Sermon: Who are weeds and who are wheat? (July 19, 2026)

Pentecost 11A
July 19, 2026
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

INTRODUCTION

Today we continue through Matthew’s parabolic discourse, this series of parables. Remember last week I mentioned that Matthew has set up his Gospel with five discourses – the first is the Sermon on the Mount (instructions for faith), the second is the missionary discourse (instructions for the apostles proclaiming the kingdom of God), and now we are into the parable discourse, which will teach us some truths about God. Today’s story is the parable of the wheat and the weeds, in which an enemy sows weeds among the good seed, and the farmer tells the workers not to pull the weeds, but to wait until the harvest, when all will be sorted out. This powerful parable, along with the other readings today, bring up some tough questions about evil – where it comes from and why it is among us. Each reading offers a directive that brings us both comfort and discomfort: wait. God’s got this under control. Evil and suffering will, finally, come to an end. “Hope for what you do not see,” Paul urges in our reading from Romans, “and wait for it with patience.” 

In the midst of so many unknowns in our world, that “wait and see” message can be a difficult one to hear. But friends, do hear it today. And try to find in it some comfort and solace for whatever uncertainty you face, as we wait with patience “for the glory about to be revealed to us.” Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There are precious few parables for which Jesus offers an explanation. One we heard last week – the Parable of the Sower – and I think the only other one is the one we just heard, the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (or you may know it as “the Wheat and the Tares.”). I have mixed feelings about Jesus providing an explanation. I appreciate that he’s done some of the work for me as the preacher, but I think his simple, allegorical explanation lures us into a false sense of clarity about what the parable means – when really, there is still so much here for us to wrestle with! So, friends, let’s wrestle!

The first thing that strikes me is who sows the evil: that it is not God. This gets at the age-old question about the origin of evil, and how it can exist if God is indeed good. Here, Jesus tells us: the Son of Man sowed good seed, but an enemy came and sowed the weeds in and among the good seed. But interestingly, when the workers want to remove the evil weeds, the landowner (presumably God) says don’t do it. Let the weeds grow alongside the wheat, and he will sort it out later. 

Now why would he say a thing like that, and what has that got to do with our own life and faith? 

First of all, it turns out that wheat and tares are nearly impossible to tell apart, and, they are so

intertwined with the wheat, as the landowner points out, that trying to take out the one would undoubtedly uproot the other, and then where would we be? With no harvest at all! 

This feels very relatable: we also cannot always tell the difference between wheat and weed, either literally or metaphorically, though we may think we can. And, sometimes removing what we would call a weed is disruptive to the ecosystem. Look at dandelions. They have many nutritional benefits, and are some of the first flowers to appear for the pollinators, which then helps all of the other food and flowers to grow. Removing them messes with the whole ecosystem! Yet people spend time and money to remove these “weeds” from their lawn because what, they’re ugly? Why do we get to decide it is a weed? Just think of the negative impacts of removing all the dandelions! 

If it’s tricky with plants, it is even trickier with humans. Pick any politician, and some people will consider them a weed who needs to be pulled and burned, and some will see them as wheat that is making society better. Some ne’er-do-well on the street, a clear weed, may also be a devoted brother or grandson. Someone may be nice to your face, but she’s an opportunist who would push you in front of a bus if it means she’ll get ahead. I am certain that in some people’s minds, I am very much a weed – because of my political affiliation, or because I’m a woman pastor, or because I support LGBTQ+ people. And then to others, I am seen as wheat – for the exact same reasons!

Sometimes, we would go so far as to label an entire group of people as weeds (especially if it is a group we don’t really understand), because this means we can dismiss them, even judge them or think we get to decide what is best for them. And this keeps us from having to do the much harder work of loving them. I know I can and have slipped into that temptation.

Well, Jesus says, don’t do that. Let the wheat and the weeds grow together – because, frankly, you don’t know what you are doing. Only God knows our hearts, our deeds, our intentions, our value, and so only God can make the judgment. 

Of course this opens another whole can of worms: If we’re supposed to just let the wheat and weeds grow together, does that mean we should sit back and never call out the evil among us, letting it wreak havoc? That’s the ditch on the other side of the road: on one side we judge people and try to eliminate whomever we deem to be a weed; or, on the other, we do nothing, letting evil go unpunished. 

