Pastor Mark

Seeds, Weeds, and Cancel Culture

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

He put before them 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 beauty of Jesus’ parables is that they continue to speak a surprisingly relevant, timely word to us in this day and age, just as they did for those who heard them the first time around. And if you believe, like I do, that a parable is allowed to – that a parable is even supposed to – generate new meaning in new situations, it seems entirely possible that Jesus’ parable of the weeds and the seeds has something to say to us regarding something Jesus may never have been able to guess about our life in the 21st Century: this new-fangled thing called “Cancel Culture,” I mean.

You know about this, right? This 21st Century, social-media-fueled phenomenon where someone does something or says something that is offensive, if not reprehensible enough, to enough people, with enough power and influence, that said person is “canceled” in whatever way seems fit – or feared – or appropriate – according to the masses. In the words of Jesus’ parable, you might say, the weeds get cancelled – pulled out by their roots and burned up with fire – right where they are.

I have to admit, I’m sort of inclined to “Cancel Culture” sometimes, and I’m not sure how to think about myself because of that, thanks to Jesus’ parable. For example, I didn’t feel bad when I found out that that white woman in Central Park lost her job when video went viral of her, choking her dog while threatening to call the cops on a black man, and using his race against him, in the meantime, all because he asked her to stop breaking the rules. I also felt no small measure of righteous indignation when I saw another white couple had suffered similar consequences – they lost their jobs after being relentlessly shamed on social media – when they called the cops on a black man for writing with chalk on the wall surrounding his very own house. They thought it unlikely, if not impossible, that a person of color could or should live in such a neighborhood.

The owner of GOYA foods was threatened with being “cancelled” just last week for speaking kindly about the President of the United States. Anyone accused or guilty of sexual assault or misconduct in the day and age of the “Me Too” movement is pretty much doomed – just ask Matt Lauer, or Al Franken, or Louis C.K. And the list goes on. You can Google “Cancel Culture Victims” to find more of this sort of thing.

So I wonder … in the words of Jesus’ parable in today’s Gospel … are the words and actions of these people … are these people, themselves … weeds or seeds? And are they worthy of being pulled out or plucked up or called out or canceled in such ways?

Again, my sinful, broken, score-keeping self is inclined toward the former – the weed-pulling, I mean. If someone is so blatantly, obviously, offensively, ignorantly racist, or sexist, or violent, for example, I find some measure of satisfaction to learn that they have suffered some consequence for their words or actions.

And that’s why Jesus’ parable in this morning’s Gospel can be sort of hard to swallow.

See, his disciples want to know about how they should handle this cosmic sort of weeding project Jesus seems to describe. We know – and the disciples finally figure out – that the weeds in Jesus’ story represent sin and evil in the world, and Jesus wants them – and us – to think about those weeds and all they represent – differently than we’re inclined to a lot of the time.

Like is true for me, it seems our first intention, our first temptation, is to determine who is or what are to be considered “weeds” and who is or what are to be considered “good seed.” When we talk about heaven and hell, about the end of time, about the coming of God’s kingdom – our first temptation is to want to be on the right side of it all; to be on the winning team so that we aren’t one of the ones who gets “left behind.”

But this just leads to even greater, scarier temptations: Temptations to point fingers and decide who’s right and who’s wrong. Temptations to make decisions about who’s worthy and who’s not. Temptations to judge – by our own standards – who’s good or bad, who’s saved or damned, who’s forgive-able or not, who’s welcome or not, who’s loved or loveable or whatever … or not.

And we can find examples of it all over the place. In Jesus’ time, it was the Pharisees who did a lot of the finger-pointing. They worried about who was eating what, or who was working on the Sabbath, or who wasn’t following the law to the letter. And based on their worries, they pretended to determine – with very good, faithful intentions, mind you – who should be in and who should be out.

And, whether it’s sexual or political or religious or racially motivated persuasions, we don’t have to look very hard to find instances in our world where people take it upon themselves to make decisions about who should be in and who should be out; again, decisions about pulling weeds from the good seed, as Jesus might put it.

