s supposed immaturity—his tone, timing, or communication skills—they risk misdirected moral scrutiny.

Genesis 37 never calls Joseph arrogant or inappropriate. What it does say is that his brothers hated him, envied him, and betrayed him. His dream didn’t provoke their jealousy; it illuminated it.

To suggest Joseph “brought it on himself” is to blur the line between prophetic truth and social acceptability. The dreamer’s “immaturity” becomes the speck we fixate on, while the deeper resistance to change—the plank—goes unnamed.

We've Seen This Before

• David was dismissed as too young (1 Sam. 17:33), yet God had already anointed him.
• Jeremiah protested he didn’t know how to speak (Jer. 1:6), but God called him anyway.
• Paul was questioned about his past.
• Jesus was disregarded: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46)

God’s call rarely comes in the package people expect. And when decorum is elevated over discernment, we may resist the very voice God is speaking through.

From a Moment to a Pattern

This isn’t about one sermon. It’s about a wider church culture:

• that redirects discomfort onto the dreamer,
• that labels challenge as immaturity,
• that disciplines truth when it threatens familiarity.

The sermon became a mirror. And naming the pattern is the first step toward disrupting it—with truth, tenderness, and courage.

The Encampments

We saw this same dynamic in The Encampments documentary (New Yorker, 2025). Students organized peaceful protests at Columbia University calling for a ceasefire in Gaza and divestment from companies tied to military violence.

And yet—they were quickly branded as naive, divisive, even violent. Not because they harmed anyone, but because they disrupted comfort.

“External actors … obviously not students.”
— Mayor Eric Adams (disproven by Politifact)

House Speaker Mike Johnson called for Senator Padilla to be censured—not for harm, but for disruption. Just like Joseph. Just like so many prophets. The dreamers weren’t silenced because they were wrong—but because they were unwilling to wait.

Reframing Jesus’ Early Life

Jesus at 12 says, “Didn’t you know I’d be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49). His parents didn’t correct him—they pondered.

At the wedding in Cana, Jesus says “My time has not yet come”—yet still acts in love (John 2:1–11).

He didn’t wait to love.

It’s Not the Season—Or Is It?

When people say “It’s not the season”, we ask: not the season for what?

For naming harm?
For standing with the suffering?

Sometimes it’s not the dream that needs more time.
It’s the church that needs to stop delaying under the guise of maturity—and start responding with courage.

The time to love is always now.

A Hopeful Word for the Church

We’re not writing this because we’ve given up on the church—but because we haven’t.
We believe in her. We believe in her capacity to grow, to listen, to be transformed.
We believe in the dreamers she has too often silenced.
And we believe that God still speaks—sometimes through the divinely awkward, the divinely imperfect, but always with divine truth.

When we dismiss those voices because they make us uncomfortable, we lose something sacred—
not just the message, but our chance to be changed by it.

So may we have the courage to tell the difference:

• between discomfort and wrongdoing,
• between immaturity and holy urgency,
• between disruption and deliverance.

And may we never wait to love.
Because love does not delay when justice is calling.
Love moves. Love listens. Love makes room.