But of course, there is a road between these two ditches. And here’s one distinction: there is a difference between judging a person as evil or good, and identifying their deeds as such. “A tree is known by its fruit,” Jesus says, in the chapter just before this one. Someone could be basically good, but make bad choices, and vice versa. And for a Christian, the good fruit we’re looking for is the fruit of love. And the other fruits of the Spirit, too – joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. But the greatest of these is love. And that love should mark all of our interactions, whether with wheat or with what we would call weeds. 

Now, before I go any further, I want you to ask yourself: as I have been talking about weeds and wheat, good and evil, have you been thinking about other people who fall into each category… or are you wondering if you are, yourself, weed or wheat? 

I think sometimes in conversations like this, it feels safer to point outward, to consider whether other people and their actions are good or evil. But the real kicker of this parable comes when we point inward: what is the good or bad fruit that we are producing? And do we, maybe, produce a bit of both?

The truth is, I don’t think this parable is about people who are all good, or all bad, because such people don’t exist. None of us are always children of the kingdom, or always children of the evil one. We are all “simultaneously saint and sinner,” as Martin Luther says. And, this parable is not about everyone else; it is about us, about our own saintly and sinful hearts. 

So this brings us back to an earlier question: does that mean God wants us to let evil grow in our own hearts alongside the good, until the “end of the age” and God’ll sort it out then? What are we supposed to do with that?? 

Thankfully, we have a way of dealing with the weeds that are burned at the end of the age, that doesn’t require us to wait that long. Did you know, that every week in worship, we have a mini-apocalypse, a reckoning, a great revealing? It’s right at the beginning, before we do anything else: the confession. In these few minutes, we have a chance to come before God and say, “God, there are some weeds growing in and among the good wheat you planted in my heart. I know it is in there, but I admit, I can’t always see it or tell the difference. I try to do good, and it comes out bad. And if I’m honest, sometimes I don’t even try to do good – when I make a snarky comment, or judge bad drivers, or even other things I don’t feel comfortable saying in church. I know the weeds are in there, and I know you know which ones they are, even if I don’t always. And so, I come to you today, God, and I ask you to separate those weeds from the wheat, the bad from the good. Gather up the wheat, that it would be nourishment for my faith and for the world. And as for the weeds – just burn them up, Lord. I may weep and gnash my teeth, because it is hard to change my ways that are planted so deeply within. The weeds always seem to come back! But burn them up, anyway. And when I mess up again, do it again. So that eventually, in the final judgment, I can come before you as the best version of myself.”

And then, remarkably, God does! We hear those words of forgiveness. The slate is wiped clean. Our sin is burned up, and utterly destroyed, and we are left as the saints God named us to be in our baptism. And by his death and resurrection, Christ promises that this will never stop being the case. 

And then in our worship, sins forgiven, we collectively move into a hymn of praise – unburdened by all those weeds, as we worship our God of love and forgiveness.

Will we mess up again? Yeah. We will. But again and again, we return to God and pray the same prayer – “take away my sin” – and we are, again, forgiven. And we are again reminded that the burden of sin is not our end point, but that God is always making things new. And from there it becomes possible to be sent out not to judge the world, but to love and serve the world in Jesus’ name. Thanks be to God!

Let us pray… Gracious God, this world is full of both weeds and wheat, and we don’t always know the difference – even when it is growing in our own hearts! But you do. Help us to trust you to remove our sin, so that we would be sent out to nourish the world with your goodness. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.   

Sermon: Love and serve recklessly (July 12, 2026)

Pentecost 10A
July 12, 2026
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

INTRODUCTION

Of the four Gospels, the Gospel of Matthew is the most meticulously organized. One feature of his Gospel is that during this middle part of the Gospel, Matthew sets up five distinct discourses. The first is the Sermon on the Mount, which outlines the basic tenets of Christian faith. Then we get the missionary discourse, instructions for the twelve apostles as they are sent out to proclaim the good news of the kingdom. Today we begin the third discourse, the “parabolic discourse” – for the next few weeks, we’ll be hearing a lot of parables.

