Growing Wheat
There is something in us that longs to pull weeds.
We see injustice and want it gone. We see cruelty and want it stopped. We see division, hatred, violence, and deception, and every fiber of our being wants to separate good from evil as quickly as possible. It is a holy instinct in many ways. We long for God's kingdom to come.
Yet in this Sunday's Gospel, Jesus tells a story that unsettles our desire for quick certainty.
A farmer sows good seed in his field. While everyone is asleep, an enemy scatters weeds among the wheat. When the plants begin to grow, the servants notice the problem and ask what most of us would ask: "Shall we go and gather the weeds?"
The master's answer is surprising.
"No. In gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both grow together until the harvest."
To modern ears, this can sound passive, as though Jesus is asking us to ignore evil. He is doing something far more profound.
Jesus acknowledges that evil is real. Someone intentionally sowed destruction into a good field. Yet he also recognizes something we often forget. Human beings are not nearly as skilled at separating wheat from weeds as we imagine ourselves to be.
In the ancient world, the weed Jesus describes looked almost identical to wheat while it was growing. Their roots intertwined beneath the soil. Pull one too early, and you risk destroying the very thing you hoped to protect.
Perhaps that is why Jesus consistently calls us toward humility before he calls us toward certainty.
History offers countless examples of people convinced they knew exactly who the "weeds" were. Wars have been fought, neighbors rejected, entire communities excluded, all in the name of protecting the field. Again and again, innocent lives have been damaged by people who believed they were doing God's work.
Jesus invites us onto another path.
He asks us to trust that God sees more clearly than we do.
This does not mean we stop working for justice. Quite the opposite. We continue feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, comforting the grieving, standing with the oppressed, speaking truth to power, and planting seeds of compassion wherever we find ourselves.
Our energy belongs in growing wheat.
God's wisdom belongs to the harvest.
There is deep freedom in that distinction. It releases us from carrying a burden that was never ours to bear. We are disciples, not judges. Gardeners, not harvesters.
Perhaps the invitation this week is beautifully simple.
Instead of asking, "Who are the weeds?" we might ask, "What kind of fruit is God growing in me?"
May our lives bear witness to love that is patient, hope that is steadfast, mercy that refuses to give up, and faith that trusts God to finish the work God has begun.
Faithfully in Christ,
Mo. Allison+
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