Deacon Tam Tran

BE CONSISTENT

“Holy Father, keep them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one just as we are one” (John 17:11)
. “They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world,” (John 17:16).

I wish I could show you a picture of my flowerbed in the backyard—not because it looks amazing now, but because it would make you feel much better about your own life choices. Trust me, this flowerbed has been through things.

It did not start out like this. It started out beautifully. Fresh mulch. Bright flowers. Clean edges. Not a single weed in sight. It was the kind of flowerbed that makes neighbors slow down when they walk by. I was proud. Very proud. I may have even looked at it and thought, “Yes, I am clearly a responsible adult.”

Then one day, I noticed a weed.

Just one.

No big deal. I went outside, pulled it out, and congratulated myself on my excellent gardening skills. Crisis avoided. I went back inside feeling accomplished, like a man who had conquered nature.

A few days later, I noticed a couple more weeds. Still manageable. I pulled them out too. No problem. This routine went on for a while. Weed here. Weed there. I stayed on top of it—for a time.

Then came that day.

I looked out the window and saw a whole bunch of weeds. A small army. I thought, “I’m tired today. I’m busy. I’ll deal with that later.” Later, of course, turned into tonight. Tonight, turned into tomorrow. Tomorrow turned into next week. And next week quietly slipped into next month.

Finally—after I don’t even know how many months—I looked out again.

And my flowerbed looked like it had lost a war.

I put on my gloves and said, “Today is the day.” I stood there staring at the mess, and suddenly realized the horrible truth: if I pulled all the weeds out now, I would also rip out the good plants. The weeds had grown roots around everything. The flowers were barely hanging on. Consistency had been replaced by procrastination, and procrastination had turned into destruction.

And as I stood there, humbled by weeds, it hit me: This isn’t just about gardening.

This is a painfully accurate picture of what happens to our personal lives, our society, and even the Church. The problem wasn’t the weeds. The problem was my lack of discipline and commitment to deal with them consistently.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus knows exactly how weeds work.

As He prepares to return to the Father, Jesus prays—not for comfort, not for ease, but for protection and consistency among His disciples. He says, “Holy Father, keep them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one just as we are one” (John 17:11).

Jesus knows His disciples are like that freshly planted flowerbed. Beautiful. Full of potential.
And surrounded by weeds.

While Jesus was physically with them, He protected them. He absorbed the hatred. He took the criticism. He stood between them and the full force of the world’s opposition. But now He is leaving. The shield is being lifted. The disciples will face pressure, persecution, temptation, and confusion.

So, Jesus prays—not that they be removed from the world—but that they be protected in it.

Because the world is still full of weeds.

It’s the same world that hated Jesus. The same world that twisted truth, rebranded sin, and crucified Love itself. A world that tells you if you disagree, you are hateful; if you question, you are intolerant; and if you stand firm, you are outdated. New labels appear every year—like weeds—faster than we can keep track.

Jesus does not pray that we hide. He does not pray that we blend in. He prays that we remain distinct, rooted, and consistent.

“They do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world,” Jesus says (John 17:16).
That’s the tension of Christian life. We live in the world—but we don’t let the world grow unchecked inside us.

This is exactly what Paul warns the elders about in Acts 20 when he says savage wolves will come and even arise from among them. Translation: weeds don’t always blow in from outside.

Sometimes they grow quietly right where you least expect them.

And here’s the hard truth: weeds don’t destroy things overnight. They destroy things slowly.
Quietly. While we’re tired. While we’re busy. While we say, “I’ll deal with that later.”

Consistency is the difference between a thriving garden and a disaster zone.

Daily prayer. Regular self-examination. Honest repentance. Staying rooted in Scripture. Loving truth even when it’s uncomfortable. None of these things are dramatic. They’re not flashy.
They’re just… consistent. And that’s exactly why they work.

Jesus doesn’t excuse us from the battle. He prepares us for it. He prays that we will stand firm, sanctified in truth, united in love, and protected from the evil one.

In everyday life, this matters more than we admit. Relationships fall apart not because of one big argument, but because of small neglect. Faith weakens not because of one major sin, but because of daily compromises. Character erodes not overnight, but weed by weed.

The lesson of the flowerbed is simple: if you don’t pull the weeds regularly, they will take over—no matter how good the soil was in the beginning.

So be in the world. Love the world. Serve the world.

But don’t let the weeds convince you to stop tending the garden.
Be consistent.