Nassau Presbyterian Church

October 23, 2011
Matthew 13:24-30
“Let Go, Let God?”
Rev. Tara Woodard-Lehman

Many years ago I knew a man, whom for our purposes today I’ll call “Joe.” Joe was a frequent visitor of a church I was serving, and had a very colorful personality and unmistakable presence. Joe had a wiry, unkept mustache- crooked, yellow
teeth- tilted, thick glasses- and grimy, grit-filled fingernails. When folks saw Joe approaching, they often ducked into bathrooms, shielded their children, clicked on their phones, or pretended to be otherwise occupied. Joe also emitted a distinct odor- one of stale cigarettes, coffee, sweat, and fresh dirt. It wasn’t that he necessarily lacked hygiene- although that was sometimes the case. But Joe was an avid gardener, and the smell of soil seemed to penetrate the very fibers of his being.

Joe was also what some would call a “close talker.” Oblivious to social cues, Joe spoke several decibels louder than most, and lacked any sense of propriety or personal space. But perhaps, what Joe was most known for, was his favorite
expression, “Let go and let God!” He shared this saying often, as a means to both rebuke and encourage.
I confess, at first I found the phrase “Let go and let God” more than a little obnoxious. It seemed to represent a shallow “bumper-sticker” theology, one that smacked of indifference and apathy. Until I met Joe, to me “Let go and let God” was just another pseudo-religious slogan that failed to recognize the complexities of a world full of suffering and injustice. Joe maintained, however, “Let go and let God” was not a trite cliché or shallow platitude. Instead, as a recovering alcoholic, Joe insisted, “Let go and let God” was a transformative, liberating mantra that now guided his life of sobriety.
As I came to know Joe, and witnessed his genuine passion for life and faith, the words “Let go and let God” came to take on more credibility. Overtime, Joe graciously taught me that “letting go” isn’t about ignoring pain and suffering, nor is it a
“laissez faire” approach to life. Instead, it’s about relinquishing unhealthy compulsions, so we may live fully, faithfully, and freely. Similarly, Joe taught me that “letting God” isn’t about turning a blind eye to all the suffering and pain in this world.
Instead, it’s about trusting... trusting God is in control, when our world is spinning out of control. Overtime, I actually came to appreciate the expression, “Let go and let God,” and even sought to practice its message. I also grew to deeply love Joe,
and learned to appreciate the ways he challenged me to trust, surrender, and forgive.

But, much like his favorite expression, Joe continued to be misunderstood by others. Folks continued to dismiss him, based largely on his outward appearance; Joe continued to be treated more as a problem, than as a person. Joe, his life, and his beloved saying, are what came to mind when I was studying today’s passage from Matthew’s gospel.
In this morning’s parable, we have a Gardener and his field. We have an enemy who sows weeds in the field, alongside the wheat. And, we have servants, who make the unsettling discovery that the field has been sabotaged. Although the parable may initially seem straightforward, there are a few details that may be easily overlooked. One such detail is the nature and appearance of the weeds.

As the story goes, it took time for the servants to notice the weeds. They didn’t notice them when the seeds first germinated into little green shoots. They didn’t even recognize them when the stalks shot up, close to their full height. In fact, it was only as they were ripening into golden grain that the servants could tell wheat from weed. That’s because the weeds in this parable are not your garden-variety weeds. They are “darnel,” or what farmers would call “cheatgrass.”
The name says what it is. Cheatgrass is a plant that looks exactly like the wheat around it until it is almost fully mature. Cheatgrass mimics wheat, and hides amongst it. But unlike wheat, cheatgrass is of no agricultural value. There is no way to tell good seed from bad. There is no way to recognize cheatgrass shoots versus wheat shoots. There is no way to tell if one stalk is wheat, and another weed. Only after they are almost fully grown, can you tell the one from the other. “Oh!,” you say, “Things are more complex than I first thought.” Yes. Yes they are.

Though it’s tempting to take things at face value, this parable cautions us not to be hasty- in naming wheat from weed. Appearances can be deceiving. Like the weeds and wheat, we may not be able to tell the two apart, at least not at first.
Sometimes, those things we thought would make our lives easier- actually make our lives more complicated.
Sometimes, those things we thought would choke the life out of us, turn out to be deeply rewarding.
Sometimes, those people we expect to be our most loyal companions, end up disappointing, even betraying us.
Sometimes, that socially awkward “close-talker” we thought best to avoid, turns out to teach us a lot about Jesus, and the upside-down nature of the kingdom of God.

