Light in the dark: about weeds, wheat, and the love of Christ

This is the Christmas speech I gave on December 21, 2025, in the Sint-Niklaas ward.

The dark days as a symbol

We are in that time of year again. The days are short, the nights long. When I get up in the morning, it's dark. When I finish my workday, it's often dark again. There is something instinctive about people during this period: we seek out the light. We light candles, we hang lights in the tree, we huddle closer together.

Traditionally, Christmas is the festival of light. We celebrate the birth of Christ, the Light of the World, which comes at a time when history seemed darkest. But today I want to invite you not to see that as a date on the calendar, but as a  spiritual reflex.

Why do we wait until December 25 to long for that light? Actually, that should be our standard reaction. Whenever we find ourselves in a 'dark period' of our lives – be it illness, a financial setback, doubt, or loneliness – we should have the same reflex as now:  where is the Light? Where is Christ?

Looking forward to His coming is not a history lesson. It is an active way of life. It is the habit of turning your face to Him as soon as the shadow falls.

The field within ourselves

And that brings me to a story Jesus told, which at first glance may seem to have nothing to do with Christmas, but which for me has everything to do with it. The parable of the weeds among the wheat.

You know the story from Matthew 13. A man sows good seed in his field. But while everyone sleeps, his enemy comes and sows weeds – probably darnel – right through the wheat. When the greens sprout, you suddenly see: hey, all sorts of things are growing together here.

The servants panic and ask: ‘Lord, do you want us to pull out the weeds?’ But the Lord says: ‘No. For if you pull out the weeds now, you will pull out the wheat with them. Let them grow together until the harvest.’

Usually, we explain this as a story about the world: the good and the bad people live together on earth, and at the end of time, at the Judgment, God separates them. That is the classic explanation.

But allow me today to tap into a second, more personal layer. What if that field is not the world? What if that field  I am? What if that field  you are?

Let's be honest. Even though we are Latter-day Saints, even though we do our best, we remain, as King Benjamin called it, ‘the natural man’. In each of us good seed grows: our testimony, our kindness, our talents. That is the wheat.

But in that same field – in our own hearts – weeds also grow. There is pride. There is impatience. There is sometimes jealousy, or fear, or an addiction, or anger. Good and evil grow in all of us  together up.

The necessity of opposition

As perfectionists – and let's be honest, we often are in the church – our first reaction is the same as that of the servants:  get rid of it! We want to pull out those weeds now, immediately, root and all. We hate our own weaknesses. We want to be ‘perfect’, and right now.

But the Lord says:  wait. Be careful.

Why? Because we need that opposition to grow. Think back to the Garden of Eden. Without the fall, without the knowledge of good and evil, no progress was possible. Lehi already taught us in 2 Nephi 2: ‘For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.’

That internal struggle, that ‘weed’ with which you sometimes struggle so much, has a function. It reminds us that we are dependent on the Lord. It teaches us humility. If we were only wheat, we might become arrogant. The presence of the weeds forces us to choose, every day anew, for the good.

If we try too fanatically, too aggressively to eradicate all our faults at once, we damage ourselves. You see people who are so strict with themselves that they destroy their self-worth – they pull out the wheat from the ground with the weeds. They lose their joy in the gospel because they are obsessed with their mistakes.

The lesson of the parable is patience. Not that we should the weeds  leave standing forever, but that we must wait until we are strong enough – until the wheat is ripe – to truly make the distinction. And for that, we need Christ. He is the only one who knows exactly when the harvest time is. He helps us, step by step, to let go of evil without damaging the good in us.

We are the laborers

And here I want to build a bridge to us, here and now. In the parable, there are 'reapers' or 'laborers' who help with the harvest. Often we then think of angels.

But what if we are those laborers for each other?

Look around you in this hall. Everyone sitting here is a field full of wheat and weeds. Everyone has beautiful qualities, and everyone has sharp edges, flaws, and shortcomings.

Our task as fellow Christians is not to go through the community with a machete and point out the weeds to everyone. 'Did you see what he did?' 'Do you know what she said?' That is tearing out the weeds and trampling the wheat.

No, our task is to help the wheat grow. Our task is to  tolerate.

That may sound passive, but 'to tolerate' is a verb. It requires strength. It means that you see someone struggling (the weeds), but you choose to focus on their potential (the wheat). You give someone the time and space to grow, just as the Lord does for you.

Making that distinction – seeing the good despite the evil, and helping someone grow – that is the core of charity. And as Mormon taught us: 'Charity is the pure love of Christ.'

Charity in practice

And so we are back to Christmas. For is this not the perfect time to practice that pure love? The Child in the manger came not to judge, but to save. He saw a disciple in the tax collector. He saw a soul in need of love in the adulterous woman. He saw the wheat, even when the world only saw weeds.

