19 July 2026 | The Parable of the WeedsMatthew 13:24-30, 36-43

This past April, I became a refugee.

Now, don't misunderstand me. I mean I was forced to leave my favourite place—the place where, outside of my home and our church, I've spent more time than anywhere else over the last five years. Where was it, you ask? The North Adelaide Golf Course.

As you might have heard on the news, it closed for a big redevelopment ahead of a 2028 international tournament. Having an open public golf course right in the heart of the city was a real blessing to me. But on the last day of April, all the golf addicts who had laughed, struggled, and celebrated there together lost our heaven. We scattered in every direction, and today I have no idea where most of them are playing. Honestly, I don't even know if they survived.

I'm not really built for hard sports, which makes golf a good fit for me. I love walking on the grass. I love that I'm not really competing against anyone else—mostly I'm just competing with myself. Sometimes I enjoy talking with friends during a round; other times I tee off alone at 5:45 in the morning just to sit in the quiet. If I have time, I'll even play two rounds. Whether I'm playing well or badly, in sunshine or rain, with friends or alone, I'm simply happy whenever I step onto a golf course.

I recently noticed something strange about this: I never feel hungry while playing. For me, the golf course has always been a place of healing. I'm sure you can tell just how much I love being out there.

At the end of April, I joined Highercombe Golf Club, up in the Adelaide Hills. Instead of buildings, there are trees. Instead of cars, kangaroos and birds across the grass. But one thing immediately stood out to me: every single hole has a large sign advertising a local business. I actually liked it. It made me feel like I was becoming part of a new community.

One day, I was enjoying another peaceful round. I'd left my church work behind, forgotten about sermon prep, and escaped the usual things of life. Eventually, I arrived at the 15th hole.

Like always, I went through my little routine. I placed the ball on the tee, took two practice swings, settled into my stance, and took a deep breath. For a golfer, that's almost a sacred moment. A sense of stillness!

But then, just like that, my focus broke… in the most terrifying way. It wasn't a kangaroo jumping out of the bushes. It was the sign right next to the tee box. There it was—a very familiar name for a computer business.

Yes. It was Paul's business. The moment I saw that sign, everything came rushing back. Church. Sermon prep. Emails I hadn't answered. People I needed to visit. All the work waiting for me. And for the first time on a golf course, I felt hungry. I could almost picture Paul smiling at me right out of that sign, saying, "Hello, Do Young! Peace be with you."

Just like that, it became a mission field. As for my score... please don't ask.

It was a wonderful experience, but something real happened on that 15th hole. It reminded me of a simple truth: I can't live my whole life on a golf course. A golf course has its own rhythm, but the real world has its own mess. We can't spend our days escaping responsibility, leaving our burdens behind, and pretending life is always peaceful. In a strange, funny way, that sign on the 15th hole became a gentle reminder: 'Do Young, it's time to go back. It's time to return to the place I've called you to.'

And here's the thing—the world we go back to is nothing like a well-kept fairway. There are deep bunkers. There are steep hills. There are sharp turns that force us to change direction, and hidden trouble waiting. We don't get to choose a field with no weeds in it. That's just not the field we live in.

And that's exactly where today's story begins. When we think of the Kingdom of God, we picture a world that is perfect, peaceful, and pure. But Jesus paints a very different picture.

He says the Kingdom is like a field where wheat and weeds grow side by side, completely tangled together. And the weeds are allowed to stay until the harvest.

This story is so familiar to all of us that there's really no need to repeat it, but one small detail in the conversation caught my attention. The servants ask the master, 'Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?'

I've wondered how they actually asked that question. Do we think they were just curious? I don't think so. I used to think they were simply curious, but not anymore. Can you feel the shift? This isn't an innocent question. It's a complaint. We can almost hear the frustration in their voices: "Master, you planted good seed, didn't you? Then why is this field such a mess?"

They already knew the harvest wasn't going to be easy anymore. It meant hot sun, long hours of hard work, and pulling thorns out of the ground. What they really wanted to say was, "Master, you make things hard for us. So why has this become our problem?"

The master answers simply, "An enemy did this." He already knows exactly what happened. But I suspect that answer only made his servants more upset. "Well—if you knew, why did you let it happen?"

What made it even harder for the servants is this: it wasn't their enemy. It was the master's enemy. So the servants fire back another question: "Do you want us to go and pull them up?" It means, "Just let us get rid of them right now!"

But the master's answer surprises everyone: "No. If you pull up the weeds, you might pull up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest."

Why would Jesus describe the Kingdom of God this way? Why put an enemy in the story at all? Why let the weeds stay? Why does God allow evil people and hard situations to go on in our world, instead of removing them right away?

This second parable really makes us ask a lot of questions about the Kingdom of God. Whenever we reflect on this parable, we always find ourselves focusing on this one part: "Why would Jesus, while describing the beautiful Kingdom of Heaven, specifically introduce an 'enemy' who sneaks in at night to plant weeds?"

This question naturally expands into a much larger, more fundamental question in our own lives: "Why does God just leave bad things and evil people in this world? Why does He allow them to stay, instead of ripping them out immediately?"