Like those tending the field, we cannot always readily discern the true nature of things- or of people. More often than not, it takes time. Sometimes what we think is wheat, are really weeds; Sometimes, the weeds are actually the wheat. And
sometimes, their roots are so tangled together, its best to let them grow for a while; to let them be, and wait.
Which leads to another important, but often overlooked feature in this story: that is, the simple little word, “let.” In fact, some commentators insist that the most theologically important word in this whole passage is the word “let” found in verse 30.
This may be because, in the Greek, the term “let” can also be translated as “forgive.” Let. Forgive. Let go. Let God. At least in part, that’s what this parable challenges and invites us to do.

If we are anything like the servants, we may long to pluck up the bad weeds in our lives and world. But in today’s parable, when the servants offer to pluck up that which his enemy planted, the Gardener replies, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you
would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest.” Let.
Though eager to pull up the weeds, the Gardener tells the servants to “let” the weeds be. He knows that in gathering the weeds, they will likely damage the good wheat as well. Let. Forgive. Let go. Let God. Let God.
The Gardener will parse out the good from the bad, the wheat from the cheatgrass, when all is said and done. Fortunately, that’s not our job. Instead, like the servants, we are called to tend to all that’s laid before us. We are called to surrender our
impulse to immediately root out those things, and personalities, who appear to be weeds in our lives. For in rashly uprooting them, we may destroy some really good stuff that has yet to come to fruition; things we have yet to consider or conceive. In our impatience, we can overlook surprising situations that may provide sustenance. In our haste, we may miss out on unexpected friendships that provide nourishment for the soul.

Speaking of unexpected, nourishing friendships, shortly before I left his congregation, Joe brought me a photograph, as a parting gift. At first glance, I couldn’t quite make out the image, all I could see was what appeared to be a mangled mass of weeds. But Joe gently instructed me to look more closely at the photograph, to look through the twisted weeds. When I did so, I noticed little herbs sprouting up underneath. Joe explained he recently transformed most of his yard into a garden,
and this was a photo of some herbs he was growing. Joe went on to say that the herbs relied on the surrounding weeds to provide safety and shade. Turns out, the weeds were necessary for the growth of the herbs and shielded the delicate sprouts from the scorching sun and other elements. Joe insisted that the herbs very survival depended on the presence and protection of the weeds. If one were to prematurely pull up the weeds, they would pull up the herbs as well, killing them both.
Joe's photo

Joe went on to tell me he received an official notice from his neighborhood housing coalition. As Joe tells it, he apparently violated some sort of property agreement that gives specific instructions regarding manicuring ones yard. Joe’s neighbors (with their apparently respectable, pristine, weedless, well-kept lawns) complained that Joe’s yard was too unruly. They even threatened him with a fine and warned that he must shape up his yard, or leave the neighborhood.
To be fair, Joe’s neighbors didn’t realize that what they thought was just a bunch of weeds, were part of Joe’s garden. They had no idea Joe was growing delicious herbs; and that those herbs needed the weeds to flourish. But they didn’t take the time and energy to find out, either. They didn’t pause for a moment, and suspend their initial impression of Joe or his yard. Instead, they hastily sought to uproot their neighbor, and his weedy property. Ultimately, Joe was able to stay in his neighborhood. He patiently explained the situation to his neighbors and graciously shared a portion of his tasty herbs. Joe went on to take several more photographs, many of his garden, and was eventually recognized, receiving several awards for his unique photographs! If you come visit me in my office, you’ll notice Joe’s photograph prominently displayed. I try to keep the photograph in clear view, to remind me that sometimes, the weeds in my life may be serving a purpose I cannot yet imagine.

Joe’s photo also serves as an important reminder that what others may deem worthless, may in fact be invaluable; and what others may consider unsightly, may be the germination of something beautiful. But discovering that beauty usually takes time. And patience. And a willingness to surrender, to release, and more often than not, to forgive. Or, as Joe would put it, to “Let go, and let God.”