How can we do that today? How can we be 'harvesters' who protect the good? I want to give you a few concrete, perhaps somewhat different ideas than just 'baking a cake for the neighbors'.

1. The digital harvest: We live in a time when online opinions proliferate like weeds. Everyone screams. Charity can mean that you are the one who  not reacts sharply. That you are the one who brings nuance online, or who remains silent when speaking only hurts. Let your timeline be a place where wheat can grow, not a battlefield.
2. The ‘empty chair’ principle: During the holidays, look at your table. Who is missing? And I don't mean family that isn't there, but who falls  outside your normal circle? Charity is inviting someone who is completely unlike you, someone with whom you might 'have nothing in common.' Perhaps someone who struggles with faith, or someone with a different background. Do you dare to let them in without wanting to 'fix' them?
3. Utilizing professional talents: Sometimes we think that serving means we have to set up chairs. But each of you has unique, professional talents. Are you good with finances? Help someone in debt with budgeting – discreetly and without judgment. Are you good with computers? Help an elderly neighbor so she can video call with her grandchildren. Use your 'worldly' skills for heavenly purposes.
4. The invisible forgiveness: This is perhaps the most difficult. Charity is also: forgiving the driver who cuts you off in traffic. Forgiving the colleague who takes credit for your work. Not because they say sorry, but because you refuse to let weeds of resentment grow in your own heart. You protect your own wheat by letting go of the other.
5. Listening without a solution: As men – and I speak for myself – we often want to solve problems. When someone talks about pain, we come with a hammer and nails. But sometimes the greatest act of love is simply  to sit. Listening. Acknowledging that it's difficult. 'I hear you.' That is giving water to another's wheat, so they can stand tall again themselves.

Celestial thinking in the small things

We cannot talk about our spiritual growth without reflecting on the legacy left to us by the late President Russell M. Nelson. His call – ‘Think Celestial!’ – still resonates in our hearts.

When we hear those words, we often fall into a certain reflex. We think of the great pillars of our faith. Celestial thinking, for us, means: reading the scriptures daily, kneeling in prayer, regularly attending the temple, and repenting of our sins. And that's right. That is the foundation. That is the main idea.

But I want to invite you to look at that statement from a different perspective.

Celestial thinking is also an exercise in imagination. It means that we try to imagine what life in the celestial kingdom truly looks like. And if we imagine that place – the place where God dwells – do we then see chaos? Do we then see half-finished projects? Do we see people there saying, ‘Oh, that’s good enough for today’?

No. We know that the house of God is a house of order.

Here is the core of what I want to get at:  the great things cannot be in order if the small things are not.

You cannot build a celestial life if you neglect the details in your life. That begins very concretely, here in our ward, in our small community. Celestial thinking means that we understand that ‘magnifying our calling’ is not about how important the title is, but about how carefully we perform the task.

Whether you are a ward clerk, a youth teacher, or setting up chairs for an activity: the way  in which you do that reflects your understanding of the celestial. It's about order. It's about reliability. It's about doing the small things our leaders ask of us, without dismissing them as ‘unimportant’.

If we are asked to be on time, to submit a report, or to leave a room tidy, that is not bureaucracy. That is training. It is training in celestial citizenship. If we cannot treat the small responsibilities here on earth with care and devotion, how can we then expect greater things to be entrusted to us in the hereafter?

And isn't that exactly what we see at Christmas?

Let's look at the Christmas story. The coming of Christ was the greatest event in the history of the universe. But how did the Father accomplish that? With an incredible eye for detail. The prophecies had to be correct, the lineage had to be right, the timing of the census, the specific place in Bethlehem, even the swaddling clothes in which He was wrapped. Nothing was left to chance.

God is a God of details.

When we decorate our homes during this Christmas season, we also do so with an eye for detail. We hang that one light just right. We make sure the food is perfect. We make an effort for the small things to create atmosphere for our family.

My invitation is: let's bring that same mentality to our service in the church. Let's think celestially by performing our callings and tasks – however small they may seem – with precision, with love, and with order. For by taking care of the small things, we show the Lord that we are ready for the great things He has in store for us.

Conclusion

Brothers and sisters, Christmas is about the coming of Christ into the world, but especially about the coming of Christ into  us.

This Christmas, let's not just look at the lights on the tree. Let's look inward. Be gracious to the weeds within yourself – you are still growing. Be patient.

And look at the people around you. Be merciful to the weeds within them. Let us help each other to ripen for the harvest. Let us protect each other from the harsh winds, support each other when growth hurts, and above all: let us love each other with the pure love of Christ.

For ultimately, when harvest time comes, the Lord will not look at how many weeds we once had. He will look at how much wheat we – with His help and with each other's help – have been able to make flourish.

I wish you a blessed Christmas full of light, patience, and love.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.