St John-at-Hampstead
19 July 2026
Isaiah 44: 6-8
Romans 8: 12-25
Matthew 13: 24-30, 36-43
I wonder whether the disciples thought that Jesus was having a bit of a memory lapse when he set off into a second parable about agricultural practices including weeds and seeds. I wonder whether they looked at each other, raised an eyebrow or perhaps even thought to interrupt him to say something like (Excuse me, Jesus, but I think you told us this one last week).
It is rather odd, isn’t it? That we have two stories back to back? So given that Jesus was quite deliberate in the telling of the parables, what is it that we have to learn today? Well first of all I decided that I would look up the word ‘tare’ as I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. I learned that the ‘tare’ is probably a bearded darnel. Great, I then had to go away and look that up too. (As many of you will know, I am not the most able gardener).
So, it appears that the bearded darnel is a weed that is almost indistinguishable from wheat. Its roots surround the roots of good plants, sucking up precious nutrients and scarce water, making it impossible to root it out without damaging the good crop. Even worse, above ground, darnel looks identical to wheat until it bears seed, like ears of wheat. And in a final coup de grace, those seeds can cause everything from hallucinations to death. As one commentator quips bearded darnel ‘has no virtues.’
Which makes it even more astonishing that the farmer in today’s gospel tells his workers to “let both of them grow together”, referring to the wheat and the darnel. Is that what you would do? Do you just let the weeds keep on growing? Especially if they will damage the crop? It must have made little sense to the workers, or the disciples, and it’s rather puzzling for us too.
For most of us we find it difficult to let both the weeds and the wheat grow together. We know that wheat is good, it feeds and nourishes us. Weeds, on the other hand, get in the way—they take up space and they choke life. How much time have you spent digging up weeds, or plants that you know are dangerous for children or animals?
And do you find it easy to identify weeds? Sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish the wheat from the weeds when they are in our garden, or perhaps more importantly, when they are in the garden of our lives.
Here are some questions to think about today. What’s growing in the garden of your life right now? What are you classifying as wheat, and what are you viewing as weeds? Has there been a time in the past when you’ve looked back and realised that you’ve been wrong about which was which. Or have you ever changed your mind about what is wheat, and what is a weed? Sometimes it’s not as clear cut as we think it is, or in fact as we would like it to be.
And perhaps as we get older, we might find that life is more intertwined and complicated than just wheat or weeds.
It’s easy and tempting to categorise events, experiences, others, even parts of ourselves as either wheat or weeds. If we listen to our politicians, if we read the posts on social media, if we pay attention to our opinions and judgments of ourselves and others. It’s usually either wheat or weeds and we slip into being very sure which is which.
Perhaps that’s what the workers are doing in today’s parable. They want to pull the weeds, they have made a judgement, and they are sure they can tell the difference. But the weeds referenced in the parable aren’t just ordinary weeds. You can’t really tell the difference until both plants mature. Until then, it’s a maybe.
That’s why the farmer tells the workers that to gather in the weeds at this point might uproot the wheat along with them. The farmer knows that with maturity the workers will see the difference between the wheat and the weeds.
This is not just the maturity of the plants, but also the maturity of the workers; that is your maturity and mine. Haven’t there been times when we have said or thought, “I wish I knew then what I know now”? With maturity our seeing changes. We have the benefit of more experience, a deeper understanding, and greater wisdom.
So what would it be like—and what would it take—to live more in the ‘maybe’ of life rather than in the separation of wheat and weeds? What if ‘maybe’ is what holds the door open for the future?
‘Maybe’ keeps us from claiming to know more than what we think we know. ‘Maybe’ is slow to make a final judgment or conclusion. It asks us to be willing to be surprised and live with curiosity. It offers others – and ourselves – the benefit of the doubt. It allows time for growth, change, and new possibilities.
‘Maybe’ keeps our hearts soft and our eyes open. ‘Maybe’ is a field of possibilities and hope.
Maybe helps us to live a little more in the tension between the wheat and the weeds, ‘in the maybe’ if you like? And what would it be like to offer your ‘maybe’ to the world, to others, and to yourself? I wonder what possibilities and hope that might offer.
As one writer observed: ‘When you look at all the things you are unclear about—what’s the ‘maybe’ for you? What’s the ‘maybe’ you need today?’
And what would it feel like to say ‘maybe’ to God, to have the humility to allow him to shape and form us, to cast aside all the things we are so confident about, so proud of, and instead to have the trust in him that means we are able to live a bit more in the ‘maybe’, perhaps a little less sure of ourselves and a little more sure of God.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,
Amen