If you had the king of the universe standing
right in front of you, what would you ask for?
Which dreams would you want him to make a reality?
Now imagine, as you have these dreams in mind,
that some guy next to you yells out to the king
of the universe, teacher, tell my brother to
divide the inheritance with me. Dude, what are
you doing? He heals people with the word. He
proclaims forgiveness, He raises the dead, and
you're asking Him for legal advice. But let's
not laugh too hard. Because this man in our Gospel
lesson is trapped in a story, a narrative, where
life is about securing what you believe is rightfully
yours. He's blind to the idea that true life
is being rich. with God. His dream is shaped
by self -interest and the illusion that wealth
will secure his future. This man with small dreams,
he doesn't realize he's living inside a story
that cannot save him. And honestly, neither do
we. The man's request, tell my brother to divide
the inheritance with me, It's not extravagant.
It actually sounds pretty reasonable. Sounds
pretty fair. Maybe his brother really is being
unjust. He just wants what he thinks will make
his life easier, more comfortable, more secure.
But that's the problem. His dream is far too
small. He's dreaming like a man who thinks this
life is all there is when speaking with the King
who can give him life eternal. He's standing
in front of the King of the universe, but all
he can think about is his share of the family
estate. He's like a man sitting at the gates
of heaven, but all he wants is a voucher for
a nicer room at the inn. His eyes are on the
ground when the skies are opening up right in
front of him. It's easy to think small when we're
afraid of losing control. Now imagine for a moment
that this man's request is the start of a dream
sequence. In his mind, life becomes simple. Maybe
he's read Ecclesiastes and he grabbed onto the
line that says there is nothing better for a
person than to eat and drink and find enjoyment
in his toil. I mean, that sounds pretty good,
right? Work hard, enjoy what you've earned, take
life as it comes. I just want to be comfortable.
I'm not asking for much. That's how the dream
begins. And Ecclesiastes was never meant to be
a fatalistic, pessimistic book. The Hebrews valued
it because it told the truth about life's limitations,
about how small we really are. Luther loved Ecclesiastes
for the same reason. He saw its joy not as an
achievement of human effort, but as a gift from
God. to be received with humility. But when we
take that wisdom and twist it into a mantra that
we are always supposed to follow, we risk losing
its heart. Because mantras, they don't always
work. The dream keeps going, but soon it starts
to shift into a bit of a nightmare. The words
sound the same, but the tone changes. Now it's
not Ecclesiastes whispering into our ear. It's
Isaiah 22. A moment when God looks at his people
and sees them partying while the city is under
siege. Judgment is coming, but they say, let
us eat and drink for tomorrow we die. The same
type of mantra, but now it's resignation to condemnation.
disguised as wisdom. It's just giving up. The
man doesn't even notice the shift. He thinks
he's still being wise. But now his enjoyment
has become a mask for his despair. It's we're
all doomed anyway, so let's just live in our
dreams as long as we can. And then the dream
begins to crumble. And now he's alone. He's looking
at his land, his barns, his plans. Here in Luke
12, just a few verses later, he's become the
rich fool. Building bigger barns and telling
himself, take life easy. Eat, drink, be merry.
He thinks that he has won in the game of life.
But in the dream, there's a knock on the door.
And a voice says, you fool. This very night your
life will be demanded from you. And all of his
dreams, all of his plans, all of his striving,
it's gone. That's how mantras in our life shift.
They start as a humble joy in God's gifts, but
they become coping mechanisms for despair. And
they end as self -made traps of false security.
And through it all, the man doesn't realize that
the one who can rewrite his dreams is standing
right in front of him. There's a show that's
been going on on Netflix called The Sandman.
It's really dark and deals with all the sins
that are in our Colossians passage, so be careful
if you decide to watch it. But even if you haven't
watched it, we know the idea. The Sandman. People
build dreams to escape reality. They craft worlds
where they don't have to face the fear of death.
Where they control the outcome. Where life's
mess doesn't reach them. And there's a catch
though. Because the deeper they go into their
dreams, the more they get trapped in avoiding
the truth that's all around them. Because at
the heart of those dreams is this quiet voice
whispering, this is all there is. You can't escape
reality, so just ignore it in your dreams. And
maybe that's what we do. Maybe we chase after
the jobs and the relationships, the experiences,
the security, thinking, if I can just get this
one thing, I'll be okay. But the dream starts
to crack. The illusion fades. The world is still
fragile. We are still fragile. And when it all
starts falling apart, what does the world tell
us? That's just how life is. Grow up. Accept
it. Make the best of it. It'll all be over soon.
But that's not wisdom. That's elegant despair.
That's learning how just to beautifully give
up. Without Christ, the dream attempts to atone
for sins without a Savior. That story of the
dream ends only in self -destruction and hopelessness.
But what if dreams aren't meant to be an escape
from hopelessness? What if dreams are meant to
wake us up? The man in Luke 12 wasn't dreaming
too big, he was dreaming far too small. He stood
in front of the king of the universe, but all
he could think about was his inheritance He wanted
what he thought would make him happy in the moment,
but Jesus was ready to offer him something eternal
Instead of letting him cling to a fading dream
You're asking for an inheritance But I'm offering
you a kingdom as Jesus would put it you want
to be rich for a moment. I want to make you rich
with God. Christ doesn't take away joys or life
or dreams. He wakes us up to real joy, real life,
the kind that doesn't fade when the dream ends.
