Embracing Differences: Lessons from the Weeds and Wheat

Published on by The Rev. Jason A Burns, DeaconLeave a comment

In today’s parable, the Master indicates that the weeds should be allowed to grow with the wheat because if the weeds are removed, then the wheat may be damaged. At face value, it appears that this parable is about the end times when the angels will separate the believers from the non-believers, but I caution us from jumping to that conclusion. I caution us about assuming that there is such a thing as those that are in and those that are out, and I do so because binary thinking is not only dangerous, but it is usually wrong. It is natural for us to want to have clarity, and on the surface this parable provides that: the people who follow the rules, the wheat, will enter the Kingdom and the people who don’t, the weeds, will not. The slaves, who represent us, want to hurry up and get rid of the weeds—the people that do not fit our vision of who belongs.  

The difficult truth is that we live in a world consumed by this exact kind of weeding. Our current landscape is defined by deep, exhausting partisan divisions and international standoffs. Whether it is political polarization here at home where we view the “other side” not just as neighbors with different ideas, but as enemies, or global conflicts flashing on our screens, the secular world is constantly demanding that we sort humanity into binary columns. We are told to pull up the weeds, to cancel, to exclude, and to isolate. We want the field clean, and we want it done now.

But when we do this, we miss the whole context of the world Jesus was talking to. In ancient Jewish teaching, a parable like this was called a mashal, basically an extended metaphor or story used to make a comparison. And Jesus follows it with a nimshal, which is just the explanation of the story. You see this structure all the time in rabbinic commentaries, where stories of kings planting orchards are used to show God building up or pulling up people based on whether they follow his will.

But Jesus puts a much more urgent spin on his explanation. He says that at the end of the age, the angels will collect the “evildoers” and throw them into the furnace. Now, in English, “evildoers” sounds like a word for the absolute worst villains of history. But the actual Greek phrase Matthew uses, poioūntas tēn anomīan (poy-OON-dahss teen ah-noh-mee-ahn) takes the word for the Law, the Torah, and puts a negative on the front of it. It literally means living against the Law 

And what is the Law according to Jesus? He tells us later in this same Gospel: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself.

So, if you look at it that way, the weeds aren’t people who hold the wrong opinions or fail our social litmus tests. The weeds are simply those who live against the law of radical love. The wheat, the righteous, are the ones actually enacting that love.

God has been lovingly tolerating humanity far longer than we ever will and it is not our job to decide who belongs; our job is to love each other like Jesus did. The hardest part of this whole situation is that we do not naturally love each other, mostly we just tolerate each other and try our best not to exclude the people that annoy us the most. So on one hand we know it is so much easier to just do what feels right in the moment, to just take care of ourselves and the people who are closest to us; but on the other hand our entire faith tradition says that we are supposed to do the complete opposite; we are supposed to give aid and comfort to everyone, no matter what; we are supposed to include everyone, no matter what; we are supposed to love everyone, no matter what.  

Earlier I cautioned us about binary thinking because it can lead to misinterpretation and inaccurate assumptions. The reason the master, who is God, said to leave the weeds is because he knew that some of those weeds might actually turn out to be wheat. There are many plants in my garden that I mistake, every year, but I leave them because I suspect that they might be flowers and when they do flower, I am grateful that I left them. It is also worth mentioning that a weed is only a plant growing in a location you do not want it to be in. It is very possible to cultivate a weed into a beautiful thing, but it takes time and that is what God in their infinite patience knows.

The process of becoming people of love takes time, and if we kick people to the side too soon, if we write off entire groups of people because of the political signs in their yard or the country they reside in, then they will not have the chance to grow into the people God intends them to be, and if in the end they don’t “make it”, that is between God and them.

