Matthew 13:24–30, 36–43

Today Jesus tells another parable about sowing seeds, but this time there are two sowers. One sows good seed that will become wheat. The other, under cover of darkness, sows weeds among it. It’s all about telling the difference between weeds and good plants. So, for a few moments, I'm going to pretend I'm an expert on gardening. God help us—literally!

A little bit of botany might help us understand the story. Matthew uses the Greek word zizania, which most scholars think refers to darnel, a common weed in Israel. The problem is that, in its early stages, darnel looks almost exactly like wheat. You can't really tell the difference until the plants mature and the ears appear. The ears of real wheat become heavy and bow down. The ears of darnel remain upright.

That's important because it explains why the master tells his servants to leave everything alone. At first glance they simply can't tell which is which. When the servants discover the weeds they are horrified. "Master," they ask, "did you not sow good seed in your field? Where then did these weeds come from?" The master replies simply, "An enemy has done this."

Immediately the servants have a solution. "Do you want us to go and pull them up?" It sounds like such a sensible suggestion. Find the problem. Get rid of it. Root out the evil. Clean up the field.

But the master surprises them.

"No. If you pull up the weeds now, you will uproot the wheat as well. Let them both grow together until the harvest."

It is every bit as surprising today as it must have been then.

Because if we're honest, we rather like pulling weeds.

I'm sure we've all questioned why God allows evil to grow and thrive. We've all had moments when we've looked at the world and wanted somebody to do something about it. Sometimes we want God to act. And, if we're honest, we'd quite like to act ourselves.

We like the idea of separating the good people from the bad people. The righteous from the unrighteous. The wheat from the weeds. But Jesus says, "Not so fast."

One reason is simply that evil is often much more subtle than we imagine. Like darnel growing among the wheat, it isn't always obvious.

The other reason is that beneath the surface the roots are intertwined. Pull one up carelessly and you damage the other. The cure may end up causing more harm than the disease.

Later, when Jesus explains the parable to his disciples, notice the servants are not told to separate the wheat from the weeds. The angels are. In this parable, final judgement belongs to God.

Some scholars think Matthew's own church may have been struggling with people who wanted to purify the community by deciding who really belonged and who didn't. Whether that's true or not, it has certainly been a temptation for Christians ever since. Churches can become very good at weeding. We decide who is in and who is out for all sorts of reasons. But Jesus' parable warns us that every attempt to root out the weeds risks damaging the wheat as well.

I think we should thank God that the final judgement isn't entrusted to us. Our calling is to cultivate the wheat.

But perhaps the parable is even more uncomfortable than that.

At first it sounds as though Jesus is talking about two groups of people—the good and the bad. I think it's much more subtle.

The Russian writer and Nobel Prize winner Alexander Solzhenitsyn was imprisoned in a Soviet labour camp and eventually exiled from his country. He experienced extraordinary cruelty. If anyone had reason to divide the world neatly into good people and evil people, it was him.

Yet he wrote these remarkable words:

“Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between (social) classes, nor between political parties, but right through every human heart... This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. Even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained; and even in the best of all hearts, there remains a small corner of evil… If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

We would much rather believe that the weeds are always somewhere else—in someone else.

We like to imagine that evil belongs to another political party, another nation, another generation, another family. But Jesus won't let us think like that. Perhaps that's why he taught us to pray every day, "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Not because evil is only out there somewhere. But because our own hearts are not always pure. We don't always say what is kind and we don't always do what is loving.

There are weeds growing in our own hearts as well.

Perhaps that's why we find life so confusing.

We often live with the assumption that if we work hard, try to be kind and generally do the right thing, then life ought to work out as we'd planned.

That seems to be the servants' assumption too. When we ask "What happened?" "Who's responsible?"Jesus' answer is remarkably brief.

"An enemy has done this."

That's all he says. He doesn't explain the mystery of evil. Instead, he tells us that this is the reality of life in this age. Our world is a field where wheat and weeds grow together.

And perhaps they stand side by side within us too.

A man was stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. When the lights changed, he was distracted and didn't move. The woman behind him gave a little toot on the horn. Nothing happened. She honked again. Still nothing. Before long she was leaning on the horn, shouting, gesticulating and pounding the steering wheel.

Just as the lights turned amber, the man woke up and drove through the junction. She was left behind, absolutely furious.

At that moment there was a tap on her window.

A police officer stood there.

"Madam," he said, "you're under arrest."

She was taken to the station, fingerprinted, photographed and put in a holding cell.

