First Lutheran Church

July 23, 2023 + Pentecost 8A

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 + [Jesus] put before [the crowds] 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.’ ” …

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!”

“The Parable of the Wheat and Tares”

Pastor Greg Ronning

Last Sunday we heard the “Parable of the Sower.”  A story about sowing the seeds of the Gospel on a hard path, on rocky soil, in the midst of thorns, and finally good soil.  Next Sunday we will hear a series of parables about the Kingdom of Heaven, including the “Parable of the Mustard Seed,” the smallest of seeds which grows into the greatest of shrubs providing a place for the birds to build their nests.  This Sunday we hear the “Parable of the Wheat and Tares,” a story about a field filled with both good seeds and bad seeds, wheat and weeds, and the dilemma of what to do about it.  A story that reminds me of my garden at home, - more on that later!

So, what’s this parable all about? Let’s begin with an overview of the story.  The context of the parable is a “field” in which a farmer sowed good seed, but an enemy snuck in and sowed bad seed.  And suddenly the field contains both “Wheat” and “Tares” or “weeds.”

“And that’s just the way it is.”  This parable is not about identifying the “enemy,” it does not invite us into endless speculation regarding the problem of evil in our world, the parable is not “all about” figuring out what happened or why.  No, it just describes the field.  And it’s a familiar field, farmers know that, we know that, - weeds just happen, they did back then and they continue to do so now.  That’s life.  Life is filled with both good and bad things.  And we can decide to spend lots of time wondering and worrying “why,” or we can figure out what to do, how to live, how to be faithful, how to move forward, in the midst of the situation, the human condition.  The parable reminds us that life is complicated, and that life is hard.  Wheat and Tares!

So how do we respond?  This seems to be the real question our parable is asking us to consider!  The slaves, the servants, anxiously react to the weeds.  They want to act immediately, they want to get in there and aggressively pull them all out, completely rid the field of any and all weeds!  They’re afraid that if they don’t do something urgently and decisively things will get out of hand, and they will lose control.  And I can relate to their sense of panic, their concern to rid the field of evil. 

However, the Master knows better than to simply re-act to the problem, to re-act out of fear, to re-act without taking time to reflect. He knows there is no quick fix to the problem, that it’s not going to be that easy.  His first concern is not the weeds - but the wheat.  In the parable he mentions the problem of tangled roots; he probably also knows that wheat and tares, as they begin to grow, - look very much alike.  He knows that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between a wheat and a tare, and that his overzealous servants might end up mistakenly tearing out some of the wheat and will probably miss some of the tares.   And I imagine he also sees his fields being trampled in the process.  The wise Master is not quick to act, but rather takes some time consider the situation, to look at it from different angles.

At this point it’s probably not hard for us to find ourselves in the story, to see ourselves in the reactionary attitudes and plans of the servants, to see ourselves caught up in the false constructs of fear.  How often have we wanted to begin to weed out the bad seeds in the places where we live and work?  How often have we wanted to decide who’s in and who’s out?  How often have we been so certain about our ability to identify the wheat from the tares, to judge the good and the bad?  And how often have we done great harm in the process of pursuing what seemed to be a righteous goal?  How often have we misjudged “fledgling wheat” that at one point in its life looked like a “wayward tare?”    How often have we re-acted too quickly, not taking the time to reflect and consider, to listen and pray?  How often have we been “the fools” who “rush in,” too quick and too eager to follow the voice of fear, the voice of scarcity, the voice of the enemy?  How often has our quick trigger kept us from hearing the voice of wisdom, the voice of love, the voice of God?