Now, focusing on doing God’s will and loving people doesn’t mean we are earning our way into heaven by our own merits. This isn’t about “works righteousness” meaning doing morally correct things. Think of it like a mechanic who fixes up a broken-down car. Once the car is fixed and saved from its old state, the owner is expected to actually start driving it to get somewhere. If you just refuse to drive it, you completely ignore and undermine all the hard work the mechanic just did. It’s the same thing here. Jesus saves us from our sins so that we are freed up to actually do good works and live out that righteousness. Refusing to love, refusing to do those good works, basically cancels out the whole purpose of what Christ did on the cross. The parable is showing us what it looks like when saved believers actually live out that righteousness.

So, the only weeding or dividing, we can, or even should do, is within ourselves. We need to look deep into our souls and weed out those traits of our character; our tribalism, our judgments, our self-righteousness, that inhibit our ability to love like God. Daniel Berrigan, who was a Jesuit priest, once said, “If you are going to follow Jesus, you better look good on wood.” Let me repeat that, “If you are going to follow Jesus, you better look good on wood.”  

The message of Jesus was radical. It was radical two thousand years ago and it is radical today because it is contrary to human nature and that is the point. Jesus was nailed to a piece of wood because he told people to love each other and that idea was so radical, so contrary to the way his society thought, that they killed him. You see, Jesus was killed because people thought he did not belong, they thought he was the weed. Whether we are a weed or wheat does not matter because we are all children of God and we are all loved wholly and equally, even though we are really bad at loving other people.  

Jesus was willing to die for his radical message of love; he was willing to look good on the wood, are we ready for that? Are we ready to love so deeply, across ideological and political divides, that we will face discomfort or even social “death” for that love? My guess is no, and in the end, what matters is that we try to love each other, and when we fall short, not if, but when, we work even harder to make sure that we don’t fall short again.

Abiding in God: Navigating Trauma with Faith

Published on by The Rev. Jason A Burns, DeaconLeave a comment

As with the entire lectionary, the gospel passage for today is taken out of context. One might think that it comes after the resurrection since it is the 7th Sunday after Easter, but chronologically Jesus is still seated at the table with his disciples the night before he died. He is preparing them for his departure, yet he speaks as if it has already happened. The language of this passage switches back and forth between future and past tense as if time has no meaning—and truthfully, it doesn’t. In this moment, Jesus is standing firmly in the room with them, yet talking as though he has already left the world.

The primary theme of this passage is eternal life, but we need to let go of our definition of that term. We almost always think of eternal life within the context of death and resurrection, which is linear thinking. We treat it as something we experience far in the future, stretching out after we die, like a prize we win after we cross the finish line of death. But it isn’t in the future, and it also isn’t in the past; it is always. Eternal life is not a reference to what will be, it is a reference to what is. God is eternal, creation is eternal, and we are eternal; not in the sense that our physical bodies will live forever, but that our existence is not limited or defined by the short time we exist on earth. When Jesus says, “This is eternal life: that they may know you,” he is using the present tense. It is an immediate reality, a current state of being that we are invited into right now, right in the middle of our messy lives.

Throughout the gospel of John, we hear terms like “abiding” and “dwelling.” In the original language, both of these words denote patiently waiting, living permanently within a space, and thinking about something at length rather than rushing past it. It means refusing to run away when things get uncomfortable. All of these definitions combined still do not fully capture what it means to live eternally with God, but it is as close as we can come with our limited human understanding. These terms aren’t meant to be theological puzzles; they are meant to convey a tangible sense of calm, comfort, connectedness, and most importantly, inclusion. To abide means to rest in the certainty that you belong permanently and safely in the heart of God, no matter how chaotic the external world becomes.

Yesterday, some of us attended a seminar on trauma and the church’s role in addressing it, and the concepts there fit beautifully with this idea of abiding. We learned about a concept called the “window of tolerance.” This is a psychological state of being in which we are able to experience joy, compassion, connection, and curiosity, precisely because our nervous system is not overly taxed or triggered by trauma. When we are in this window, we are mentally, emotionally, and physically present. In a very real way, being inside this window is the real-world equivalent of what John calls abiding.

