[Jesus] put before [the crowd] another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field, but while everybody was asleep an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No, for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest, and 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.’ ”
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!
My sermon from the 8th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (July 19, 2026) on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.
So one of the most common themes we see in superhero stories is the double life they lead. They, on one hand, can throw an asteroid into the sun but can’t fight back when the school bully tries to take their lunch money. The Superman films from the 1970s were very good at showcasing these moments in a rather funny way. Lois Lane, for example, once went to a gym to work out and Clarke Kent – aka Superman – went with her. A few gym rats tried to impress her by showing how strong they were while Clarke acted like he couldn’t lift a dumbbell. However, when Ms. Lane wasn’t looking, Superman tossed a bar covered in weights onto the tough guy who couldn’t believe what happened. The most common reason why heroes pretended to be something they weren’t was as a way to keep their families and friends safe. If villains knew where Ms. Marvel went to school, they could harm her classmates at Coles Academy in Jersey City. Those who were a bit more visible like the Fantastic Four or Black Panther used their wealth and power to shield those they were closest too. Yet every hero wrestled with what it means to be human when they couldn’t turn off their powers. Superheroes live a double life stopping Thanos from destroying the universe while making sure they pay their rent on time. a kind of double life that was always complicated. And I wonder if today’s words from the gospel according to Matthew might show us the kind of double life we live too.
Now whenever we listen to one of the stories Jesus told, we shouldn’t immediately try to solve it. Jesus is, I think, inviting us to sit with his words as a way to see God more clearly. It’s why, I think, Jesus often used vivid images from nature and agriculture as a way to illustrate how God’s kingdom doesn’t operate like the kingdoms we work so hard to build and maintain. He wants us to step into his words; sit in a field full of wheat and weeds; and notice all the amber waves of grain. However, the kind of wheat Jesus was describing doesn’t match the same kind of wheat we use today. 2000 years ago, wheat stalks in the ancient Near East were 50% taller with tough husks surrounding each grain. When the stalks were disturbed, the husks would fall easily since that’s how the plant – in the wild – liked to spread. The wheat in Jesus’ day was taller, more fragile, and way harder to turn into flour. And when a field was weeded or harvested, a lot of the good stuff was harmed in the process. Weeds, of course, are always a problem and we’d love to dig them out before they interfere with the wheat’s chance to grow. But just like the wheat in Jesus’ day wasn’t the same kind of wheat we see today, it’s possible the weed was different too. The weed could have been a kind that wrapped itself around each stalk, making it impossible to remove without destroying the wheat. Or the weed Jesus was pointing to was the kind that looked like wheat until it was fully grown. If we had the choice, we’d want a field where wheat and weed could be easily identified and separated. We’d desire – or seek out – a kind of checklist showing all the weeds and the wheat at every part of its growing journey. Maximizing the amount of wheat is, after all, what a farmer is supposed to do. Yet the field Jesus described was one where removing any of the bad before the end would also end up destroying what is good before it even had a chance to grow.
And that, of course, feels a bit frustrating. Every field – the literal ones we sow and the metaphorical ones that represent ourselves, our lives, and our communities – are places where we want what is good and what is bad to be easily discerned. We know that life is often full of weeds and we are sometimes the people who plant them. Yet we hope, pray, and believe that at the end of the day, it’s the wheat that defines our lives. When the wheat and weeds are easy to see, life might be difficult but it still feels like something we can live through. But when our ability to distinguish between wheat and weeds breaks down, anxiety grows. We know that there is no perfect field and it’s reasonable, as well as very human, to know we won’t get everything right. But I find it interesting that when Jesus was asked to interpret his own story, he didn’t focus on the field. He doesn’t define people, communities, or life as the sum of its parts. Rather, it’s wheat – and wheat alone – that has an eternal future with God. I’ll admit that word is a bit hard to hold since that isn’t how we define ourselves. We are – and always assume – we should be valued by the sum of our story, history, abilities, and experiences. We see ourselves less as wheat and weed and more like a bundle – all mixed up while doing our best to be who we can be in a world that is full of incredible highs and heartbreaking lows. And while our culture, our world, and even the church has surrounded us with a deep list of what we can think, say, and do to become wheat, we’re never simply that one thing. We are complicated and we live a double kind of life where we do what we should and what we shouldn’t all at the same time. The field or a bundle or something mixed up but trying its best is the image we hold for ourselves. But wheat only being wheat and weeds only being weeds is the kind of binary distinction we wield against others but don’t imagine for ourselves.
I wonder, though, if the rush to make Jesus’ metaphor into something it isn’t might cause us to miss the promise Jesus declared. Even though there are weeds in the field, Jesus doesn’t let the wheat be trampled. Rather, it grows because love, grace, compassion, and hope is something our lives – and our world – always needs. Even though our ability to discern what is a weed and what is wheat is often disrupted by all the lists we create that say success, worthiness, and goodness looks a certain, God’s hasn’t. And a God willing to laugh, cry, and bleed when cut; a God willing to listen, to mourn, to recognize what we think is worthy of love and set a table for those we push aside instead – is a God who won’t let our doubled lives be the limit of what life can be. God’s promises are never partial nor are they designed to only speak into parts of our lives. Rather, the life we live is met by the promise God made in baptism and through faith that you are, regardless of the weeds you’ve planted, also wheat. This is different from saying we’re no longer weed-like since we’re still going to act as if compassion, mercy, and love is always a limited resource. Rather, when God named you beloved, you were granted a new identity as the hands and feet of the One who had nails driven into them for the benefit of all. The doubled life we lead is not merely trying to turn weeds into wheat by finding a special checklist of what is holy and true. It is, rather, about trusting you don’t have to be the only hero of your story since Jesus’ promise is always more than enough. The God who loves you, the God who is with you, and the God who was willing to experience not only the wheat and weeds of life but how we can be that wheat and weed too – knows you are already worthy of the promise God has made to you. And if Jesus has been a Christ to us – then the least we can do is embrace the wheat we are by being a Christ – with welcome, compassion, mercy, hope, and love – to others too.
Amen.