“Sometimes it’s High, Hot, and Heavy”

Reverend Thomas G. Steffen

20 July 2008

Matthew 13:24-30; 36-43

Three or four summers ago, while I was waiting in the Aspen airport for a plane to return to Culver, I picked up a handout on the counter next to the gate. The title read: “High, Hot, and Heavy,” and in slightly smaller print, “Why is it so hard flying out of Aspen?” The answer has to do with Aspen being nearly 8,000 feet above sea level where the air is very thin, and the air temperature sometimes being too hot, and the weight of the aircraft sometimes being too heavy. United Airlines can’t do much about the altitude of Aspen or its summer temperature, but United can restrict the number of people who get on the aircraft in order to control the weight at take-off. And so, the document ends, “Hopefully, this helps you understand a little better why we have to operate the way we do. We want you to get to your destination as quickly and as safely as you do.”

The question “Why is it so hard flying out of Aspen?” got me thinking about the more general questions we often ask about life. Ever ask “Why is it so hard being a teenager?” Or perhaps you are wondering “Why is it so hard being an older adult?” or “Why is it so hard staying married or finding a job when you are 50?” or “Why is it so hard and heavy to watch the suffering and struggle, tension and misunderstanding all around us?” Most every parent or grandparent I know has asked: “Why is this kid I love having such a hard time?” On any given day, life can get too “high, hot, and heavy” even if we are living at sea level in the middle of winter. Life is simply hard sometimes, and even when life seems easy for us at the moment, things may be going pretty lousy for the people around us.

The gospel reading that Beth read reminds us that Jesus taught that life isn’t always neat, clean, and clear, and that God seems to prefer that things be this way, at least for the time being. Jesus says that God is like a farmer who chooses to let his crops grow alongside the weeds instead of moving in with a hoe and rake to separate them. “Let them grow together,” even if it looks a little messy. I can live with the mess, says God. Why? Because the kingdom of God is more like an unkempt farm than an efficient and automated factory.

This may be why St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Romans, more than 20 years after Jesus told this parable, that the only way we will make it in life is if we live by the Spirit, by the Breath, the ruach, the Wind of God because what we need most on God’s peculiar farm is patience. We need patience that can lead to hope. Patience with the mess, while everything is growing, and hope that we all will finally grow up without getting destroyed by neat freaks with rakes and hoes who want the farm to look more manicured. So, pray that we will find enough rich soil, somewhere close to sea level, and pray that we will feel a cool breeze and a gentle rain now and then, so that we can lighten up from time to time. If we don’t, we will find ourselves stuck or stranded, unable to lift off and reach our destination.

Now, you may be wondering about the “enemy” who secretly sows “weeds” among the wheat. And what about the stern words of judgment in this parable? You are probably thinking, will the new minister, in his third sermon, talk about the devil and damnation?

Well, I’ll admit that I’m perplexed a bit by Matthew’s interest in devilish schemes and the burning of the weeds after the harvest. On any given day, the burning question now is “Who of us are the wheat and who are the weeds?” Is it so clear these days? It is a fact that Matthew seems to be a bit preoccupied with such things. Of all the Gospels, he is the only one who mentions a furnace of fire, weeping, and gnashing of teeth; he is the only one who writes about the wise and foolish virgins, the division of sheep and goats; the only one who has a parable about wheat and weeds.

There are scholars who doubt that Jesus actually added these elements to the parable when he spoke privately with his disciples. There are scholars who attempt to explain the hard words with nuances known only to those who can work with the original Aramaic or Greek languages. But most every scholar suggests that this parable isn’t about a devil sowing evil seeds and the burning of the weeds after the harvest. The focus of this parable is on God, the Peculiar Farmer, who isn’t careful about where God sows seeds, who seems to prefer fields that allow everything to grow even if the fields look messy.

This parable is about the same God who is an irresponsible shepherd who leaves his entire herd to look for one lost sheep, or the lavish host who invites all manner of people to a party. This parable is about the same God who is pictured by Jesus as a wasteful business owner who pays everyone the same wage, even though some workers worked fewer hours than others.

When you come to think about it, Matthew’s careless farmer God reminds me of the rather reckless lover God in the book of Hosea. Hosea, you may remember, is in love with an unfaithful wife, a wife who can’t make good on her promises to be faithful to Hosea. No doubt Hosea’s wife is the “weed” in his marriage, a weed about whom God, in effect, says, “Don’t cut her out of your life, Hosea; keep her around, let her grow, even if it gets messy. Have patience and hope.” And if you have read Hosea, you know that Gomer stands for Israel, full of weeds, who couldn’t keep their promises to God. And what is true for Israel, then, is true for the Christian church today. Right?

Oh, we like to say we are the New Israel when we are talking wheat, but we strain a bit when we must also talk about being the New Israel when we are talking about weeds and being prostitutes. Look on page 835 in your pew bible, and you will find the word “whore.” And I suspect we all deserve the fire after the harvest, Gomer and every other weed, then and now.

But don’t stop at page 835; go to the end of the Book of Hosea. Go to page 843, and you will find these words, placed on the lips of God, no less:

“But how can I give you up, Israel?…it was I who taught you to walk…guided you with cords of love…How can I treat you like Admah and Zeboiim,…Oh, my heart recoils within me, my compassion grows warm and tender once again. I will not execute my fierce anger – nor will I again destroy you…for I am God and not mortal, I am the Holy One in your midst who will not come in wrath.”

So? So what? So, on this third Sunday I am with you, I will say this much about judgment: If God is torn within God’s own heart, torn between loving us and destroying us, weeds everyone of us, I pray that love wins, I pray that love wins out every time. I pray that God, in the end, will say the words found on the marker on Robert Frost’s grave. Do you know them? “I had a Lover’s Quarrel with the World.” I pray that God will say, “Oh, my quarrel with Tom and Beth, Mia and George, Dick, Juli, and Rich, oh my quarrel with all the people of the earth was a lover’s quarrel.

What do you say: let’s us wait and see. Let’s wait and hope that Love will have the last word and the last laugh. Amen.

My thanks to Reva Allington, a friend and a member of St. Peter’s UMC, who edits my sermons.