“The Church is a field of sinners—repentant sinners” Wednesday of Trinity 18 2025

22. October 2025
Wednesday of Trinity 18
Matthew 13:24–30, 36b–43

[Jesus] said to them: “He who sows the good seed is the Son of Man. The field is the world, the good seeds are the sons of the kingdom, but the tares are the sons of the wicked one” (Mt 13:37–38).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Patience. We say we’ve got it. We tell ourselves we’re fine waiting. But we’re not. We can’t wait for the light to turn green. We can’t wait for the text to come back. We can’t wait for God to fix what’s broken.

We say, “I’m trusting God,” but what we really mean is, “I’m trusting God to do what I want—now.” And when He doesn’t, we start pulling at the weeds. We start judging. We start losing our peace. Because we think we can sort it out better than He can.

That’s what this parable’s about—not weeds and wheat out in a field, but weeds and wheat inside us, inside the church, inside this congregation. The church looks messy because it is messy. We say, “How can the church be holy if it’s full of sinners?” That’s exactly the point. Jesus planted the wheat, but Satan snuck in at night and planted weeds. And the two grow side by side, tangled together until the harvest. That’s the world you live in. That’s the church you belong to. That’s the heart beating inside your chest—half wheat, half weed.

We see the sins of others and want to yank them up by the roots. “Let’s get rid of the problem people,” we think. The gossipers, the hypocrites, the lazy, the stubborn. “Let’s clean this place up!” And Jesus says, “No. Leave it. Let it grow.” Because if you start pulling, you’ll pull up the wheat too. You’ll pull up your brother who’s struggling to believe. You’ll pull up your sister who’s trying to forgive. You’ll pull up the one Christ died to save. The church isn’t a museum for saints. It’s a field of sinners—repentant sinners—all tangled up together until the end.

That drives us crazy, doesn’t it? Because we want to fix it. We want to be in control. We want a church that looks good, feels good, behaves good. But Jesus says, “That’s not how my kingdom works.” The wheat and the weeds grow together, and the Lord of the harvest decides what stays and what burns. You and I can’t tell the difference half the time. We think we can. We act like we can. But we can’t. You don’t know the heart of the man next to you. You don’t know what God’s been doing in his midnight prayers. You don’t know what He’s working out in the quiet places you can’t see. You only know your own heart—and even that’s a mystery some days.

That’s the brutal truth. And it stings, because it means we’re not in control. We’re not the judge. We’re not the gardener. And the more we try to be, the more we tear up what Jesus planted. We’ve all done it. We’ve judged too fast. We’ve gossiped too easy. We’ve written people off before the harvest came in. We’ve pulled weeds that turned out to be wheat. And the only one who’s happy about that is the one who planted the weeds in the first place. Satan doesn’t need to destroy the church. He just needs to convince us to destroy it ourselves—one judgment, one grudge, one self-righteous weed-pulling at a time.

So Jesus says, “Stop. Let them grow. Let Me handle it. Because I’m in control of the harvest.” That’s the part we forget—that He’s the Lord of the harvest. Not me. Not you. Not the church council. Jesus. He knows what’s wheat and what’s weed. He knows the ones He planted, and He’s not about to lose a single stalk. He’s patient—painfully patient. More patient than we can imagine. Patient enough to die for a field full of sinners. Patient enough to forgive the same sins again and again. Patient enough to wait for you.

You want to talk about weeds? Look at the cross. There’s the Lord of the harvest—hanging among the weeds, counted as one of them, so He could raise up a field of wheat. He took our impatience, our distrust, our self-appointed judgment. He took it all into the ground, and on the third day, the true Wheat sprouted from the soil—first-fruits of a new creation. Now He’s at work in you. In this messy, mixed-up field we call the church, He’s working through His Word, watering you with baptism, feeding you with His body and blood, forgiving, pruning, reshaping, keeping the wheat alive until harvest.

You say, “But Lord, the church looks broken.” He says, “I know.” You say, “My family’s full of sin.” He says, “I know.” You say, “I can’t fix it.” He says, “Good. You’re not the gardener. I am.” You don’t have to understand why He lets the weeds grow. You just have to trust that He’s still Lord of the harvest. He’s still sowing mercy. He’s still in control. Because one day—and only He knows when—the angels will come with their sickles, and they’ll sort it out. Every last weed, every last sin, every last lie will be gathered up and burned. And what’s left will shine like the sun in the Father’s kingdom.

That’s the promise. That’s the end of the story. That’s the peace you can’t buy, the patience you can’t fake, the truth that outlasts every illusion. So stop trying to purify what Jesus has already redeemed. Stop pretending the church would be perfect if people just behaved. Stop thinking you can tell who’s real and who’s fake. You’re not the judge. You’re the forgiven. And that’s enough.

The weeds will keep growing. The wheat will keep rising. The field will look messy until the end. But Christ is still Lord of the harvest. And when the day comes, when He sends His angels to reap what He has sown, you’ll see it—every tangled stalk, every stubborn root, every tear shed in that field—all redeemed, all restored, all gathered home. That’s the truth. That’s the gospel. And that’s enough. In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin