In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Life
isn’t fair. It’s a truth we all know, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How
do you respond to the fact that life isn’t fair? By having a me versus the
world mentality? By pessimism? By blaming God and others when things don’t go
your way? While those might be some of the first responses, they are not the sort
of response suggested in today’s readings. It has been said that parables are
earthly stories with heavenly meanings. Today’s gospel narrative about the farmer
who awakens to find that an enemy has sowed bad seeds among his crops isn’t
fair on several levels.
 |
| Tare, weed, wheat |
First,
it’s not fair to the farmer whose crop is now in jeopardy. His livelihood is at
risk, as is everyone who depends on his crops for food. It simply is not fair
that this evil person committed such a heinous crime. When I was in Israel two years
ago, we walked through a field near the Sea of Galilee, and as we did, our guide
pointed out the various plants that were growing, and in particular, stalks of
wheat, tare, and weeds. Wheat, of course, is the crop that you’re trying to
grow. Weeds are just that, unwanted plants. But tare is different, and that’s the
bad seed that the enemy sowed. It is called “darnel” and is highly poisonous. As Emerson once said about it, it is “a
plant whose virtues have yet to be discovered.” And the problem is that wheat,
weeds, and tares look nearly identical. Darnel is the ultimate wolf in sheep’s
clothing. When the slaves ask their master “do you want us to gather up the
weeds?” the master says “no” because he knows that it can’t be done. If they
try to pull up the bad growth, they will certainly pull up the good wheat along
with it. So he tells them to wait until the harvest time, because then you can
tell the difference when the wheat is larger with grain. At harvest time
though, they will have to be diligent in removing all of the tare, because if
they grind it along with the wheat, the whole batch will be ruined. It’s simply
not fair.
And
it’s also not fair that the solution is to allow the bad weeds to grow up
alongside the wheat. When we go deeper into the allegory, it becomes even more
frustrating. Why should evildoers be allowed to grow up in the midst of good
people? Shouldn’t they be cut down before they are able to do any further
damage? It would be as if the police chief gave the order not to arrest anyone
for crimes and instead said “we’ll sort it out later.” It doesn’t seem fair
that evil is allowed to coexist with good.
Jesus
often taught through parables, and some say that if you want to know what the
meaning of the parable is, search until you find an answer that absolutely
shocks you, and then you’ve probably got it. Jesus wasn’t telling these stories
to entertain the crowds, but instead he was trying to help them to understand what
the Kingdom of God is all about. This particular parable shocks us because the
farmer doesn’t get angry, he doesn’t get revenge, and he doesn’t waste his
crops in trying to eliminate the weeds. His response is the shocker. And though
it is a surprising response, the even more astounding and challenging aspect of
this parable is that if we are seeking to be citizens of God’s Kingdom, then
Jesus is calling us to respond in the same way as the farmer.
If
someone, knowingly and maliciously, did harm to you or your house, what would
you do? I’d call the police. I don’t have a lawyer, but I’d get one. I would
want swift and decisive justice. But the farmer here seems to be completely
disinterested in solving the crime. He doesn’t try to figure out which enemy
did the evil. He doesn’t order his slaves to go search people’s houses looking
for seeds of tare that would be the incriminating evidence. He doesn’t worry
about why someone hated him so much that they would do this, knowing that
anyone that would act in such an evil way clearly isn’t being rationale. He
simply lets it go. And as unfair as this situation is, his response is all the
more shocking.
When
the farmer says “let them both grow together until the harvest” the word used
for “let” is very telling. The word is aphete
in Greek, which is used is several other situations, but one interesting place
in particular. Aphete is translated as
forgive in Matthew 6 – “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against
us.” This parable is an object lesson on the Lord’s Prayer. What does it mean
to forgive? The Greek word literally means to “forgive, let go, pardon.” But
Jesus, sensing that all of us disciples would struggle with knowing what
exactly it means to forgive, gives us this lesson. Martin Luther King certainly
demonstrated this and he once said that “God’s purpose is not wrathful
judgment. God’s purpose is redemption, and the road to redemption is by way of
reconciliation. Only in that way will the world finally be saved.” Even though
it’s not fair, the farmer shocks us by forgiving.
The
slaves seem to be more riled up than the farmer about this crime. They are
bloodthirsty and they want justice. They’re ready to rip out the weeds, along
with the wheat. But his instructions come – “at harvest time I will tell the
reapers, ‘Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but
gather the wheat into my barn.’” The slaves, who presumably tended the fields,
are not going to be the ones to do the reaping. Justice is not theirs to
execute. The parable is reminding us to know our role. But how often do we
fight battles that are not ours? Now standing up for others is a good thing to
do, but this parable invites us to consider why we are doing so. Is it because
we firmly believe in the cause? Do we just enjoy a good fight? Or do we just
happen to hate the same enemy and we’ll take any chance we get to attack them?
Politicians, especially, would do well to consider this aspect of the parable.
And
the farmer does not make himself the judge. I think we do this parable a
disservice when we read it as “some people are weeds and some people are wheat.
And, of course, I’m wheat.” This parable is not told to give us the lens of
judging people. Instead, in each of us, there exists wheat and the tare. The
sermon I preached two weeks ago dealt with sin, so if you’re wondering where
the tare in your life is, that might be a good place to start.
The farmer, who we might easily identify as God, seems to be more interested in growing and cultivating than weeding or separating. There is a story about a man who lives alone on a deserted island. One day, someone else comes to the island and the man gives him a tour. The new arrival notices a building “what’s that?” The resident says “That is my church.” The visitor then asks “and how about that other building right next to it.” He replies “Oh, that’s the church I wouldn’t be caught dead in.” It is a sad commentary on the state of Christianity today. If you ask Christians who their enemy is, the conservatives will say “liberals” and liberals will say “conservatives.” But we would do well to read this as a parable for Christian unity. It is not ours to judge and separate, and the farmer doesn’t seem to be interested in doing so either.
The farmer, who we might easily identify as God, seems to be more interested in growing and cultivating than weeding or separating. There is a story about a man who lives alone on a deserted island. One day, someone else comes to the island and the man gives him a tour. The new arrival notices a building “what’s that?” The resident says “That is my church.” The visitor then asks “and how about that other building right next to it.” He replies “Oh, that’s the church I wouldn’t be caught dead in.” It is a sad commentary on the state of Christianity today. If you ask Christians who their enemy is, the conservatives will say “liberals” and liberals will say “conservatives.” But we would do well to read this as a parable for Christian unity. It is not ours to judge and separate, and the farmer doesn’t seem to be interested in doing so either.
The
farmer doesn’t judge, and so he doesn’t rush off to a quick decision. He doesn’t
hastily try to undo the situation and damage his crop in the process. Instead,
he shows patience. And I would suggest that his patience is the most shocking
part of this parable, so perhaps what Jesus is trying to say about the Kingdom
through this parable is that as we pray that it might come on earth as in
heaven, that we practice patience.
Now,
patience is not what you do when you’re waiting for the doctor to call you back
with test results. It is not what you do in traffic. Sometimes when people need
to deal with a tough situation they say that they are being patient and are “waiting
for the right moment.” That’s not patience, it’s cowardice. Instead, patience
is about not acting when we could. The farmer could have acted, but was wise to
wait until harvest time. He didn’t know that things would turn out okay in the
end, but he knew that acting prematurely would have only made the situation
worse. Patience is knowing that God is in control, and in the language of this
parable, it is about letting God decide when the harvest comes and not trying
to hasten it.
In patience, we leave room for growth. In a
metaphorical way, weeds may turn to wheat. Until the harvest comes, it is
nearly impossible to discern the wheat from the weeds and the tare, so we do
well to not to make decisions before all the facts are in. We can never know
what miracles the grace of God might accomplish through patience. As theologian
Karl Barth said, “[God’s patience] is [a] purposeful concession of space and
time, that [God] expectantly gives opportunity to another.” Patience leaves the
door open for God to act. But when we act before time is up, we do everyone a
disservice. As an example, a recent study
found that 4% of capital punishment sentences are wrongful convictions,[1] which
means that of the nearly 3,000 inmates on death row right now, 120 are not guilty.
Our lack of patience can be killer.
In
today’s reading from Romans, St. Paul talks about patience, saying “But if we
hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” The word he uses
has a connotation of expectant and hopeful waiting. He says that the whole
Creation groans in labor for justice and reconciliation, waiting for the birth of
God’s reign. And he writes “you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall
back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, ‘Abba!
Father!’ it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are
children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with
Christ.” “Heirs with Christ.” This is a big deal. It’s not that we are
subordinate to Christ, but co-heirs with him. His Kingdom will ours, and his
ministry is ours. So this is not an idle patience. We are not sitting our
hands, waiting for God to swoop in at the harvest time and sort things out. No,
we have been adopted by God and made heirs with the Messiah. So as we wait, the
work of Jesus is ours to follow.
We
are not called to isolate ourselves from the world. When St. Augustine wrote
about the City of God and the City of Man, he did not encourage followers of
Jesus to rebel against the world, but instead realized that the two cities are intertwined.
The solution is not to give up, but it is to endure and to groan in those labor
pains with all of Creation as we await the consummation of God’s Kingdom.
And
finally, in this patience, we are not alone. Psalm 139 proclaims “Where can I
go then from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I climb up to
heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. If I
take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even
there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast.” As we wait, God
is with us.
It
is a truth that Jacob came to learn as well. He had just cheated his brother,
Esau, out of his birthright and was now a man on the run. He was far from home,
and thought that he was in a God-forsaken place. Even if he thought that things
might work out in the end, even if he was trying to be patient, he was alone,
or so he thought. That night he had a dream and awakens to say “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know
it!” If you’re on the run, if you’re in despair, if you don’t know if you can
endure one more day, know this: you are not alone. The Lord God is with you. As
I’ve said many times before, what God gives us is maximum support with minimum protection.
As you practice patience, God might not solve all the problems for you or make
the day of harvest come any sooner, but you will not be alone, and you will not
be expected to carry the weight of patient and hopeful waiting on your own.
Yes,
putting up with weeds is annoying and not fair, but Jesus gives us this parable
about the Kingdom of God, showing us in the farmer that grace comes through
patience.