Earlier this year I planted a small garden in my backyard.  And I soon discovered that I was not a very good gardener.  I prepared the soil, and then planted a variety of seeds.  I planted some here and some there, watered them, and then I waited.  Soon, the seeds began to sprout, and shoots came up out of the earth.  I was excited.  And then Melissa asked me, - what was what?  And I didn’t remember what I planted, and where I planted.  I did not label my rows; I didn’t even keep the seed packets.  I had no idea - what was what!  Over the next few weeks, we played a guessing game.  Is that broccoli?  Did I plant broccoli?  Is that cauliflower?  I didn’t plant cauliflower, but it kind of looks like this picture of cauliflower.  Is that a weed or is that a plant that will become a vegetable?  The only thing I knew for sure was the carrots, - no mistaking carrot tops!   The whole garden was a hot mess. On multiple occasions I wanted to clean things up, thin things out, do some weeding, but once again I didn’t know, I had no idea – what was what.  Eventually the plants began to bear fruit, and we figured it out.  But along the way, I did do some weeding, and I’m not sure what I pulled out.  Wheat or Tares?

So it is that the heart of this parable is the Master’s wise response to his servants, “Let them both grow together until the harvest.”  The Master knows that in the end, that given some time, the wheat and the tares will be clearly revealed for what they are, and thus finally easily separated.

In this parable Jesus reminds that we are not called to execute judgment, but instead we are called only to love.  We are called to water, to nurture, and to care for all those entrusted to us.  We are not to be goaded into a thoughtless and unjust reaction.  We are not to trust in our inadequate ability to decide who’s right and who’s wrong, who is being honest and who is being disingenuous, who is in and who is out. I trust that will happen in good time, and with God’s amazing grace and perfect love, at the harvest. A harvest marked by transformation, a surprising transformation, by the one who is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end, - the one who will reconcile all things, the one who will bring all things to completion, the one who will bring all things together.  In the meantime, we are set free to simply trust in the goodness of God, to be hopeful, to be surprised by that wheat that once looked like a tare, to be - but gracious servants to all.  

Which brings me to my last thought.  As I ponder today’s scripture reading, I can’t help but wonder, or worry, “Am I ‘wheat’ or am I a ‘weed?’”  There are times when I feel like “wheat,” when I feel like I’m bearing fruit, the grain of the kingdom; and then there are times when I feel like I’m a “tare,” a “weed,” an imposter, - only hiding amongst the wheat, bearing no fruit, just taking up space.  I imagine that we all have that inner conversation from time to time.  I imagine that we all - not only judge others, but we also judge ourselves, and perhaps even more harshly than we judge others. 

Martin Luther reminded us in his teachings, "Simul justus et peccator,” that we are simultaneously both sinners and saints.  So it is that we are not the “wheat,” and we are not the “tares,” but rather, perhaps, in this parable we are more like “the field” itself, - a field that has some wheat and has some tares. 

We are a field that is in process, yet thankfully a field that is being cared for by a wise master.  One who is not going to tear us apart and trample over us in order to make us good. One who is not going to judge us too quickly, but rather one who will be gently and patiently working with us, one who will take all the time that is needed.  One who farms from a place of hope and love and not from a place of judgment and fear, gracefully tending to us, tilling the soil within us, and surely bringing us to that day when in the fullness of God’s kingdom; we are all finally made whole, made complete, healed, transformed, and brought into the harvest, the very fullness of God.  

Let those who have ears, hear!  Amen

Sermon on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

I love a personality test.

Whether it’s the Myers-Briggs or the Enneagram or a ridiculous Buzzfeed quiz that tells you what Disney princess you are, sign me up!

So, it’s easy for me to look at the parable of the sower and ask, “which part of the parable am I?”

Am I like the seed that fell on the path? Does my lack of understanding allow the seed of faith to be snatched up by birds?

Am I rocky ground? Is my faith enthusiastic but lacking in depth?

Or am I full of the thorns of worry and greed that choke the life out of my faith?

Or am I good soil that bears fruit? And if so, am I bearing a yield of thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold?

As much as I normally like to puzzle over what personality type I am, this parable has caused me a lot of anxiety over the years. I’ve worried that my faith wasn’t genuine or deep or bearing enough fruit. It’s easy to use this parable as a litmus test to see if one’s faith measures up.

On the other hand, it’s also easy to try and type other people.

That person who just comes to church because their family does, maybe that person is like the seed on the path and just doesn’t get it.

