Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann
Matthew 13:24–30, 36–43
July 23, 2017
There are few things more exasperating than an underperforming sports team. When a team is supposed to be winning but continues to lose—and in the most self-destructive ways imaginable, it can drive a fan crazy. There’s nothing worse. Well, that’s not true. What’s even worse is when that losing team talks and acts like they are actually winning. Of course, everyone on the team is playing his best and doing all that he can, it’s just that they are all experiencing a long succession of remarkably bad luck. Never mind the record—the record does not reflect the true character or heart of the team. Such are the sentiments and thoughts that can accompany a losing team that thinks they are a winning team. They aren’t losers, actually—they just look like it. For fans, such thinking sounds more like empty excuses. A losing team is bad enough, a delusional losing team is even worse. Of course, delusional losers are not only found in sports. They show up all over the place. It’s the guy at work who never gets a promotion or a bonus but considers himself an invaluable asset to the company. It’s the politician in the minority camp who has no clout or leverage, but who speaks with the bravado of someone who is in charge. It’s the lobbyist for the group with no economic capital, a tiny voter base, and unpopular ideas about legislation who carries on like a winner, while everyone else knows him as nothing but an insignificant loser.
Our world is built on the premise of winners and losers. Whether it is in the arena of sports, politics, economics, manufacturing, business, warfare, romance or even religion there are winners and there are losers. For a long, long, time Christians like us enjoyed being counted among the winners. No doubt, there were some ups and downs, and Christians have had some rough moments; but, ever since Constantine threw in the towel in the 4th century and decided it was wiser to join the Christians than to fight them, Christianity has been on a nice winning streak. Until just lately, that is. The twentieth century was hard on the church, at least in the western world—especially in Europe where church attendance plummeted and the church’s relevance seemed to falter. It took a little longer, but the same sort of thing is now happening even in our own country. Serious Christians are no longer counted among those with exemplary character and important ideas and thoughts simply by virtue of their Christian commitment. In fact, Christians in this country are now facing the uncomfortable reality that not only are they no longer lauded and praised for their faith, they may actually be scorned and vilified.
Christians intent on living and preaching the full counsel of God are often seen as obscurantists and obstructionists. Portrayed as judgmental and intolerant, they are dismissed as out of touch, archaic, reactionary, and largely irrelevant. And it’s not just debatable or marginal parts of Christian teaching that cause the trouble. You don’t have to insist on a young earth to be rejected, simply assert that Jesus is the only way of salvation and you’ve earned the title of hate-monger. And it’s not just the intellectual or cultural elites who hold such negative attitudes toward believers. It is the dominant view among great swaths of ordinary Americans. In our country, today, the position that is winning is that of non-Christians who are ready to affirm multiple avenues of truth and who cherish individual identity, integrity, and expression as the highest and most sacred ideal. Divine absolutes, eternally true and springing from God’s will are rejected as passé. Today, unbelievers are calling the shots. They are the winners. At least, that’s how it looks.
By and large, the church in America has not handled her recent demotion and marginalization very well. The reactions vary, of course, but some common themes can be detected. There are the militant and combative believers who loudly declare that they are not going to go down without a fight. They are going to take on the enemy and battle with every weapon at their disposal—and even with some weapons co-opted from the other side. Others with a meeker temperament quietly mourn the loss of status and influence, and lament the decay of the society around them, but mostly feel helpless and grief-stricken; they hope that somehow their personal purity and fortitude may yet make a difference. Others can’t abide their marginalization and so look for new ways to fit-in and remain relevant—even if it means paying the price of abandoning some parts of Christian doctrine and confession. Eager to be winners again, they embrace the positions of the ones who have defeated them. And there are the new losers who will not accept their loss and begin to look more and more like deluded losers.
So, are we? Are we deluded losers—are we people who are on the outs yet who refuse to believe it, a team with a losing record that will not be admitted or acknowledged? Have we come up short in the culture wars, and yet choose not to face the hard reality of our bitter loss? Are we losers who insist on acting like winners? And, perhaps even more to the point: are we actually the losers that the world around us seems to think that we are? It’s a tough idea to swallow, isn’t it? And it’s not just hard to take from a pride or self-esteem standpoint; there are doctrinal realities at work here as well, aren’t there? I mean, if we have lost, isn’t it time to wave the white flag and come to terms with the winners? If we Christians have come up short in the battle for the culture, what does that say about our claims for the supremacy of Christ, the superiority of our doctrine, and the unsurpassable claim of the gospel? If Christ and his gospel is true, then why does the world look the way that it does? Doesn’t the whole Christian reality begin to totter and then topple into disaster and defeat, revealed as an empty dream and a sham religion once and for all?