This is, of course, a state that is fluid. We can very easily slip out of this window into an altered state where it becomes difficult for us to function. On one side, when we are overwhelmed, we might shoot up into the “fight or flight” response where we become overly agitated, anxious, or angry. On the other side, we might drop down into the “freeze” response where we shut down, numb out, dissociate, and feel completely exhausted or disconnected.

When the trauma and stress of the world pull us out of our window of tolerance, we lose our capacity for connection and curiosity. We can’t “abide” because our bodies are stuck in survival mode, convinced we are under attack. Jesus knew the trauma his disciples were about to endure the very next day, which is exactly why he prayed so deeply for their protection and their unity. He knew they would need each other to stay grounded.

This is where the church’s role becomes so vital, when the church stops being just a social club or a lecture hall and becomes a sanctuary for holy regulation. When Jesus invites us to abide in him, he is inviting us back into that safe, regulated space. And when the church understands trauma, we can become a community that helps widen each other’s windows of tolerance. By offering a space that mimics God’s character—one of calm, predictability, safety, and unconditional inclusion—we help soothe each other’s overtaxed nervous systems. We pull people out of the isolation of shutdown, and we calm the panic of hyper-arousal. In doing so, we create a sanctuary where people can step out of the chaos of linear time, drop their defenses, and return to the quiet, grounding truth that they are already safely held in the eternal life of God.

Long story short, our liturgy is the thing that provides the predictability. It helps us provide a sense of calm, it is in this space that we need to leg go of the things from the outside world. We need to let go of the anger, we need to let go of things like bulletins not being printed correctly. We need to let go of other people’s opinions or what we think about them. And we just need to be present for each other and abide in God’s love, which is why we are here. Amen

Hosanna! Understanding the Significance of Palm Sunday

Published on by The Rev. Jason A Burns, DeaconLeave a comment

Traditionally Palm Sunday is a day we experience contradictions. We parade with palms and celebrate the day Jesus arrived in Jerusalem, the capital, the place from where God reigns over the kingdom of Israel and near the end our hopes are dashed as we recount the death of Jesus by reading the Passion. There is a movement in the church to end this practice and it is a movement that I support. Palm Sunday highlights an important piece of the story of Jesus, and an important component of what it means to be his disciple, but that component gets overshadowed by the emphasis placed on his death.

When Jesus arrives at Jerusalem he has been spreading his message of love for three long years. He has healed the sick, cast out demons, raised the dead, but more importantly he has questioned the status quo. He has questioned the authority of Rome, he has questioned the authority of the temple, and he has questioned the authority of his listeners’ hearts. No one is spared and nor should they be because Jesus was not sent to be the voice of God for just one group, the right group, Jesus was sent to be the voice for ALL.

On the first Palm Sunday, which was not a Sunday, Jesus descends from the hills surrounding the city greeted by thousands of inhabitants shouting Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest! Or something like it. Hosanna is an Aramaic word that literally means “Save (help), I pray!” and it only appears in the gospels in relationship to this moment in time. The shouting of Hosana is a sign that the people are ready, they are ready for something different, they are ready to be out from under the thumb of the Roman emperor, they are ready to be out from under the oppressive rules of the temple, but are they truly ready for what these hopes will cost?

As the procession of palms enters Jerusalem from the east, another procession is entering through the west gate. Pontious Pilot has arrived with his legions to ensure that the city remain calm during Passover. Thousands of Hebrews descend on Jerusalem every year for the observance of Passover and Pilot is not going to take any chances of there being trouble due to recent grumblings of rebellion. So here we have two distinctly different processions, one that represents joy and hope; and one that represents authority and oppression. They meet, symbolically, in the middle in Jerusalem, a city which is described by Matthew as a city in turmoil.