Or maybe that other person who stopped coming to church after something difficult happened, maybe they’re like the rocky ground and expected things to be easy if they believed in God.

Or all of the so-called “nones,” people who report that they have no religious affiliation—maybe they’re like the seeds among the thorns, so caught up in worldly pursuits that they have no time for God.

And that person over there who attends every Bible study and never stops talking about God, that person must be good soil.

But, earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus reminds us, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.” Typing other people based on the parable of the sower might not be the best way to keep from judging other people.

Besides, the parable of the sower is not a personality test. It wasn’t a tool developed by psychologists or even internet content creators looking for more hits on their website. It’s a parable—a story that tells us something about God and the world we live in.

When trying to understand something in the Bible, it’s always good to look at the context, so let’s see what comes before and after this parable and what that tells us:

In Matthew chapter 12, Jesus has been butting heads with both the religious leaders and the crowds over doing things on the Sabbath and where Jesus’ authority comes from. Last week, we heard a frustrated Jesus scold the crowd for their contradictory attitudes toward John the Baptist and himself. Jesus essentially says, “There’s no pleasing you!” Then, he goes on to offer them instead the peace and rest that comes from following him and being part of the Beloved Community.

So, the parable of the sower could be an explanation of why different people are reacting to the good news of the Beloved Community differently. Some people are going to receive it gladly, some will receive it conditionally, and some won’t get it at all.

Then, if we look at what comes after this parable, we discover that it’s just the first in a long series of parables that Jesus tells in Matthew chapter 13, and they all touch on the Beloved Community. Most of them begin: “the kingdom of heaven is like…”, and we’ll be looking at more of them in the next few weeks.

This chapter is a collection of things Jesus has to say about the Beloved Community. And the Beloved Community is about, well, community. It’s about relationship and connection and generosity and support for one another. It’s not about whether individuals measure up to arbitrary standards. It’s not about dividing people between good soil and bad soil. All are invited. All are welcome. All are supported and celebrated.

In the parable, the sower doesn’t look at the path or the rocky ground or the thorns and say, “That’s not good soil—I’m not going to bother.” Instead, the sower throws seeds generously, abundantly, even foolishly.

There’s no sense of having to use the seeds sparingly—the sower throws the seeds all over and trusts that there will be fruit.

Jesus explains that the seeds are “the word of the kingdom.” Like the sower, Jesus is not worrying about who will hear it as good news and who will be resistant to it. He’s throwing invitations into the Beloved Community lavishly, without regard to who’s “worthy” or what “type” people might be. The invitation is as abundant as the Beloved Community itself.

If we emulate the sower, we don’t need to be concerned with what type of soil we are or others are.

When we’re worried about typing ourselves, our focus is inward. We’re riddled with anxiety about whether we’re bearing enough fruit and how deep our roots are. That’s a scarcity mindset that doesn’t leave room for the abundance of the Beloved Community.

And when we find ourselves typing others, our focus is outward, but in a way that judges others instead of embracing them. 

We’re looking at someone and deciding that they must only come to church because their family does, but we don’t know the faithful questions they’re struggling with on the inside. 

Or we notice that someone stopped going to church after a difficult situation in their life and we judge them instead of checking in to see if they need support.

Or we read about the “nones” with no religious affiliation or the “dones” who have walked away from institutional religion, and we make assumptions instead of listening to the deep hurt religion has caused them or people they love. Their integrity in taking a stand is something to be admired, not judged.

And when we’re focused on how others are measuring up, that’s usually a good sign that we’re insecure about some aspect of ourselves. A judging mindset doesn’t leave room for the generosity of the Beloved Community.

But when our focus is on the sower, we see the lavish Beloved Community at work, and we can lay down our sense of scarcity and judgment and take up a sense of abundance and generosity instead.

Not everyone is going to receive the message of the Beloved Community as good news, but the invitation is for everyone. And the sower doesn’t worry about “wasting” the invitation. There will be enough fruit for everyone.