But I hear Jesus drawing a distinction this morning, between what we might relish in the “Cancel Culture” of this day and age and the Kingdom of God in the age to come. In other words, I’m hearing that, while “Cancel Culture” may be a thing on this side of heaven, “Cancelling the Kingdom” may not be ours to claim on the other side of it all.

What I hear in Jesus’ parable is that there are too many of us choosing not to grow alongside too many others. And I believe Jesus is challenging us with this parable, to remember that the “Cancel Culture” we have come to know might not be our work to do; our garden to tend; our Kingdom to cultivate, all by ourselves.

Whether we do it out of fear or out of love… out of genuine concern or out of ignorance… with all the Biblical scholarship and well-reasoned theology or not, Jesus tells us that this sort of thing is not our job, when it comes to the Kingdom of God. Jesus tells us he is the one – “The Son of Man will send his angels” he says, and then “at the end of the age.” What that means to me is we’re to leave the weed pulling, the weeping and the gnashing of teeth, for another time.

Instead, Jesus teaches, with this parable, that now is the time for something altogether different. Now is a time for planting good seeds of promise, of hope, of reconciliation, and of love. Now is a time for growing together. Now is a time for growing alongside. Now is a time for being the good seed that grows and bears fruit in spite of – and in the face of – whatever weeds might threaten or challenge or scare us along the way.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting we “live and let live” to the point that the weeds of sexual assault and racism, discrimination and injustice are given a pass for the sake of “going along and getting along.” I’m suggesting – and I’m hopeful – that the good seeds of justice and love and grace, the good seeds of mercy and forgiveness and transformation, can grow boldly and bravely and faithfully alongside all of those weeds – in spite of all of those weeds – and until all of those weeds – are transformed, themselves, to bear fruit worthy of God’s Kingdom “on earth as it is in heaven.”

That is hard, holy work for sure. And some of us – people of privilege, mostly – have some heavy lifting to do, in this regard.

If the weed is racism, those who benefit from racist systems have some growing alongside to do with those who take advantage of their status and privilege.

If the weed is sexism, good men in our culture have some growing alongside to do with those who take perpetrate injustices against women.

If the weed is poverty, those of us with means have some growing alongside to do with those who take advantage of those who are poorer than others.

And this “growing alongside” is hard and holy because it looks like humility and repentance and forgiveness and persistence. And it is God’s call to the Church, because it is much more Christ-like than all of the world’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. And it’s harder, frankly, than the “Cancel Culture” that surrounds us so much of the time. It’s harder to “grow alongside” and to bear fruit among the weeds, trusting that God’s way of grace will win the day. But I believe it will, in the end, for the sake of the world. I believe we can do this work precisely because God’s grace has – already – won the day, through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen

Welcome Home for the Weary

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

“But to what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another, ‘We played the flute for you and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’

“For John came, neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look a glutton and a drunkard; a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’  Yet, wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”

At that time, Jesus said, “I thank you Father, Lord of heaven and earth because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; yes, Father, for such was your gracious will. All things have been handed over to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son, and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.

“Come to me all you who are weary and 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.”


I can hardly hear these words from Jesus on this Fourth of July weekend and not think of Emma Lazarus’ sonnet – “The New Colossus” – that sits on the pedestal of our Statue of Liberty – where she says, partly,

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

And remember what Jesus said, “Come to me all you who are weary and 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.”

I hope worship tonight feels like a bit of a home-coming for all of us. I know it’s not exactly how we would like it to be. And I know this is a one-shot deal for the time being. But it is good for us to be here. It is good for us to be together again. I’ve heard from a few of you who have had occasion to be at Cross of Grace and in the building here and there for odd jobs and small things say that “it just feels good” to be in the Church. And I’m glad for that. Sacred spaces are supposed to feel that way. Cross of Grace is supposed to feel that way, for those of us who call it ‘home.’

And I’m with Emma Lazarus, frankly, who described our nation with that warm, wide, welcome way back when – that we would and could and should be “home” for whoever needs a safe place to land, especially if they need a safe place to land in this world.

And I want the Church in the world – and I want our congregation at Cross of Grace – to represent and to be that kind of safe place to land – for those of us who already call it home, of course, but for anyone and everyone who is weary, and heavily burdened, in need of rest for their soul, as Jesus puts it. We, as a Church, as children of God, as believers in the “Good news of great joy for all people,” are called to be that kind of warm, wide welcome for anyone and everyone who needs it, beyond political lines and national boundaries and ethnic identities: for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of every teeming shore; the homeless, the tempest-tossed, and so on.

And so I wonder what it means to “find rest for your soul,” as Jesus says. Thank goodness this kind of rest is so much more than the many vacations and trips and travels that many of us have cancelled and been forced to miss out on this summer, thanks to the virus that has kept us quarantined. God knows we need that kind of rest and Sabbath, for sure. But because it’s Jesus talking – because Jesus is the one extending the invitation – I’m convinced this “rest for your soul,” is even better than a beach, a boat ride, a baseball game, or a trip to your favorite amusement park.

Now, back up with me a minute to the rest of tonight’s Gospel. We’ve got to do a little Bible study here, because all of these verses don’t seem to go together so well, at first.

What’s Jesus talking about with the children in the market place and with John not eating and drinking and with the Son of Man eating and drinking? What about the Father knowing the Son and the Son knowing the Father? And what about hiding things from the wise and the intelligent and revealing them to infants? Like I said, it’s a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make much sense to me, at first.

But check it out…

Jesus compares the people of his generation to little children, playing games in the marketplace. They didn’t like John the Baptist because he wouldn’t eat and drink like the rest of them. They didn’t like Jesus because he did. So, the people in Jesus’ day, played around with notions of what God was, with who the Messiah might be, with what salvation was supposed to look like, and who it was supposed to be for.

In other words, people were fickle. They were fair-weather fans. They had a limited vision of what God could do. They had low expectations of who God could be. They had a shallow concept of what salvation and freedom and love were supposed to look like. And they tried to dictate that for themselves and against each other.

And, sadly, not enough has changed. That’s still the case a lot of the time.

Ordained leaders in God’s Church are scaring people off and keeping people out by referring to Children of God as “maggots and parasites.” (Google “priest,” “maggots” and “parasites” and you’ll find what I’m talking about, if you haven’t already heard.)

We live in a world where Christian people debate and deny the value of God’s children because they were created to be gay or lesbian or transgender; or because they were created “Red or Yellow, Black or White,” no matter how many times they sung that song in Sunday School.

We live in a world where too many in our own country confuse political party and religious affiliation, too much of the time.

And Jesus understood all of this. Jesus understood that there would be competition for God’s time and influence in our lives. And he understood that we wouldn’t always choose God – or God’s ways as faithfully as we’d like. Jesus understood that there would be forces to pull people in all kinds of different directions. And he understood that we wouldn’t always end up facing heavenward. Jesus knew what it fickle followers looked like, he knew what it was to be tempted by fair weather, and to be enticed by bandwagons. And Jesus knew our allegiance to God’s word and will for us could blow in and out like the wind. 

Most of all, Jesus understood how tiring and weary and burdensome life like this could be for people; and that when his followers and disciples get it wrong, we can make it even worse for the rest of God’s children to feel and to be safe and at peace in this world. And so he offers us something different.

“Come to me all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.” “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

These are words of quiet confidence that speak louder – if we’ll let them – than all of the competing, contradictory voices out there in the world. 

Tonight, Jesus is offering a cosmic sort of rest for the weary, for the broken, for the fearful, for the lonely, hungry, sick, lost and oppressed. And my prayer is always that that’s what we’re trying to offer here at Cross of Grace – for us and for anyone who dares to join us: a place that longs for and prays about and works toward justice, with humility; a place that feeds and fills people; a place that welcomes and comforts and calls people into community; a place that lifts people up and that holds people together, even when we have to do that separately.

Our call as God’s Church in the world is to be a still, solid, steady, consistent home for each other and for the world around us. Our call is to be the other option to the temptation, to be a safe haven in the midst of fair and foul weather, and to be a vessel for salvation that is stronger and more reliable than any bandwagon.

So welcome home tonight. It’s good to be with you again, in this way. I look forward to being able to do this more often, when it’s safe. But rest assured that God’s grace and mercy and hope and peace are enough to hold us, in the meantime.

Amen