In the parable of the weeds, the line that perplexes me the most is when the householder says to his servants, “Let both of them (the weeds and the wheat) grow together until the harvest.” (Matt 13:30) “Let both of them grow together until the harvest.”
The disciples, too, would have had every reason to be confused by this command. In ancient Israel, the weeds of which the parable speaks were more than just a nuisance. They were toxic, look-a-like stalks that intermingled with good grain, stealing moisture and nutrients from the earth, choking out edible plants, threatening the harvest…food for hungry mouths.
As Jesus himself explains, the weeds are evildoers, sown by none other than the devil.
So, one can imagine an ancient farmer remarking: What a crazy plan? Why not pluck the bad weeds from the field for the good of the harvest?
Early Jewish audiences, anxious and divided themselves, must have been equally befuddled by Jesus as they zealously pursued who the true disciples of Jesus were, and who were not.
We too might wonder, in our world so beset by the toxic weeds of racism, injustice, violence, and the unrelenting virus, why Jesus appears to be telling us to quote “let go, and let God”? Must we just sit on our hands and wait on God’s promise of divine justice in the hereafter? I’m not sure I’m that patient; there is a lot of weeding to be done out there.
But for some reason, in this parable, on this day, Jesus challenges us to wait. To pause. To be cautious in all of our gathering and plucking of the weeds.
Truth be told, even as you and I hope and pray to be the good seeds in this story, identified by Jesus as the children of God, we can probably admit to spending a fair amount of time and energy on the gathering and plucking of weeds.
For no matter who we are or where we sit, we label and judge in our own right, pinpointing our enemies with precision, disassociating ourselves from those whom we fear, excluding those who unsettle us or challenge our world views.
I wish we didn’t, but we often do. We ‘other’, we rant, we unfriend, we dismiss, divide, and cast aside. We are human after all, and our brains are hardwired to spot and respond to danger. We think we have eyes trained to see the enemy, so we gather up the weeds and “pitch them into the trash” where “we can be done with them.” (Matt 13:40-43, MSG)
But here we find the incredible challenge within this puzzling parable. Because Jesus says no, not today. This is not your job today.
In other places in the Bible, and on other days, Jesus sends us out into a hostile world, hearts a-blazing, with a purse, bag, and even a sword. (Luke 22:35-38)
But in this moment, on this day, as difficult as it might be, Jesus says:
Breathe, be, and let be.
Look down at where you are planted. Feel security in in the way your thick roots descend into this deep earth. Drink and be renewed by the waters that the sky opens up above you. Feed to your heart’s content from soil that is rich and good and true love.
Do not fear those who surround and press into you. Let them be.
God will make things right.
The thing about the ancient weeds in our parable is that they looked so similar to growing wheat that it was very difficult, especially to the untrained eye, to separate them from wheat until they were fully matured. Weed pluckers, even those with the best of intentions, would uproot and damage the promise of good wheat without knowing the difference.
I wrote part of this sermon from my gazebo, outside in our backyard, and as I pondered the meaning of this parable, I was reminded of my own very unkempt backyard. Some of you know that gardening is not my thing, folks. Whatever the opposite is of a green thumb, that’s what have. I really wouldn’t know a bush from a shrub, an annual from a perennial, a flower from a weed.
A couple years ago, my husband spent a lot of time preparing a plot for vegetables and herbs and arranging a pretty garden fence right outside my window. But despite all our time and togetherness at home over the last year, we have done nothing with it. And it’s become a mangey, prickly, prolific mess of weeds; its literally bursting out of the same fence that once contained such pristineness.
This week I called out to Dave in the kitchen, “Do you see all the beautiful daisies we have growing out there?” “Those are just weeds,” he said. I was disappointed by his answer, but then he added, “Do you see how happy the butterflies and bees are out there now?” I went outside to take a closer look, and indeed they were.
And I had this thought that maybe this weed garden I was unintentionally cultivating was telling me something important about God’s promises.
Jesus knows that our eyes are untrained, and so today he asks us to pause and let go of the fears that compel us to cut things down and cut people off. He asks us to try to be together, to forgive one another, (yes, to suffer one another), to grow together.
This is not passivity or complacency. But the most difficult kind of work, born only of faith in the promise of true love. Jesus knows that our best work as a community of faith will come not from a place of anxiety or unrest or of rooting out, but from a place where we feel deeply grounded in him.
As I think about my year of internship, perhaps one of the strangest years to be a pastoral intern, I think about this congregation and its graciousness, both to me and my family (we were unknowns to you, of course, at the start), and I also think about your tenderness with one another as we have steered through unchartered waters. Most of all, I thank you for this beautiful example of a community in Christ that tries to offer opportunities to everyone to serve, a community that tries not to uproot difference but to accept people for who they are, a community that tries to look honestly within to see all the things, weeds and wheat, that are growing there. And then to pause and pray about it.
This is our calling, dear church. To be that place, perhaps the only place left in our world, where all can gather without condemnation and judgment, where all can plant roots, where all can pray and develop and grow the good in ourselves, in others, and in the world.[1]
You, my friends, are whole. You are wheat. You are rooted in Christ, known and loved beyond measure. May you be nourished, may you stand tall, and may you grow into the messy and tender work of your baptism together.
Peace be with you, now and always.
Amen.
Vicar Kristin Dybdal Faith-Lilac Way Lutheran Church August 1, 2021
[1] This paragraph was inspired by a beautiful prayer of confession on Matthew 13:24-30 that I came across by Moira Laidlaw, available here: https://www.liturgiesonline.com.au and also at https://re-worship.blogspot.com/search/label/Proper%2011%20A