So, let’s leave the personality tests to Buzzfeed, and let’s live abundantly and generously together in the Beloved Community.

That is good news.

First Lutheran Church

July 9, 2023 – Pentecost 6A

Romans 7:15-20, 25a -  I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. But in fact it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. … Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Matthew 11:28-30“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” 

“The Yoke of Christ”

Pastor Greg Ronning

This old heart, is tired and I don’t think I can take anymore

This old heart, is lonely, down and out on the floor

This old heart, is yours now, I surrender, open the door

I don’t understand my own actions, I don’t understand the things I do

There’s a darkness that whispers in my ear

There’s a darkness that knows all my fears

This old heart, is tired and I don’t think I can take anymore

This old heart, is lonely, down and out on the floor

This old heart, is yours now, I surrender, open the door

I used to think I didn’t need anyone, I used to think I was so strong

I was gonna climb that ladder to heaven

I was gonna rise up out of my sin

This old heart, is tired and I don’t think I can take anymore

This old heart, is lonely, down and out on the floor

This old heart, is yours now, I surrender, open the door

Oh wretched one that I am, Who will rescue me from death?

“Come to me,” I hear the voice say

“Come to me, I will show you the way.”

This old heart, is tired and I don’t think I can take anymore

This old heart, is lonely, down and out on the floor

This old heart, is yours now, I surrender, open the door

“Come to me all who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." 

For those of us with tired, lonely, - old hearts, those of us who struggle with life and faith, today’s Gospel is certainly good news – “come to me,- I will show you the way.”

This wonderful promise, spoken by Jesus, found in today’s Gospel, is in many ways a direct response to all the “angst” expressed by St. Paul in today’s epistle from the book of Romans, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate;” finally concluding, “O Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?”

I don’t know about you - but today’s scripture readings resonate deeply within me.  I can feel the struggle, the turmoil, the ethical and the spiritual “angst” in St. Paul’s words, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. ….”   And so it is that my “tired lonely old heart” longs for rest, for peace, for a “yoke” that that is “easier” and a “burden” that is “lighter” than the burdens I seem to always be carrying around with me. 

“I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”  I imagine that Paul’s confession rings true for almost all of us as we struggle with everything from the simple everyday things in life, to the more complicated things, and even those things that are more “ultimate” in nature. 

Theologian Bruce Epperly writes, “While we may not share Paul’s understanding of sin as a force that possesses us, warring in us contrary to our highest desires, - we recognize the reality of sin, embodied in the interplay of family of origin, genetics, environment, economics, gender and sexuality, and personal decision-making. The heaviness of the past, confirmed by thousands of habitual responses, can seem to overcome our best intentions.”

“We do not do what we want, but we do the very thing we hate.”  We want to eat foods that are healthier for us, but we can’t resist the easy foods that jump out at us while we are shopping.  We want to embrace a healthier lifestyle, but we can’t seem to find that thirty minutes a day for exercise.  We want to spend more time with our families, but the lure of work and other self-imposed “responsibilities”entrap us.  And our smart phones make it “too easy” to check just one more email or take that quick look at Facebook which inevitably leads to yet another hour of wandering deep into the digital world of the Internet.  We want to stay sober or virtuous, but temptation is constant and overwhelming.  We want to reach out to the poor and vulnerable, but we are afraid to give and share too much, we worry about scarcity and security. 

The list goes on and on and on.  We each have different lists, but we all seem to have that list of “things we do not want to do,” even things we “hate,”things that for many, and often complicated reasons, we cannot stop doing.  Epperly concludes, “We are a bundle of ambivalent feelings.”

Yes, St. Paul’s words, “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate;” are very familiar words that express the human condition.  And it’s frustrating, it’s exasperating, it’s aggravating, it’s annoying; and it can become depressing, debilitating, disheartening, - a heavy burden to bear.  In desperation St. Paul finally cries out, “O Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?”  And I know where he’s coming from, I know how he feels, I know what it’s like, because - I’ve been there, I am there, and unfortunately - I will be there again.  Perhaps you know that feeling too?