Several hours later the officer returned.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said. "It was all a misunderstanding. You see, when I pulled up behind you, I noticed the fish sticker on your car and another sticker that said, 'What Would Jesus Do?' Naturally, I assumed the car had been stolen."

Our lives are full of wheat and weeds. On the outside we may look like healthy wheat. But our inner thoughts, our impatience, our prejudices, our gossip, our resentment, our harsh judgements of others—well, sometimes they're rather more weed-like than we'd like to admit.

The point of this whole thing is that the field is complicated.

Our world is complicated. Our hearts are complicated.

Yet despite all those weeds, the Kingdom of God is still here.

The weeds do not overcome God's Kingdom. They do not make it disappear. It may not yet be the Kingdom in all its fullness, but it is the Kingdom nonetheless. Christ is still at work.

The good seed is still growing and we should cultivate it. Where we discern weeds are obvious, we can take them out.

But Jesus, interestingly, seems much more interested in growth than extermination.

He is patient and He nurtures the wheat.

And if we are to become more like him, perhaps our calling is not to become better weed-pullers but better wheat-growers.

To nurture what is good. To encourage what is true. To overcome evil with good.

At first sight, this can seem like a strange parable. It almost sounds as though Jesus is saying, "Just leave evil alone."

But I don't think that's quite what he's saying.

He is telling us that if we devote all our energy to hunting weeds, we'll miss the far more important task of growing wheat.

If we concentrate on becoming people who are rooted in Christ, filled with his Spirit, growing in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control, then goodness begins to crowd out evil.

I think the other message this Gospel has for me is that Jesus loves the field of my life, even though my heart is full of weeds and wheat and, rather like my own back garden, I don't always know the difference. He doesn't abandon the field.

He watches me grow, he watches you grow. He is patient and believes that the good seed he has planted will bear fruit.

And that is incredibly good news. Because it means he loves us, not when we've finally sorted ourselves out, but while we are still growing.

He also loves the field of this church.

Even though this congregation, like every congregation, is full of wheat and weeds, he lets us grow together.

And perhaps it also invites us to love one another with that same patience.

Church life is not always easy. From time to time we prick one another like thorns and sometimes we can simply get on each other's nerves.

But perhaps instead of constantly looking for the weeds in one another, Jesus invites us to look for the wheat. To notice the goodness that is growing. To encourage the gifts we see in each other.

The line between good and evil does indeed run through every human heart.

But that is not the end of the story.

The end of the story is not the weeds.

The end of the story is the harvest.

Christ has planted good seed in his world.

He is patient while it grows.

He has not abandoned his field.

And one day, when he comes again, the weeds will be no more, and "the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father."

May we be people who spend less time pulling weeds and more time growing wheat. And may God, in his patience and mercy, continue to grow his good seed in each one of us.

Amen.

If Jesus were telling the Parable of the Sower today, I wonder whether He would still describe rocky paths, thorny ground and good soil—or whether He might also mention notifications, endless scrolling and glowing screens.

Today, we live in a world unlike any previous generation. Every day something is sowing seed into our lives. Advertisements, news headlines, algorithms, influencers, schools, workplaces, friends, family and the Church are all planting ideas in our hearts.

Social media itself is neither completely good nor completely bad. Like any tool, it depends on how we use it. It can connect families across continents, spread kindness, raise awareness of injustice, and even share the Gospel. Many people first hear about Jesus through a video, a testimony, or a church livestream online.

But social media also reveals something important about the human heart. It constantly sows seeds. Every post we read plants an idea. Every video influences our thinking. Every comment shapes our emotions. Every image invites comparison. Every headline seeks our attention.

The question is not whether seeds are being sown. They are.

The question is: Which seeds are taking root?

Consider the first soil—the path. The seed never enters because the ground has become hard. In our digital age, it is easy for our hearts to become like that path. We scroll so quickly from one thing to another that nothing stays with us. We read a Bible verse, then seconds later watch a funny video, then read angry comments, then see breaking news, then another advertisement. Everything passes by so fast that we rarely stop to let God's Word sink in.

A distracted heart can become a hardened heart.

Then there is the rocky ground. Here the seed grows quickly but has no roots. Social media often celebrates instant success, instant opinions, and instant reactions. Faith, however, grows differently. Discipleship takes time. Prayer takes patience. Character is formed quietly over years, not through viral moments. A faith built only on emotion may disappear when difficulties come.

Jesus calls us to develop deep roots through worship, Scripture, prayer, and fellowship with other believers.

