Saturday, July 18, 2026

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time


Have you ever thought:
we could fix what is wrong with the world
if only we could get rid of those people?
Admit it.
You have had that thought.
We all have.
We might fill in the blank 
represented by those people
in different ways—
conservatives, liberals,
fascists, communists,
immigrants, nativists, 
peaceniks, warmongers,
feminists, misogynists,
people who cut you off in traffic
or talk in the movie theater,
those who like the Latin Mass
or the music of Marty Haugen—
but we all have people we think
the world or the Church
would be better off without.

The problem with eradicating those people
is made clear by Jesus’s parable today:
good and bad, 
weed and weeds,
children of the Kingdom
and children of Satan,
grow up together in the world
and in trying to eradicate the bad
you risk eradicating the good as well.
We can see this pretty clearly 
if we look at human history:
from the French Revolution 
to the killing fields of Cambodia,
in attempting to create an ideal society,
we human beings create terror instead,
uprooting the good with the bad.

But the problem is deeper than that.
It is not just that those people live mixed in
with the good people of the world,
and we can’t eradicate the bad
without eradicating the good;
the problem is that we often have trouble
distinguishing the good from the evil.
The word that our translation 
renders as “weeds”
is in fact the name 
of a specific weed: zizania
a weed that looks very similar to wheat.
To untrained or hasty eyes
the two are indistinguishable.
Likewise, the children of the Kingdom
and the children of Satan
might be indistinguishable 
to our human eyes,
and the problem with thinking 
those people are the problem
is the problem of
distinguishing good from evil.

And we often fail when it comes 
to taking the measure 
of goodness or badness.
We mistake the bad for the good
and the good for the bad.
In today’s Gospel, 
between Jesus’s parable 
of the wheat and the weeds 
and the explanation of it that he
offers to his disciples,
St. Matthew’s Gospel provides 
two other short parabolic sayings:
the kingdom of God 
is like the tiny mustard seed
that becomes a large bush,
and the kingdom of God
is like the bit of yeast 
that leavens the whole dough.
A mustard seed is very small,
and yeast—
a single-celled organism—
is even smaller.
If the kingdom of God
begins as something so seemingly insignificant,
something so small as to escape our notice,
something that needs time 
to germinate and to leaven,
surely we might miss its presence
within another person.

Perhaps someone’s goodness
is a small, hidden trait
that we do not see.
Perhaps the seed of the kingdom 
is buried within 
a life of struggle and failure,
a difficult personality
or the legacy of poor choices.
Perhaps a child of the Kingdom
looks to us like one of those people.

Mark Ji Tianxiang was a Chinese Christian
who lived at the end of the 19th century.
He had become addicted to the opium
he used to treat a stomach ailment,
For thirty years he was denied the sacraments
because clergy at the time saw addiction
as a sign of moral weakness.
Yet though he was denied 
absolution and communion
he faithfully attended Mass daily,
no doubt crying out to God
with inexpressible groanings,
shamed by his weakness and failure.
Perhaps some of his fellow Christians thought: 
this man could have been a saint
if only he weren’t one of those people, 
the addicts who have wasted their lives
indulging their appetite for drugs.
As it was, he was seen by them
as a weed among the wheat,
a social plague whose eradication 
could only make the world 
a better place.

In the year 1899, the so-called Boxer Rebellion—
an anti-Western and anti-Christian movement—
broke out in northern China.
Mark Ji Tianxiang and members of his family
were seized and imprisoned
and told they would be executed
if they did not renounce their Catholic faith.
Mark remained steadfast in his faith 
in Christ and his Church,
even though that Church had denied him
the grace of the sacraments for three decades. 
He asked to be executed last,
so that no one else would have to die alone.
On July 9, 1900
he watched his family members 
go to their deaths one-by-one
as he sang the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary
to strengthen and encourage them,
until he himself was finally beheaded.

A hundred years later
he was canonized as a saint
by Pope John Paul II.
Through the passage of time
the holiness hidden during his life
by the struggle of addiction
was now revealed.
The tiny mustard seed had become a great bush;
the bit of yeast had leavened the whole loaf.

We would like to think we could fix 
what is wrong with the world
if only we could get rid of those people.
But who are those people?
Maybe it is not the person addicted to drugs
or the person who cuts me off in traffic
or the person who votes 
in a way I disapprove of
or whose customs and language 
are alien to me.
Maybe it is I myself, 
who presume to judge.
Maybe we, 
who judge by appearances,
in haste and in ignorance,
are those people.

We certainly can and must 
judge actions to be good or bad;
but the judgment of souls?
Jesus’s counsel in his parable
is that we leave that judgment up to God,
the one who searches hearts,
the master of might 
who judges with clemency.
He will send his angels 
in his own time
to execute his judgment
and eradicate evil,
but woe to those 
who would rush that judgment.
For the mustard seed needs time to germinate;
the yeast needs times to leaven the loaf.

So let us pray 
for those children of the Kingdom
who suffer the judgment 
we pass in our ignorance.
Let us pray for ourselves,
who stand condemned 
by our own ignorant judgment.
And let us pray that God, 
who is merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
St. Mark Ji Tianxiang,
pray for us.