Angels are on the Way

A sermon preached with the people of Christ Episcopal Church in Warren, Ohio on July 23, 2023.

This morning, we are back among the crowds, standing at the edge of the sea as Jesus speaks from a boat – an ancient amphitheater of sorts. And he is speaking to us in parables.

 The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed wheat in his field. And then when the wheat came up, so did a bunch of weeds. And the man attributes the weeds to what he calls “the enemy,” who he says went and sowed weeds among the wheat. And he decides to let the weeds grow among the wheat until the harvest, when both can be uprooted – the wheat saved, and the weeds burned.

 And then Jesus leaves the crowds, and the disciples ask him, “what was that one about Jesus?” And he says “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.”

Now. I know where my thoughts go when I first hear these words. Maybe some of yours do too. I think of burning hellfire, people condemned to an afterlife of eternal suffering. The kinds of things we see in cartoons and movies. I think, Jesus is saying that some of us are just bad. Just weeds. And we’ll end up punished forever.

In this reading, we imagine seeds of wheat and weeds to be individual human beings – some good and some bad. And plenty of Christians have and do accept this reading.

But here’s where I get stuck on that interpretation. Only God creates human beings. Only God. In God’s own image. Every. Single. One of us.

So, what are we to make of these “children of the evil one” Jesus refers to. Well, I would argue they aren’t hard to find. I’m sorry to say they aren’t hard to find. I would argue they aren’t individual human beings, but the evils of this world. Sitting right here with all the good. All the breathtaking good.

Sometimes the contrast feels like whiplash to me. One moment I’ll feel despair over the violence, the hate, the greed, and the collective carelessness of our present human experience.

And the next, I’ll find myself lost in the deep love and profound goodness of our present human experience. And so often, these things are closely coupled – breathtaking kindness and care in the wake of great evil.

When I sat down this week and tried to name some of these weeds – these children of the evil one among us, I thought of terrible acts of violence. Mass shootings. War. Of hate crimes. Crimes against women. I thought of unspeakable cruelty toward adults and children alike at our borders.

But as I continued down that road of thought, I realized I was falling into that earlier interpretation I rejected without knowing it. I was thinking about “those weeds” as people, as human beings capable of these unspeakable acts. Simply “evil.” Which means – that’s right – I was thinking of myself as wheat. I was putting distance between myself and the weeds. It’s easy to do.

But the weeds are so close. So close as to exist within me. As I contemplate this, I started to smell smoke. Actual real smoke. Drifting from wildfires in Canada all the way to Ohio. Again. And I thought, this too, is an example of weeds in this world. An example affecting every person on earth this summer: our terrifying, changing climate.

Can we truly call damage from the flooding in Vermont, the heat around the world, the fires in Canada “acts of God?” Of course not. They are acts of human beings. Acts of God’s creation against God’s creation. Is any one of us individually responsible? Of course not. It’s collective. It’s the weeds amongst the wheat. And the effects on our lives – in this world – are scary. Because evil is scary.

So, what are we to do with this? How are we to live in this world: this field of weeds and wheat? Of good and evil? Jesus tells us, we are to live in hope. Jesus tells us, angels are on the way. Jesus tells us that in the already-but-not-yet Kingdom of heaven, all will be new. The weeds of this world – the suffering, the violence, the terror – the things that are not of God – will melt away. Will be thrown to the fire.

Does this mean we “freeze up and wait for that coming day?” No. This means we practice that living in the Kingdom of heaven right now. Every day. Living in hope means doing our best to make the world – even our tiny little corner of the world – look a little more like that kingdom. A little more wheat than weed.

It means rejecting the insistence that the kind of greed that lets some of us shoot off to space for no productive reason, while so many of us starve is normal. It means rejecting the insistence that human beings are simply meant to live with the constant threat of mass violence. It means naming racism, ableism, xenophobia, religious intolerance, homophobia, anti-trans hate or any kind of ism as of the evil one, and not of God. It means taking small steps – in our own daily practices and in our advocacy – to heal this planet. It means caring for one another. Paying attention. Understanding ourselves as part of a community, a big field – not isolated self-sufficient entities.

This is not a parable about fearing eternal hellfire. It’s a parable about acknowledging the everyday hellfire of life in this world. It is a parable about hope. And it is a parable about grace.

This field. This world. This morning, Jesus is telling us he knows. He knows that it is difficult and simple; terrible and wonderful; all at the same time. And he is telling us that angels are on the way.  

As the late Frederich Buechner put it:

The grace of God means something like: … “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It's for you I created the universe. I love you."