One of the saddest things you can hear someone say is:
“People never change.”
Perhaps you’ve said it yourself.
About a family member.
A colleague.
Someone in the public eye.
Or perhaps you’ve said it about yourself.
“This is just how I am.”
“I’ll never be different.”
“I’ve tried before.”
Today’s Gospel says something very different.
It says that God believes people can change.
That is why He waits.
The servants look over the field.
There is wheat.
There are weeds.
The solution seems obvious.
“Pull them up!”
Separate the good from the bad.
Deal with the problem immediately.
It sounds efficient.
It sounds practical.
It sounds like the way many people think today.
If someone disappoints us, we cut them off.
If a marriage becomes difficult, walk away.
If a friendship is hard, replace it.
If a parishioner annoys us, find another church.
We have become experts at giving up on people.
God has not.
The master says,
“Let both grow together until the harvest.”
He is not saying the weeds are good.
He is not saying truth does not matter.
He is not saying evil should be ignored.
Notice that carefully.
This Gospel is not about compromise.
It is about mercy.
The farmer knows exactly which plants are weeds.
He simply refuses to destroy the wheat while trying to remove them.
God never lowers His standards.
But He never stops calling sinners to become saints.
Think of an old family photograph.
Perhaps there is one taken thirty or forty years ago.
Children who are now grandparents.
Young parents who are now gone to God.
Everything has changed.
If you judged those children by what they were then, you would have understood very little about who they became.
God looks at us like that.
He sees not only today’s chapter.
He sees the whole story.
Many of us know someone whose life has surprised us.
The rebellious teenager who became a devoted father.
The neighbour who never entered a church but now serves every week.
The person who struggled with addiction and now helps others recover.
The angry man who became gentle.
The frightened woman who became courageous.
Conversion is not fiction.
It happens.
Because grace is real.
That is why the Church can never stop preaching repentance.
Not because people are beyond hope.
But because no one is beyond hope.
Every saint has a past.
Every sinner has a future if he turns to Christ.
The devil whispers,
“You’ll never change.”
Christ says,
“Follow me.”
The devil speaks about your past.
Christ speaks about your future.
The first reading explains why.
Wisdom tells us that God’s strength is shown in His mercy.
That is completely upside down according to the world.
The world thinks strength means crushing your enemies.
Winning every argument.
Getting your own way.
God’s strength is different.
He has the power to condemn.
Instead He gives another opportunity to repent.
Every sunrise is another invitation.
Every Confession is another beginning.
Every Mass is another chance to receive grace.
Every heartbeat is evidence that God has not given up on us yet.
That should change how we look at ourselves.
Some people spend years carrying old sins.
“I know God forgives me,” they say, “but I can’t forgive myself.”
Yet if Almighty God has forgiven you, who are you to declare yourself unforgivable?
Humility is accepting God’s judgement, not insisting on your own.
If Christ says you are forgiven, then live as someone forgiven.
Do not keep reopening the file that Heaven has already closed.
St Paul then gives us another reason for hope.
Sometimes we do not even know how to pray.
Perhaps illness has drained us.
Perhaps grief has left us numb.
Perhaps anxiety has stolen our words.
Paul says that even then we are not abandoned.
The Holy Spirit Himself prays within us.
When all we can manage is silence…
God understands.
When all we can offer is tears…
God understands.
When we simply come to church because we have nowhere else to go…
God understands.
Grace is already at work before we even know how to ask for it.
Then Jesus finishes with two tiny images.
A mustard seed.
A little yeast.
Neither looks impressive.
If someone handed you a mustard seed and said,
“This will become a tree where birds make their nests,”
you might smile politely.
If someone pointed to a pinch of yeast and said,
“This will transform all that flour,”
it would seem unbelievable.
Yet that is exactly how the Kingdom grows.
Quietly.
Patiently.
From the inside.
Most of the greatest things God does cannot be measured immediately.
A parent praying every night for a child.
A husband choosing forgiveness instead of resentment.
An elderly parishioner faithfully saying the Rosary.
A child learning the Sign of the Cross.
None of these makes the news.
But Heaven rejoices.
Perhaps we become discouraged because we expect dramatic miracles while overlooking the miracle already taking place.
Every time someone chooses truth over convenience…
The Kingdom grows.
Every time someone resists temptation…
The Kingdom grows.
Every sincere Confession.
Every worthy Holy Communion.
Every hidden sacrifice.
Every act of charity.
The Kingdom grows.
Quietly.
Like yeast.
Like a mustard seed.
So today’s Gospel leaves us with both realism and hope.
Realism, because there really are weeds.
Sin is real.
The devil is real.
Judgement is real.
We do not pretend otherwise.
But hope, because grace is more powerful than sin.
Christ has already conquered the enemy.
The harvest belongs to Him.
And until that day comes, He is still transforming weeds into wheat, sinners into saints, and ordinary men and women into citizens of His Kingdom.
Thanks be to God that He was patient with Peter.
Patient with Augustine.
Patient with Mary Magdalene.
Patient with Paul.
And thanks be to God that He has been patient with us.
May we never presume upon His mercy,
never compromise with sin,
but never lose confidence that the Lord
who has begun His work in us
will bring it to completion.
St. Mary's, St. John Bosco and St. Edward's 