So, first question is: what is a parable? Parables in the Bible are stories that teach us something about God. The word in Greek literally means, “throw alongside,” so often what you’ll see is something very common thrown alongside something else to help us understand that latter thing better. Today’s parable, for example, is the parable of the sower – an everyday image of planting, used to show us how the Word of God takes root for us. Jesus explains its meaning, but there are still many questions: for example, what does each soil represent in today’s world? What can be done to cultivate soil so that it will be good and ready to receive God’s word?

Our first reading and Psalm are chosen to echo the planting image. Isaiah offers a poetic vision for a people in exile. He describes how all of creation praises and celebrates God for the ways God’s word waters and nourishes its growth. As you listen to that one, just hear the hope in it. Hear the joy. Let it be a word of hope, joy and peace for you, one that replenishes your soul. 

Finally, in Romans, Paul will talk about what brings life, and what brings death. Listen for where you might find life these days. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Each time I read this parable, I am struck by the recklessness of the sower. I’m no gardener, but even I know you shouldn’t just be throwing seeds willy-nilly! It’s not good stewardship; indeed, it is a waste of resources. If the sower is supposed to represent God here (and it seems like this is the intention), what does this tell us about God? 

Well, it says that God is reckless in how God scatters seed. In other words, that where we might be stingy or calculating in how we administer grace or love or compassion, God is not. God gives and gives and gives of these things so essential to his character, and if those on whom it falls do not receive it, that’s no matter to God. God will just keep tossing it until something does take root. And that, it turns out, is a God I do want: one who is not selective or exclusive, who gives freely and extravagantly, so even if I’m too hard-headed or hard-hearted to receive it, I’ll have another chance. That is pretty darn good news, I’d say!

As I started digging into this text this week, I got to thinking about our synod’s current focus on experimentation. Even when we experiment, it is usually with caution, right, after counting the cost, communicating thoroughly, etc. That’s all appropriate! But I came across this quote, and I felt very called out. Preacher Elisabeth Johnson wrote in a commentary on this text, “Too often we play it safe, sowing the word only where we are confident it will be well received, and only where those who receive it are likely to become contributing members of our congregations. In the name of stewardship, we hold tightly to our resources, wanting to make sure that nothing is wasted. We stifle creativity and energy for mission, resisting new ideas for fear they might not work -- as though mistakes or failure were to be avoided at all costs. Jesus' approach to mission is quite at odds with our play-it-safe instincts.” (Does that land for anyone else?)

Well, I was working on this sermon while I was at LCLC, church camp, with four of our young members. Camp is a place where worship is creative and there is a lot of improvisation around activities. Since I’m still sort of in camp mode, I thought we’d try something different for the sermon this week, something in the spirit of the reckless sower, who casts seed every which way without counting the cost. Don’t worry, this experiment won’t cost a dime. One place we do experiment more freely, is in play, and so, I’d like to spend the rest of the sermon playing an improv game (because it’s my birthday today and I love improv, so I hope you will humor me!). In this game, we will design a grand, new ministry, letting our imaginations go wild, and see what we can come up with. I wonder if there are four volunteers who will help me play….

Okay, to start, we need to go over some rules of improv. One is that we are not here to make anyone look bad; we want to build each other up. An important way we do that is: “yes-and.” That means that when someone says something, you don’t say, “No, that won’t work.” You say, “YES, that’s absolutely a good idea, AND I’m going to take it and add onto it.” We’re not just throwing out random, disconnected ideas; we are building on each other’s ideas. You want to build a fountain that has fruit punch instead of water? Yes! And let’s make sure there’s also a cup station so people can drink it. Get it? 

Second rule: there is no idea too crazy or outlandish. The point is not to create something we will actually carry out. The point is to be reckless in our idea-giving (and maybe even to have some laughs along the way). After a few minutes of playing the game, we will invite the whole congregation to join us in reflecting on it, noticing what themes they observed, where there was excitement, etc. Okay?

Now, here is your set-up: A generous, billionaire donor has approached St. Paul’s with a desire to fund and sustain whatever ministry we want to do, that will make Rochester a better place. Cost and resources are no issue. What should we do?

[Play for 3 minutes]

Awesome. Now, what did you hear? What ideas did you like? Where did you hear excitement? [2 min]

I think a lot of the time, our vision for ministry gets stifled by our practical concerns. “Is this sustainable? Who will run this?” While those are important questions, they can also really suck the air out of an idea! My hope with this activity was to give you a sense of what it is like to be the reckless sower, who throws the good news of God’s grace and compassion every which way, without worrying about how practical it is to forgive sinners or love outcasts or find the lost. I thought it was pretty fun! 

