I once saw a cartoon online where a man went to confession and began, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Yesterday, I beat up a corrupt politician.” From behind the screen, the priest replied, “Please confess your sins, not your good deeds.”
We laugh because, when evil is obvious, anger can feel righteous. We look at corrupt leaders, violent criminals, dishonest businesspeople, abusers, scammers, and those who profit from other people’s sufferings, and we wonder: “God, why are they still here? Why do wicked people prosper? Why does evil sometimes appear stronger than goodness?” Sometimes we imagine how much better the world would be if God simply removed certain people. Lord, you know their names and addresses. You do not even need a committee; just send the angels tonight! God, why are you wasting your thunder.
That frustration lies behind today’s Gospel passage. A man plants good seed, but an enemy secretly plants weeds among the wheat. When both begin to grow, the servants ask, “Master, did you not sow good seed? Where did the weeds come from?” That is one of the oldest questions in the human heart: If God is good, where does evil come from? And why does God permit it to remain? The servants offer the solution many of us would prefer: “Do you want us to pull up the weeds?” Let us identify the bad people, expose them, remove them, and clean up the field. But the master says, “No. If you pull up the weeds, you might uproot the wheat along with them. Let them grow together until harvest.”
At first, that answer may seem unsatisfactory. God is all-powerful. Why not destroy evil immediately? It is because the line separating good and evil does not run neatly between one group of people and another. It runs through every human heart. The weeds are closer than we think. There is wheat in us, but there are also weeds. We can be generous today and selfish tomorrow. We can sing hymns at Mass and wound someone in the parking lot. We can condemn corruption in government while being dishonest to our spouses. We can criticize leaders for breaking promises while breaking promises to our families, friends, or God. Before we ask God to burn the weeds in somebody else’s field, we should remember that weeds are growing in our own.
This does not mean we should tolerate injustice, remain silent before abuse, or refuse to hold leaders accountable. The Gospel does not forbid us from confronting evil. It forbids us from confusing accountability with condemnation and justice with self-righteousness. We may judge actions, protect the vulnerable, correct wrongdoing, and demand change. But only God sees the entire field. Only God knows where repentance may still emerge. The first reading tells us that God’s mastery over all things makes him lenient to all. His power is not proven by how quickly he destroys sinners, but by how patiently he offers them a path back. God is strong enough to be merciful.
Today’s Gospel passage also teaches us something about the Holy Mass. At the beginning of Mass, we do not confess the sins of politicians, neighbors, relatives, or people who irritate us. The priest does not say, “Let us call to mind the sins of our mayor, governor, senator, or president.” He says, “Let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries.” Then we pray: “I confess to almighty God…” Not “…that my wife/husband has greatly sinned,” but “… that I have greatly sinned.” Not “through their fault,” but “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”
The Penitential Act is the Church’s weekly answer to the temptation to divide the world into good people and bad people. We stand before God as one field: blessed with wheat, troubled by weeds, and completely dependent upon God’s Mercy. That moment is not meant to humiliate us. It is meant to make us honest. God does not reveal our weeds because he hates us. He reveals them because he intends to heal us. The same Lord who asks us to acknowledge our sins then feeds us with his Word and, when properly disposed, with his Body and Blood. He does not abandon the field. He cultivates it.
That is also the message of the mustard seed and the yeast. Evil may be loud, but grace often begins quietly. A mustard seed is tiny, yet it grows. Yeast disappears into the dough, yet it changes everything. A sincere apology may seem small. One decision to forgive, return to confession, end a sinful habit, or begin again may seem small. But never underestimate what God can do with one honest act of conversion.
There will be a harvest. Evil will not triumph forever. Justice is not cancelled; it is entrusted to God, who sees perfectly and judges rightly. Until then, his patience gives every sinner, including you and me, time to become what grace is calling us to be. So, when you see evil, confront it. When you see injustice, resist it. When you see suffering, relieve it. But before you ask God to uproot someone else, kneel before him and ask, “Lord, what still needs to be uprooted in me?”
Saint Paul says that the Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness. Even when we do not know how to pray, the Spirit is at work within us. God has not given up on the field. Therefore, we must not give up on ourselves, on others, or on the world. The thunder has not struck, and the fire has not fallen because mercy is still working. Before we demand that God burn the weeds, remember this: If God had answered that prayer too quickly, some of us would not be here to pray it.
Homily for 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026
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