So here we are, in the year 2026, symbolically recreating the procession from the east, calling and praying for God to Save us; but from what do we need to be saved? While some, as attested to by the No Kings marchers, argue that we need to be saved from government oppression, that is not it because that is a human matter. Jesus did not save the Hebrew people from the authority of Rome or even the temple and his death and ultimate resurrection are not about the political turmoil humanity creates for itself; it is about hoping in the possibility that some day we will be able to reconcile the turmoil that is within each of us.

The events we remember today and throughout Holy Week were real. We know this because they are in the historical record and I don’t just mean they are in the gospels. Our remembrance of them is consistent with our Hebrew roots as a faith tradition, but let’s not mistake remembrance for meaning. While we remember these events, we must also do the hard work of allowing the meaning of these events to renew and change us.

The turmoil in Jerusalem nearly 2,000 years ago was due to civic unrest caused by the juxtaposition to Imperial authority, temple authority, and this new guy spreading a cryptic message of love. For just a moment, try to picture the events of that day. You are standing in front of your house and from one direction you hear trumpets announcing the arrival of the Roman legions, and from the other direction you hear people shouting Hosana, save us! You have heard the trumpets of Rome many times and are used to them, so you turn your attention toward the east and wonder what all of this hubbub is about, then you realize it is about that guy Jesus who has been saying some pretty radical things, like love your neighbor, but on some level that makes sense to you and you want to hear more; but you also know that the priests don’t like this guy and have told you all to stay away. So, what do you do? Do you listen to the people in charge and stay away? Do you go hear what he has to say? Or do you go about your day and mind your own business because you have kids to feed and work to do? This decision is not an easy one, it creates conflict in you. On the one hand you are busy and need to get to work, but on the other hand you like some of what you have heard about Jesus and want to go listen? You feel conflicted, your thoughts are in turmoil.

The celebration of Jesus entry into Jerusalem is not just about the historical events, it is a reminder to us that the turmoil caused for the people who experienced it is the same turmoil that lives in us every single day. We are all Jerusalem on that day. We live in the turmoil, striving to be faithful to God’s command to love, while faced with neighbors who are frankly just jerks, which is not a strong enough word, but I leave it to your imagine the words I would like to use.

We are consistently and constantly bombarded with the opinions and actions of people who appear to hate their neighbors, who clearly only care about how everything affects them. We are told that we need to be civically active, that we must obey the law, that we must pay our taxes. We are consistently disregarded by our employers as we slave away to ensure that they make money or in the non-profit world to ensure that government or donors’ money isn’t being wasted. All of these things, are nothing more than the Roman and temple authorities of our time and the pressure we feel from these external sources is very real and is often in conflict with what Jesus teaches us, creating internal conflict and turmoil.

How can we be faithful followers of Jesus, a people who seek to love all people when human existence is so messy? We start with Hosana! Save me I pray! And then we gather around a table and share a meal, because when we are sharing a meal, we can forget about all those other things; this is what we do on Maundy Thursday.

After our meal we take some time to think about from what we wished to be save. What is the one thing we want to change about ourselves and we ask God to help us and they will; but only if we believe they will. We call this concept placing our burdens at the foot of the cross and it is what we do on Good Friday.

Having placed our burden on the cross and we allow that burden to die with Jesus, because that is what it is all about. It is about God carrying our burdens with us and for us, so that they are no longer burdens. Once we have done that, they are buried with Christ and if we truly allow them to be buried, they will no longer be a burden; and we will still be here as a resurrected people. As people who, because of their faith, were able to let go of the turmoil, if only for a few moments.

The cycle of turmoil, death, and resurrection is not a one time thing, it is a cycle that is repeated time and time again, and it is a cycle we are called to repeat every day of our lives, which is why we gather as a community week after week in a sanctuary from the turmoil of the world, to break bread, and to celebrate the resurrection of Christ Jesus.

My invitation to use all is to enter Holy Week with the intention of fully immersing ourselves in this process so when we gather on Easter morning the resurrection holds new meaning for us all.