Weeds
Let's talk about weeds. Weeds. I don't mean the hit series on Showtime. That Weeds is about a suburban widow and mom who sells marijuana to her upscale neighbors to stay afloat financially, to keep her house, to feed her kids. Sorry, we won't be talking about that Weeds. Let's talk about plain old, everyday weeds.
Doug Larson defines a weed as "a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows." Most everyone else defines a weed simply as "a plant growing where you don't want it".
I learned about weeds the hard way. Many of you know that I lived for quite a few years in New York City. New York has the glorious Central Park, Battery Park, Bryant Park and other large and small, vest-pocket parks tucked between buildings, providing green serenity among the acres of concrete and stone. A city dweller can enjoy the greenery without knowing much about it. That was my story.
When I moved from New York to Chicago, a new friend offered me the chance to work on the plants along the entryway of her suburban home. This was a pretty exotic idea to me, and I was happy to pitch in, touching earth I hadn't touched in years. She left me to work in peace, listening to the birds and smelling the good earth smells.
When my friend came back, she saw that I had carefully removed her plants and fluffed the earth around the weeds so they would be well aerated. The weeds looked much more beautiful to me at that time of year than the plants did, so there the plants were, limply lying in a heap, leaving a spacious area for the weeds. How was I to know?
In today's Gospel, Jesus tackles the universal dilemma of weeds. He tells about a grower who sows his wheat seeds and plows them into the ground as if his life depends on the result. We can imagine that his fields are clear, that his slaves have prepared the fields by removing every weed and rock in sight. Later, the slaves are horrified to see that the newly sprouting seedlings are crowded by weeds, weeds they worry will strangle the young wheat, preventing those finely braided heads to come to maturity. They want to take immediate action.
Oh, if my Illinois friend had just had this grower's insight! Instead of letting me run rampant, as she did, the grower wisely stops the slaves. The seedlings are fragile and it's difficult to differentiate seedlings from weeds. The slaves are not in a position to make that distinction. Well-intended mistakes could be the ruin of the crop. The grower leaves weeds and wheat to grow together. The decision will be made an a more opportune time.
When the disciples have Jesus explain the parable, its very clear that the opportune time will be "the end of this age." Many parables in Matthew are about the fulfillment of the Kingdom of God. I suppose that is why I tend to hear this parable as a heavy-handed warning about salvation and damnation, about my personal salvation or damnation; about your personal salvation or damnation. This is a scary parable. The one thing that gives me hope is that, despite my lack of gardening skills, I am very sure that I am among the wheat, not the weeds. As an observant Christian who works to live the Gospels each day and to love Jesus in other people even when it is hard, I feel pretty confident about this, maybe even smug. I'm one of the good people, right? I'll be in the barn, not in the fire, right?
But what if this parable is not about me? What if it is not about you? What if it is not about our individual judgments? What if it is not about the who at all – the you, the me, the them – what if it is, instead, about the where? What if it is about the kingdom of heaven? The parable begins with the kingdom of heaven. What if it is telling us about living in the kingdom that is near, the kingdom that is now?
This parable guided Matthew's community to live in the kingdom that is now. People were debating how to keep their group pure, untouched by evil influences. How could they keep the Pharisees from soiling their community? How would they pluck out those purer than pure Essenes and toss them away? How would they keep the Gentiles separate? How can they be sure that their community, their common life in the kingdom of God, is just for themselves? The parable has one message: what looks like weeds to you may not be weeds at all. Leave both weeds and wheat to grow, live in Christ, and leave the judgments to God.
Our world is considerably more complex than was that of Matthew's community. We are in a decidedly secular environment. We struggle with the hardships of our lives: concerns about medical coverage, paying bills, providing the best we can for our kids or our parents, or both. We wind up in competitions at work that we may not have asked for but are judged by just the same. We're surrounded by people – even in our own church – who have widely differing viewpoints. There are people whose core values appall us. There are situations that make us question our own core values. Can this parable guide us to live in the kingdom that is now?
When was the last time you had a really good resentment? Think about it for a minute. Somebody at work got an award that anyone else, anyone, deserved more than the winner did. Your mother called and praised your brother at your expense, again. Your neighbors are playing music at top volume, again. Your children promise to come for the weekend, and fail to show up, and you stay up waiting until 1 AM and visualize them on the side of the highway. They call the next day to tell you they decided to go to a movie. What is wrong with these people? They are weeds. They are appearing where we do not want them. They are in our way. They are displeasing us. They are weeds.
Or so it seems when we hold the judgment-making to ourselves. This is tough, but we need to hand that judgment call to someone else. It is not our call. And when it is time for God to make that call, and make two piles of greenery showing who God thinks is wheat and who a weed, we can expect to be surprised, amazed, shocked, and humbled.
After living in Chicago for about five years, I finally had a plot of ground to call my own. There was a towering locust tree in my little yard, and it constantly dropped little narrow leaves that choked out everything, ironically, but a wide assortment of weeds. By now I could tell the difference, and I spent most of every weekend removing weeds from this small space. I saw a jogger go by every day as I worked. Finally one day, he stopped and said, "I have an idea for you. Why don't you put up some little Latin botanical labels all over here? If it looks official, people will think you planted all of those things on purpose." I have to say, I liked his idea a lot. It allowed me to live peacefully with my weeds.