Thankfully Paul’s story does not end “there,” it does not end in self-pity, it does not end in hopelessness, it does not end with a broken heart - that is unable to “dance to the flute” or passionately pursue its vocation “as if it were possessed!”  No, Paul’s great “angst” is instead interrupted by a voice, a soft yet strong voice, a still small voice, a familiar voice, the voice of Christ, “Come, - come to me, - come to me and I will give you rest.”  “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

“My yoke is easy.”  At first glance Jesus’ promise of a “yoke” doesn’t sound attractive, it doesn’t sound like such a good deal.  You see, a yoke was a device primarily used to connect two beasts of burden together for the purpose of pulling a plow or a wagon.  (Not my idea of light and easy.) The yoke was a symbol of obedience and hard work.  And for many it was a symbol of slavery, - perhaps you’ve heard the phrase, “the yoke of slavery.”  So “no thanks” on the whole yoke thing, I already feel like a beast of burden, that doesn’t sound like “easy,” it doesn’t sound “light,” and it certainly does not sound like “freedom” from my struggles.

This idea of taking on a “yoke” is especially hard for those of us who have grown up in a society that emphasizes individuality, independence, - and the myth of the rugged individualist who is able to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.“I don’t need anyone,”“I am strong enough to do it all by myself.”

Yet, that’s what Jesus offers us.  So, we need to take a closer look at the invitation.  And that’s when we once again realize that Jesus is not a simplistic answer,that Jesus is not a magical answer, that Jesus is not a “personal” answer, that Jesus is not a quick fix.  No, Jesus, following Jesus, practicing the faith of Jesus, - is actually quite radical and extremely counter cultural.   It demands a surrender, in particular a surrender to the American myth of individualism, a surrender to selfish control, a surrender to isolation.  It demands a surrender “into” community, into relationship, into dependence on others, into the body of Christ – which is the yoke of Christ.  And ironically it is this kind of surrender, the willingness to be yoked in this manner, which leads us to true freedom, that peace that passes all understanding, and a place where life’s burdens are lighter.  Lighter because they are shared with each other, lighter because they are shared with Christ. 

The yoke of Jesus is an invitation to turn away from our fallen desire to be in isolation - and to put one’s “self” deeply into the family of God.  It’s an invitation to reconnect to the body of Christ, - that expression of God powerfully manifest in this world.  It’s an invitation to exchange independence for interdependence.  It’s an invitation to replace fear with grace.  It’s the invitation to place your “self” into a community that will in turn increase your faith, make you stronger, and allow you to more fully live out your great calling in life.

The simple truth is that our hearts just weren’t made to do the hard work of “life” - all alone.  Our hearts were not made out of stone but rather a tender vulnerability that needs – that demands - a deep connection.  Our hearts were not made to beat alone - but rather to beat in rhythm with others, to share the dance of life, and in doing so - to open us up to the very presence of God, which is the body of Christ.  This is the “yoke” we have been invited into, the yoke that is easier, a yoke that shares life, a yoke that, once again, ironically, makes life more abundant.

Once again Theologian Bruce Epperly, sums it up well, “Healing of mind, body, or spirit, is never an individualistic enterprise. We need a beloved community of friends and family and the unmerited grace of God. Paul cries out, “Who will save me?” And, then, responds doxologically, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” We might also add, “Thanks be to God who places us in the body of Christ and among friends and loved ones who accept and challenge us!”

So let us give thanks to God, to the God who has placed us here in this place, to the Spirit who in the waters of baptism has placed us here side by side as brothers and sisters, and to Christ who has yoked us all together.  Yoked together in order that we might know love, that we might understand grace, that we might experience healing, that we might be transformed, that we might be made strong in sharing each other’s burdens, all that we might live out our own unique calling, as individuals and communities of faith.   As I like to say - it’s always good to be with “faithful people doing faithful things.”  It makes life a little easier, it makes the burdens lighter, and the joy more complete.  Amen.