As we look toward the coming months, and as we continue to work toward clarifying our mission, I pray that, even as we continue to be the faithful stewards we are so good at being, that we will also channel the reckless sower and dream big about how God is using St. Paul’s to spread God’s love far and wide. I’m glad to be on this journey with you!

Let us pray… Reckless Sower, we often default to be being careful in how we love – but you don’t! You love without counting the cost. Make us brave and bold in our witness, so that we might show as many people as possible the bigness of your love. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: What is freedom? (July 5, 2026)

Pentecost 5A
July 5, 2026
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

INTRODUCTION

In light of this weekend being the semiquincentennial (that’s a big word I recently learned!), it seemed only natural to approach this week’s texts with an eye toward freedom: what it looks like in our particular moment in history, and what it looks like for Lutheran Christians who start worship each week declaring not our freedom, but rather, that we are “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” With this lens, I noticed a few things, and want to ask you some questions to ponder for each reading while you listen:

Zechariah speaks to “prisoners of hope.” What do you suppose that means, to be a prisoner of hope? Where do you find the sort of hope to which you’d want to be a prisoner?

In Romans, Paul talks frankly about his captivity to his own bad decisions and judgment. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks. “I do not do the good I want, but the very evil I do not want is what I do.” Oh brother, I can relate! Why is that we struggle so much to get out from the burden of our poor choices?

And finally in the Gospel, Jesus will use the image of a yoke, presenting it as an image of comfort, as he calls upon us to take on his yoke, which is “easy” or light. How does it feel to celebrate freedom, even as we are yoked to Jesus?

Maybe you’ll hear other echoes of freedom in these texts. Listen carefully, to what God is saying to you this day.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.

In general, when it comes to preaching, I try to follow the advice of theologian Karl Barth: preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Sometimes that means I venture into topics people might call “political,” but I work pretty hard at not being partisan, and I always strive to preach the gospel. Sometimes, frankly, speaking a word of Gospel to a current reality, even a political reality, is called for. What’s the point of the gospel if it is disconnected from our lives, if it doesn’t help us make sense of what is going on in the world around us? We are not, after all, Christian or the Church in a vacuum! 

This weekend, as America celebrates our semiquincentennial, I think it feels appropriate to lean a little

more into our identity as both Americans and Christians. Now, don’t worry, I’m still not planning to be political or partisan (I promise you, I will always preach the gospel!). But I do want to talk today about a foundational value for both Christians and Americans: freedom. As I said in my introduction, I find in today’s texts many points that draw me into thinking about freedom – in this case, not American freedom, but our Christian freedom. The two are sometimes conflated, and increasingly so as many in the upper levels of government would like to see America be a Christian nation, never mind what our first amendment guarantees for people of all faith traditions. But while there are certainly shared values and some harmony between American ideals and Christian ideals, American freedom and Christian freedom are also quite different. 

American freedom allows us to do, say, and believe whatever we want. And there is a sense of autonomy that goes with that, of rugged individualism, of personal work ethic: if you want to succeed, and you work hard, you will succeed! That’s the American dream!

Christian freedom, on the other hand, looks beyond our own desires. It compels us to use our personal freedoms not to serve ourselves, but to serve one another. As Christians, we believe not so much in the power of the individual, since we are all, as we say, “captive to sin and cannot free ourselves”; rather, we believe in the power of Christ, who has taken away the burden of sin, so that it no longer has such power over us. Because of Christ, our freedom looks instead like the ability to freely love and serve God and neighbor. That is: our freedom is not, ultimately, for us, but for our neighbor. (Of course, in some cases, our American freedom compels us to this, as well – we see it in military service members willing to give their lives for others, and in public servants and first responders, and activists who stand up for principles that will lead to liberty and justice for all, not just themselves. But I would argue that while American freedom sometimes is used for the benefit of others, Christian freedom always is.)