The Kingdom belongs to God. It’s as if Jesus is telling us: 'I am the Master of this field. The enemy isn't the main character here, and neither are the weeds. And I am the one who decides when it's time for the harvest.'

So, what is our job while we live in this weed-filled field? It’s actually pretty simple. Just be the wheat. Keep growing. And hold on to the very end.

That is our role in building God’s Kingdom right here, right now. If we just faithfully stand our ground as wheat, God Himself will deal with the enemy and the weeds—in His own way, and in His perfect time.

To understand this better, let's turn to the story of Job.

Job lost everything overnight: his children died, and his own body was struck by a terrible illness. When all this happened, Job was thinking, "There must be a reason for this. There has to be some meaning in it." But as time passed, that meaning never showed up. His friends came to him and said, 'It’s because you sinned. You need to repent.' Job just couldn't make sense of it. Eventually, unable to bear it anymore, Job cried out to God.

"Stand before me and tell me the meaning of this suffering. What is my sin? I tried to live honestly. I helped my neighbours. Is this Your justice?"

God stays silent. Then, out of the storm, He appears—not with an answer, but with questions of His own. "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? When the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening, were you there? When the world turns green in spring and the animals graze, who makes that happen? Have you ever given orders to the morning?"

God confronts Job with questions on a scale he couldn't even begin to imagine. And here is the most amazing part: God never actually answers Job’s question. He never says, "Job, this is why you suffered."

Instead of explaining the 'why,' God reveals 'Who' is in control. He shows Job the overwhelming reality of His sovereignty. In the presence of the almighty Master, Job finally falls silent. He realizes that he doesn't need to understand every single reason, because he knows he is resting safely in the hands of the God who holds the entire universe together.

And he confesses, "I spoke of things I did not understand. I told God what He should do. Now I take it all back, sitting in dust and ashes."

We cannot fully understand God's plan—all His reasons, and all His timing. Why He leaves the enemy alone, why He lets the weeds grow, why some people have to endure such extreme suffering because of it, or why some evil is allowed to stand tall for so long... we will never fully know.

That belongs to God. But there is one thing we can know for sure: the One who will finally deal with that evil and judge it, in the end, is God. This is exactly the 'parable of the Kingdom of Heaven' that Jesus is telling us today.

So what is our part in all of this? The Master does not ask us to take on judgment and condemnation. He tells us that is not our job. Instead, the Master asks this:

To endure. To bear this uncomfortable time of growing tangled up with the weeds. And to be distinct. To remain as wheat to the very end, even while tangled together. Not becoming like the weeds, but protecting who we are as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven—that is the task given to us.

But brothers and sisters, I recently had this thought. Perhaps those weeds are not just a pain we have to endure, but part of the very process that makes us into true wheat.

Think about it. If there were no weeds, we might not have even known that we were wheat. Because of that time spent growing tangled together and enduring, we are finally revealed as distinct from the weeds at the last harvest. So, the weeds were a tool of the enemy meant to tear us down, but at the same time, in God's hands, they become the process of shaping us into more perfect wheat, into clearer citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Please don't misunderstand this. Weeds are still weeds. The enemy is still the enemy. I am not saying that suffering is a good thing. I simply want to say this: the time we endured right next to those weeds, holding our ground as wheat to the very end, is not in vain. God is shaping us through that time.

So, I want you to take this one message home in your hearts today: The weeds we hate so much—perhaps they are the very tools God is using right now to shape us into the most perfect wheat.

Sometimes, just before landing at Adelaide Airport, I look out the window. What I see are the golf courses near the airport. Seen from the sky, a golf course is truly beautiful.

Whenever I see that, I imagine something: "What if they removed all the hazards, bunkers, and trees?" Would it be a better golf course? No. It would lose its unique character. It would lose its beauty.

The reason there are hazards and forests placed throughout is something the designer knows best. To us walking on the ground, those obstacles are things we want to avoid and groan about, but when looking down from the sky's view, it is actually much more beautiful and perfect having them there. There is a reason.

Isn't our life just like this? From that heavenly view, the very things we want to get rid of right now are the essential elements that complete the whole picture of our lives.

Today, Jesus says to us, "Let both grow together until the harvest." This doesn't mean we should love evil, nor does it mean we should give up in the face of it. It means we are to leave the final judgment in the Lord's hands, and trust that the Great Designer is already at work even in the areas of our lives that we cannot possibly understand.

And we will see clearly what we can only look at through our faith journey today—that God took that messy situation and pain and ultimately wove it into a glorious harvest worth waiting for. And we will see that the very weeds that choked us were the process of shaping us into wheat that could stand firm.

On that day, we will confess: "Lord, now I understand. You designed and knew everything about this field from the very beginning. And from beginning to end, You never once stopped being the Master of this field."

Tomorrow morning, we will probably have to live rubbing shoulders with those weeds all over again. But let us leave the sword of judgment in the Lord's hands. Firmly trusting that the Great Designer who planted us has not finished the harvest yet, let us quietly hold our ground as wheat to the very end. As citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Amen.