That's where Colossians 3 pulls us in. Paul writes,
set your mind on things above, not on earthly
things, for you died and your life is now hidden
with Christ in God. You don't need to escape
reality through shallow dreams. You need to be
reborn into a greater reality. A redeemed dream,
a life hidden in Christ. Not rich just for a
moment, but rich for eternity. A life that isn't
about grabbing what you can before it's gone.
A life that is secured, eternal, gloriously full
in Christ. Because Colossians 3 doesn't deny
death. It says, you have died. And your life
is now hidden with Christ in God. And it doesn't
stop there. It proclaims a resurrection life
that transforms every part of existence. What
you wear, how you love, how you eat, how you
work. It transforms every part of our existence,
what we give, how we serve, to be better than
it ever was before. Just like the King of Dreams,
the man in Luke 12 doesn't need a prettier ending
to his old story. He needs to be baptized into
a new one. But here's the thing. Jesus doesn't
wake the man up from his dream just to leave
him in the cold, harsh light of reality. He wakes
him up to redeem the dreams of his life, to baptize
them, to take what was twisted and broken and
give them back to him, whole, new, alive in God.
That's what Colossians 3 is all about. Paul says,
Put to death therefore whatever belongs to your
earthly nature. That's Isaiah's part of the despair.
The fatalism, the despair that we try to ignore
and numb by living out every vice and sin that
we know will only destroy us, but we're hoping
will distract us. But Jesus doesn't tell us to
numb ourselves to that feeling. He tells us to
crucify it. To be done with it. He's already
faced it at the cross and won. And then Paul
says, take off your old self with its practices.
And put on the new self. And that's Luke's part
of the dream. The bigger barns, the illusion
of control. Paul says, take it off. Like an old
ragged coat. It's not you anymore. Finally, Paul
says, whatever you do, whether in word or deed,
do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving
thanks to God the Father through Him. That's
Ecclesiastes in this dream, but now it's redeemed.
The eating, drinking, working, giving, serving,
rejoicing, but no longer hollow, because now
it's worship. Now it's sacred. Christ doesn't
erase the dream. He resurrects it. Instead of
seeing the treasures we have been blessed with
as a way to avoid life and just revel in more
pleasures, we can actually do things with what
we've been given that can benefit the kingdom
of God that we live in. A kingdom that is eternal
instead of elusive. Instead of a setting aside
our treasures, hoping we may use them someday,
we can give them toward what matters today, helping
others, while trusting that God will provide
for us as well. Christ doesn't tell the man in
Luke 12 to stop desiring good things. He invites
him to desire something greater, to be rich with
God, to live a life where joy isn't a last meal.
before the end with all of your barns full, but
a daily feast in the presence of a God who provides,
who redeems, who reigns. In Colossians, Paul
isn't giving us a list of do's and don'ts. He's
giving a picture of what it looks like when your
dreams have been baptized into real life. A real
life that lasts forever in Christ. When your
old self has died with Christ, and your new self
is raised with Him. See, that's the dream Jesus
wants for this man. It's the dream He wants for
us. Christ is not the King of escapist dreams.
He's the King of a renewed universe. He doesn't
offer fantasy. He offers a resurrected life that
brings beauty. and fullness to the very things
we try to escape from. Work and relationships
and death. You have died and your life is now
hidden with Christ in God. The old dreams die,
but now you're clothed in a new self, dreaming
God's dreams. There's an old Japanese art called
Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with
gold. The cracks are not hidden. They're made
beautiful. The pot becomes stronger and more
precious where it was once broken. And that's
what Christ does with our dreams. Even the ones
that we thought were broken and gone. He doesn't
throw them away. He redeems them. He sanctifies
them. He makes them part of a bigger story. He
doesn't offer fantasy. He offers resurrection.
So let's go back to our funny man at the beginning
of our story. He came to Jesus with a simple
request. Tell my brother to divide the inheritance
with me. That was his dream. That was the story
he thought he was living in. Get what's fair.
Secure a little comfort. Make life a little easier.
But standing in front of him wasn't a judge to
settle his dispute. He was the king of the universe.
inviting him into a kingdom. And I wonder, what
if in that moment, Jesus wasn't just hearing
a demand, what if he was hearing a cry? A cry
from a man tired of striving, tired of being
afraid, tired of pretending that grabbing a few
coins would somehow make him whole and wealthy.
Friends, we are that man. Every time we reduce
life to what we can earn, secure, control, we're
standing in front of Jesus asking Him to bless
our small dreams. But Jesus loves us too much
to settle for that. He's not here to help you
build a bigger barn. He's here to give you a
better life. A life hidden with Him. A life clothed
in compassion, humility, kindness, a life rich
not in things, but in Him. Christ is here to
baptize your dreams because He has already been
crucified for your life. He is here to crucify
what needs to die. He's here to sanctify what
He has given you and to resurrect your life into
His Kingdom. And the invitation is open. Will
you keep chasing the dreams that fade? Or will
you let Christ redeem you and everything that
you could ever hope for to have a life that will
never fade? So eat, drink, rejoice, but do it
as one who is rich toward God. Because that's
the only dream that's worth living. Thanks be
to God.