The Wheat and the Weeds

By Mary Davis, Seminarian Intern

Matthew 13:24-30; 36-43

There really ought to be an ecclesiastical law that says, ‘thou shall not read scriptures which reference “weeping and gnashing of teeth” on Baptism Sundays!’ And yet, this reading from Matthew is our appointed Gospel lesson for today, and I’ve wrestled with it a great deal, knowing that today is Will’s and Lilyanna’s baptism day. The author of Matthew uses this, his favorite expression of judgment and punishment - “weeping and gnashing of teeth” - no fewer than 6 times in his book, and this particular reference, as we heard this morning, is included inside the explanation for the parable of the wheat and weeds.

Jesus knew a little something about wheat and weeds, and the particular weeds Jesus was speaking about in this parable, were not dissimilar to the weeds growing up in my own yard, fed by water, sunlight and soil, same as the healthy seeded grass. They exist side by side and at times compete for space. Truth is, evil exists and just as there are individuals, institutions and establishments that feed and sustain us just like wheat, and there are also individuals, institutions and establishments that drain the life out of us just like weeds.

Our human inclination is to sort and categorize people, just as the slaves in Jesus’ story wanted to gather up the weeds and pluck them out. Although I do not know much, if anything, about the organic nature of wheat and weeds, (and if I did, I probably would not be standing here right now), I do know a little something about wheat and weeds in the figurative sense. I grew up in Texas, well, actually, I moved to Texas from the coal-mining hills of Kentucky when I was 9 years old. And my transition to life in Texas was not an easy one. There was much to learn, and in fact Texas offered me an entirely new culture and they spoke a different language. I learned that you either wore the burnt orange of the Texas Longhorns, or you were a die-hard “gig ‘em” Aggie fan. I learned that you were either “From” Texas (meaning, you were born there) or you were not. And I learned that you were either a bible-believing Christian from a so-called “Bible Church”, or you were not. Even though I converted into a Longhorn fan, most of the time, I fell into the “not” categories in Texas – I was not “From” Texas, born and bred there, and I was not was I from a ‘true’ Bible church, but instead I was from a strange Protestant liturgical and sacramental church, the Episcopal Church. I was an outsider, and I must say, it was not uncommon for me to be lumped into the category of weeds or to hear references to “weeping and gnashing of teeth” applied to outsiders such as me.

Now, in order to understand this story further and on a deeper level, apart from the experience of wheat and weeds, we also have to look closer into the world of the parable, which is the container, the structural Tupperware, if you will, of the wheat and weeds. To appreciate what a parable is, first of all, let’s look at what a parable is not. A parable is the opposite of a myth. A myth serves to resolve contradiction and paradox, and assumes that reconciliation is not only a possibility, but a reality. [1] In this summer season full with vacations and travel, the myth of Disneyworld, comes to my mind. I’ve been there a couple of times with my family and noticed that there’s no doubt or subtlety to the mythic spirituality at Disneyworld which is made complete each night with a Jiminy Cricket led meditation of fireworks and the assurance that indeed “all of your dreams will come true.”

Parable, on the other hand, is not about covering up contradictions or blemishes or paradoxes, but instead it is all about those contradictions. For example, Jesus tells parables about a world where the “first will be last” and the “meek will inherit the earth,” as well as where, as today’s text reads, “an enemy [will] sow weeds among the wheat.” We live in a parabolic world where yes, wheat and weeds do exist side by side, though we crave and hope for a mythic world where neighbors live in peace and treat each other with respect.

Contextually, when Matthew’s Gospel was written, around 85 AD, the tensions between the Jewish establishment and the newly emerging Christian Church were particularly bitter, and Matthew’s harsh words for those who questioned Jesus’ legitimacy and wisdom came out of that parabolic community existence. Clearly, in that time, the notion of community was a parable, a contradiction and competition between wheat and weeds, and I’d like to suggest that today, we too experience the same thing, community as a parable in action.

So what does this mean, a “parable of community?” I first tripped over this idea while doing some background reading in anticipation of my upcoming 2 week pilgrimage to Taize, France. I am heading to Taize this Thursday, which is an ecumenical religious community 300 miles south west of Paris. It was founded in 1940 by a Swiss Protestant by the name of Roger Schutz, or Brother Roger, as he was known. The monastic life at Taize includes Catholic, Lutheran and Anglican members, and their meditative worship style is based on the notions of forgiveness, reconciliation and God’s presence. These primary ‘sources’ or monastic rules – which are what life at Taize is built around - structure everything the brothers do at Taize and as well as in their missions around the world. But Taize is not an example of a mythic community, isolated from the world in some picture perfect holy existence, “where all your dreams come true” – the Brothers there live the life of the parable, just like you and I do. They live out the Henri Nouwen’s definition of community – “As soon as you have community, you have a problem. . . ‘Community is the place where the person you least want to live with always lives.’” [2] And, when my pilgrimage leader once asked one of the Taize brothers how it is possible for all of the brothers at Taize to live in community, one of the brothers responded with a wise smile, “If we didn’t have the Prayer three times a day, we would kill each other.” [3] To live in community means that we are dependent on the very thing that causes us stress, the wheat and the weeds together. Since no one is a Christian alone, this is the parable of community.

Today’s baptismal celebration fits right in with today’s Gospel parable, because not only does this ritual mark these children as “Christ’s own forever”, a promise of God’s never-ending presence, and initiate them into both the St. George’s and the worldwide Christian community of faith. Baptism also marks Will and Lilyanna with the sign of the cross – which is a sign of contradiction that reminds us that we must die to live - and that even as much as we love and protect our children, their growth and development - physically, emotionally and spiritually - involves letting go.

Our wider Christian community is certainly not immune from the parabolic nature of life either. We need not look any further than our own Episcopal Church and our anticipation of The Lambeth Conference as on-going evidence of this. Our communion is united by our marks in baptism as “Christ’s own forever” and yet, we are divided by human judgment and an almost innate drive to separate the wheat from the weeds. Reading a quote this week by Bishop Robinson gave me some honest and true perspective, and some hope. He said, “I believe in my heart that God’s love is not only inclusive, but also extravagant” and it seems to me that only a God-given extravagant love can create communal unity; unity as a divine gift, not a human creation.

So, the beauty of reading this Gospel lesson today, on this baptism day, is that it is symbolic of our lives as a parable. We live the tensions and questions of our individual lives inside community, and within our community exists yet another set of tensions and questions. Our lives in community mean that on some days we are like the weeds in the garden – masquerading as wheat and drawing life from others – while still, on other days, we are the ones who support and sustain others in our community. Judgment should not come from our human desire to categorize and exclude, but only through God’s extravagant love, which can and will feed us completely and eternally, turning our communities into places of forgiveness, reconciliation, and God’s presence.

Amen.

[1] Anderson, Herbert and Edward Foley. Mighty Stories, Dangerous Rituals (John Wiley and Sons: San Francisco), 1988, pp. ix-xv.
[2] Nouwen, Henri J.M. with Michael J. Christensen and Rebecca J. Laird, Spiritual Direction:Wisdom for the Long Walk of Faith (San Francisco: Harper Publishers) 2006, p. 113.
[3] Rev. Jeff Markay, email correspondence, 7.10.08.

© 2008 Mary Davis