While this idea of freedom for others is hopeful and worthy of gratitude, today’s text from Romans shows us that this freedom business is also incredibly difficult – because even as we know what God desires from us and for us, it isn’t so easy to follow through. Paul offers this startling confession: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

That is the difficulty with freedom, right? As well-intentioned as we may be, and even as certain as we may be at any given time about the rightness of our decisions, it seems too often that we end up doing the wrong thing. How many times have you said something like, “I shouldn’t say this, or do this, but….” Because, as Paul says, sin is constantly lurking at the door, just waiting for us, in all our freedom, to slip up a little bit so that sin can creep in there and take over our better judgment. “I know I shouldn’t, but…” is a constant refrain in our lives. 

“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” The first time I heard, really heard these words, I felt an immediate kinship with Paul. He suddenly became a real person to me, not just some writer and scholar from long ago. I realized: he struggled, too. This important man, with many churches named for him, including this one, whose writings made it into the Bible – even he struggled with sin, struggled to avoid doing things he knew were the wrong things to do. Turns out, we are all together in this human condition, where we mean well, but end up doing the very thing we know we shouldn’t. It happens in the highest levels of government and the Church, and it happens in our daily lives.

Even as misery enjoys company, though, we cannot stay there – and Paul doesn’t. Just when we start to feel that there is no hope, that our Christian or American freedom will only get us into trouble because as willing as our hearts may be, our flesh is too darn weak to uphold God’s law… Paul looks outward. “Wretched man that I am!” he exclaims. “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” We are not left on our own. We have the great gift of knowing that Jesus has our backs in this. As much as we love our American freedom, even the brilliance of the founding fathers could not guarantee that.

Anne Lamott, in her book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith, reflects on the growth and wisdom she has experienced in her life. She goes on for some pages about everything she has learned and gained through the various trials and stages of her life. She also comments, however, that she is not thrilled with what age and gravity have done to her body. In her wry, raw way, she writes, “Left to my own devices, would I trade all [that I have gained] for firm thighs, fewer wrinkles, a better memory? You bet I would. That is why it’s such a blessing that I am not left to my own devices.” Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

And this brings us to Jesus’ wonderful words of comfort in our Gospel lesson, which are an assurance that we will never be left to our own devices, left to fend for ourselves, left always to do the right thing with the freedom we have been given, even as sin is lurking close at hand. Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you…” I used to think that taking Jesus’ yoke upon me was something like taking up Jesus’ cross – that is, taking on a burden, perhaps the burden of seeking justice in the world, or fixing all the broken systems, or feeding the hungry, with us pulling the load and Christ as the driver. But the thing about a yoke is that it is not for one animal. It is for two, two animals who are bound together to walk side-by-side and be a more powerful team than one can be alone. So when Christ bids us take his yoke upon us, he means that we should come and be yoked with him, bound together side-by-side – so that suddenly our personal burden no longer feels quite so heavy, because we bear it with Christ. Our freedom, which so often leads us into sin, is no longer about our individual abilities or effort, nor is it about our downfall, because we make decisions with Christ by our side, bearing some of the weight. 

It is not only our personal burdens that are carried in this way. Under Christ’s yoke, we are prepared to bear the burdens of the world, even those we feel so heavily right now, and perhaps especially as we celebrate our Semiquincentennial. I love my country, and I cry with pride nearly every time I sing our National Anthem... and at the same time, there is much in our country to grieve right now. And so, with our God-given freedom for service, and with the strength of Christ and his yoke on our team, we do the hard work that we are called to do: standing up to the oppressor, seeking justice for the needy, showing mercy and compassion to those who are suffering, working toward a more perfect union. These are what our Christian freedom compels us to do, and now we are given the promise that we need not bear the burden of those tasks alone. 

Freedom is a wonderful, beautiful thing, a gift worth celebrating, that has come to us by the grace of God through Jesus Christ. And, it can also be a burden, as we don’t always use it wisely, for the building up of others, but rather, we use it for our own self-promotion or self-preservation. Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord that we are not left to our own devices in this world, but rather are given the gift of Jesus’ own yoke, and the knowledge of God’s strength in carrying the burden of this world. May we use this gift for the benefit of our neighbor.

Let us pray… We give you thanks, O Lord, for our freedom. But even more we give you thanks that even in that freedom, we are not left to our own devices, but are always accompanied by the gentle, humble yoke of your Son. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.