The third soil contains thorns. Jesus says these represent worries, wealth, and the desires of life that choke the Word. Those words are relevant today.

Social media often encourages us to compare ourselves with carefully edited versions of other people's lives. We begin to wonder why our holidays are not as exciting, our homes not as spectacular, our families not as perfect, or our achievements not as impressive.

Comparison gives birth to anxiety. Anxiety distracts us from gratitude. And gratitude is essential for spiritual growth. The thorns do not kill the plant overnight. They simply crowd it until it cannot bear fruit.

Likewise, our lives may become so crowded with constant noise that we leave little room for God to speak.

Just before Lent last year, I began thinking about what I might give up. I wanted to challenge myself in a way that crisps or biscuits don’t. I decided to delete all the social media applications from my phone for the duration of Lent.

On the first day, I felt surprisingly restless. Without really thinking about it, I kept reaching for my phone, only to remember there was nothing there to check. It made me realise just how deeply that habit had taken root.

By the second day, the restlessness had begun to ease. I found myself paying more attention to the people around me and to what was happening in the real world instead of constantly looking into the virtual one.

By the end of the first week, something had changed. There was a freedom I hadn't expected. I became more present in everyday life, less distracted, and more aware of God's presence in ordinary moments. Instead of instinctively checking my phone, I found myself enjoying conversations, noticing creation, and making space for prayer and reflection.

If we think about the good soil that Jesus describes. Good soil is not perfect soil. It is simply open, receptive and willing to receive the seed.

The great thing about this parable is that soil can change. A hard path can be broken up. Rocky ground can be cleared. Thorns can be removed. Through the work of the Holy Spirit, God continually prepares our hearts to receive His Word more deeply.

Perhaps good soil today looks like putting the phone down for a few moments to pray before picking it up in the morning. It may mean reading a Bible verse before reading the news. It could mean asking before posting, "Does this reflect the love of Christ?" It may mean choosing encouragement instead of criticism, truth instead of gossip, and grace instead of outrage.

Every click is a choice. Every share is a witness. Every comment is an opportunity either to build someone up or to tear them down. As followers of Christ, we are called not only to consume content but to cultivate Christlike character.

Perhaps today we recognise some hardness in our hearts. Perhaps we see distractions that have crowded out God's voice. Perhaps we have allowed the endless stream of online opinions to shape us more than the teaching of Jesus.

Or maybe you're sitting there thinking, "Well, this doesn't really apply to me. I don't use social media. I'm not on Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X, or any of the rest." If that's you, then that's wonderful—but don't let yourself off the hook too quickly.

The discussions around new laws restricting social media for under-16s in 2027 remind us that influence is powerful. Society is beginning to recognise that what fills our minds and shapes our hearts matters. But influence didn't begin with smartphones, and it won't end if they're taken away.

Every one of us is an influencer. We influence our family, our friends and neighbours, our work colleagues, and even strangers through the way we speak, the way we listen, the way we serve, and the way we love.

A kind word can plant hope. A patient response can sow peace. An act of generosity can encourage faith. But equally, harsh words, constant negativity or indifference can leave people discouraged. Every day offers another opportunity to receive God’s grace and allow His word to take root

As we allow God's Word to take deep root in us, removing the stones of pride, the thorns of worry and the hard paths of distraction, our lives become good soil from which a harvest of love, joy, kindness and faithfulness can grow. 

The question Jesus places before each of us is not, "What kind of soil was I?" but, "What kind of soil am I becoming?" What is crowding your heart and preventing you from giving God your full attention? What is it that most often draws your focus away from Him?

We cannot always control the circumstances around us, but we can choose to make space for God to work within us.

AMEN

Our reading today ends with one of the most familiar passages in the Gospel: Jesus sending his disciples into the world:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Not names.
Name.
One name.
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

And for many people, that is exactly where the problem begins.

Because the Trinity can sound complicated. Abstract. Technical. Like something for theologians in dusty libraries rather than ordinary Christians trying to live faithful lives.

But what if the Trinity is not a puzzle to solve, but an invitation to join?

What if the Trinity is not cold doctrine, but the deepest joy at the centre of reality itself?

Some theologians have described the Trinity as a dance. The ancient word perichoresis describes the mutual indwelling of Father, Son and Spirit — each giving to the others, receiving from the others, delighting in the others. A movement of love. A sharing life. A relationship of overflowing generosity.