This is precisely the point of the parable. The question we ask today about winners and losers is essentially the same question that was asked by the slaves of the landowner who had planted his field of wheat only to see it produce a crop of embarrassing weeds. The slaves were stunned at the development. They knew the character and the capacity of their master. What he did was always done right and with great results. The landowner planted good seed, so when the shoots finally pushed out their fruit, the slaves were shocked. Weeds? What in the world were they doing in the field? It made no sense. How could it be? This is actually our question too, isn’t it? If Jesus is the Son of God, and if he has conquered death and Satan, and broken the power of sin—and we know that all of these things are certainly true—then what’s wrong with the world? Why is it still a mess? Why is it jammed with unbelievers and people who revel in sin and who eagerly celebrate the ways of wickedness? Why is the world chock full of people who have no use for God’s truth and who seem to think that all the truth they need is lurking in their own foolish hearts or guts? If Jesus is Lord, why does it look like Satan is running the show? Why is the world full of weeds? That’s the driving question of the parable.
Jesus provides the answer. And the answer is simple and obvious: an enemy did this. The weeds aren’t God’s idea. They are an alien intrusion into an otherwise excellent field. All right, then, now that they are there, why not follow the inclination of the slaves and get rid of them? This is exactly what we would do. You uproot the dandelion, you dig up the thistle, you chop down the ragweed, you wipe out the nettles and the poison ivy. But the landowner doesn’t do this. In fact, he refuses to let anyone so much as touch a weed. It’s not that he’s changed his mind and decided that weeds are all right after all—hardly. It is not his love or even his tolerance of weeds that drives him to stay the executioner’s zeal of the slaves who are ready to go on a weed-clearing mission. He stops them not for the sake of the weeds, but for the sake of the wheat. Wheat takes time. It needs to grow. Start ripping up weeds, and you’re liable to take some wheat with it. The landowner won’t let that happen. The weeds must be left alone…for now.
It turns out then, that this parable is the closest thing to an explanation for the problem of evil that you’ll find anywhere in the Bible. It’s much less a story about the nature and make-up of the church than it is a story of reassurance for believers who begin to wonder about the prevalence of weeds when the Lord is supposed to be in charge. The farmer whose field grows more velvet leaf and cockleburs than beans doesn’t look like much of a farmer, and the God whose world is filled with wicked people who casually flout his will with carefree abandon doesn’t look like much of a God. But, he is God, and he is in control of his world—even a world overflowing with weeds. That’s what Jesus wants his disciples and us to know. No matter how it might look, he’s in control. He gives the orders, and his orders are obeyed to the letter. And right now, his orders are clear: leave the weeds alone. For the sake of the wheat, let the weeds be. What this means, of course, is that the presence of weeds in the world should shock no follower of Christ. Even if the weeds begin to take over and threaten to overrun the field entirely, Jesus is still in charge. The weeds are there because he allows them to be there. But, they won’t be there forever. Their end has already been determined. The final verdict may be delayed, but it will not be vacated. It will be enforced…when Jesus gives the order. But not a moment before. Jesus is in charge. When he’s ready, the harvest will come. It will happen.
Don’t be deceived by appearances. Whether it looks like the church is winning or losing is irrelevant. No matter how it looks, Jesus is Lord. He gives the orders. His orders are followed. Always. The consummation of his kingdom is coming—according to his plan and according to his timetable, it is coming. Nothing can slow it or stop it. Jesus is in charge. What this means is rather obvious, then. It means that you and I can live with unwavering confidence and absolute certainty about the state of things—regardless how things might look or feel. And it means that it is not time for the church to take stock and reassess her message, or update her doctrines, or tweak the gospel. It means that we don’t need to concede or acquiesce to the apparent winners in the culture war. Not ever! Wheat does not come to terms with weeds. We don’t binge on a delirious weed eradication project, but neither do we start suing for terms of peace or start calculating ways to salvage what we can in an effort to coexist with the apparent winners. Jesus is the winner. The day will come when all will know that truth. The enemy and his crop of weeds will burn, and the Lord’s wheat will be gathered into his barns. That’s the reality. God’s people are not deluded, and they are not losers. They are just God’s people following his commands, and trusting his promises. That’s the message of the parable. Open your ears, and hear it. Amen.