While everyone was asleep his enemy came
and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off.
The man himself did not sow the weeds in his field, but rather his enemy. It would seem to have been possible for him to have taken greater diligence in preventing this negative occurrence. After all, once it was discovered, he didn't seem surprised. But he didn't seem to recognize it as an existential threat in the ways that his slaves seemed to fear. It certainly wasn't going to make growth for the wheat an easier. But neither was it finally going to prevent it. The wheat would still manage to grow and bear fruit at harvest time. The real risk to the wheat was an unwise early intervention, trying to extricate it from all challenge, and risk, all trial, and experience of the effects of evil. The wheat was entangled in the world in such a way that only when it was fully mature could it be safely separated from it. Before that time, if one pulled on the world, wheat might be uprooted along with it. Hence the master of the house was merciful, giving the wheat time to grow, knowing that there would be time enough to deal with the weeds at the harvest. And even the weeds would not be without use at that time, since they could be tied in bundles for burning.
‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field?
Where have the weeds come from?’
We may wonder why God didn't keep the serpent out of the garden, why he didn't entirely shield humanity from the possibility of the fall in the first place. No doubt he could have done so. But he knew that our freedom wouldn't be real without the possibility of a choice, and that, even if we chose wrongly, he could bring a greater good from our failure. To us it would seem that being forced to grow in the difficult conditions of a fallen world was the greatest evil to be feared. But to God the only real failure to worry about was that we be uprooted before the harvest. It may well not work this way for wheat forced to grow together with weeds, but humanity really does have a greater capacity to grow during trials, and a greater capacity to express love when to do so is not automatic or easy.
He replied, ‘No, if you pull up the weeds
you might uproot the wheat along with them.
We should think twice before assigning anyone the designation of weed rather than wheat. People may seem to be entirely committed to the fallen world, and capable of bearing only rotten fruit. But a secondary point of this parable is that our discernment is insufficient to know for sure if something is truly weed or wheat before the harvest time. To be sure, some will turn out to be one, and some the other, and to God all of this is already fixed. But not to us. And we cause the greatest problems when we think we know for sure and start tearing up the soil. A secondary consequence of the fact that weeds and wheat look similar at early stages of growth is that we should think twice about withholding resources or care from those who may merely appear to be weeds. We may fear, and it may be true, that they are exhausting the soil and putting our attempts to bad use. But it may turn out to be precisely that our care and concern that allows them to attain to maturity is wheat.
The harvest will ultimately be worth whatever patient endurance is required to attain it. Nothing essential will ultimately be lost because, for a time, we must endure trials. We are meant to have hope because the harvest is inexorably on its way, and because the master of the house knows his business.
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