The Father pours love into the Son.
The Son gives himself back to the Father.
The Spirit is the joy and life shared between them.

Not loneliness.
Not competition.
Not grasping for power.

God, at the deepest level, is relationship. Communion. Self-giving love.

And that changes everything.

Because if God, and the principles of our God, were simply solitary power, then perhaps the world would be about domination and survival. But if the heart of God is shared love, then the universe itself is built on generosity, welcome and joy.

The Trinity is not a closed circle. It is an expanding circle of sharing and dancing.

And that is exactly what we see in Matthew 28.

The risen Jesus gathers the disciples on the mountain. Some worship; some doubt. Even here, at the great commissioning, they are imperfect people. Yet Jesus sends them anyway.

“Go and make disciples of all nations.”

The mission of the Church begins in the life of the Trinity itself.

The Church exists because the love of God refuses to keep itself contained.

The Father sends the Son.
The Father and Son send the Spirit.
And now Father, Son and Spirit send the Church.

Mission is not just a duty. It is an overflow. Co-mission. Us together and God with us.

We are invited into the life of God — and then invited to draw others in too.

Perhaps that is why the image of a dance is so powerful.

Think of a flash mob.

It begins with one person in a railway station or shopping centre. They start moving to music no one else can yet hear. Then another joins. Then another. Slowly the crowd changes. What looked awkward suddenly becomes beautiful. More people are drawn in. Smiles spread. Energy rises. Joy becomes contagious.

And the remarkable thing is this: the people already dancing seem happiest when more people join. And it doesn’t matter if they are great dancers.

Joy grows by being shared.

That is something like the mission of God.

The Church is not meant to stand in a defensive huddle, protecting itself from the world. The Church is called to join the music of God’s love and invite others into it.

And notice: Jesus says “all nations.”

The Trinity explodes every boundary.

Every tribe.
Every language.
Every background.
Every age.
Every story.

The love of God is always reaching outward.

Sometimes we shrink the Christian faith into something private and individual — “my relationship with God.” But the Trinity reminds us that salvation is also about being drawn into a new community, a new humanity, a shared life.

The Church should be the place where the life of the Trinity becomes visible.

A place of generosity instead of selfishness.
A place of welcome instead of exclusion.
A place where burdens are shared.
A place where people are seen and known and loved.

And not just here, inside these walls.

The Trinity pushes us outward into the whole world.

Into workplaces. Schools. Homes. Neighbourhoods. Politics. Economics. Art.
Culture.

Because God’s dream is nothing less than the renewal of all creation.

Until everyone is invited, the mission is not complete.

Until the lonely are welcomed, the dance is not complete.

Until the hungry are fed, the dance is not complete.

Until those crushed by shame discover they are beloved children of God, the dance is not complete.

And so we cannot become complacent.

Not because God is angry with the world — but because God loves the world too much to leave it outside.

The Church exists to stand in the middle of the world saying: “Come and join in. There is room for you here.”

Not we stand here, they stand here, how do we reach them… But we are in the middle, and we say come join the dance! Our church will grow if we take people by the hand and bring them onto the dance floor to join in the dance of the trinity.

Just because we are busy on a Sunday doesn’t mean we don’t need more dancers…

And perhaps some of us today need to hear the invitation personally. Maybe you’re propping up the bar, so to speak, and feel unable to fully join in

Maybe you feel like an outsider looking in. Maybe faith feels distant. Maybe you feel uncertain, unworthy, doubtful — like those disciples on the mountain who both worshipped and doubted at the same time.

Yet Jesus still called them.

The dance of the Trinity is not only for the perfect.

It is for anyone willing to step forward when they hear the music.

And the wonderful thing about a dance is that nobody begins as an expert. You learn by joining in.

That is discipleship.

Not standing at a distance analysing God.
But stepping into the life of Father, Son and Spirit.

Learning love. Learning forgiveness. Learning generosity. Learning joy.

I’m reaching out my hand to you today – not to make you dance, don’t worry. I’m a pretty rubbsh dancer. But to have a coffee for us to learn together and take tentative steps. And I know those around you who feel a bit more certain, are reaching out their hands too. Join a home group or an activity, ask about confirmation, or ask someone to help you join in… the dance is still evolving and your contribution will make it more beautiful.

And as we do, we discover that Christ’s final promise is true:

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

The dance is never abandoned.

The Spirit is still moving.

The invitation is still open.

Let us be a dancing church in the middle of our community, sharing love and joy and inviting people to dance with us, where ever we are.

The music has already begun in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.