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Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 14, 2006 |
John 15:1 "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. 2 He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. 3 You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. 4 Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. 6 Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8 My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.
The branches The morning dawned clear, no hint in the sky of the mayhem of the previous night. I was a guest in Austin at the Episcopal Seminary of the Southwest, enjoying their hospitality and library for some writing that I needed to do. The days were quiet and productive, but the nights were a different story. The volatile Texas spring weather had kicked up vicious storms each night of my stay and the previous night had been worse than most. Tornados were reported in some areas, and most other places endured hail and straight line winds in excess of 80 miles an hour, not to mention a lightning storm. As I walked the next morning, to stretch my legs and clear my head, I surveyed the wreckage from the previous night. Living branches from huge oak trees were littering the streets and sidewalks. All the dead wood had been cleared out by the storm, and lay in pieces nearby. Here and there a tree was lying on a rooftop, and one had made a new skylight for a distressed family, puncturing both their home and their sense of safety indoors. Sometime later, I came to think of this as nature’s pruning. These branches, whose burden was too great for the tree to bear under stress, were shed for the sake of the tree. Those trees that came down altogether would clear room for future trees to grow. The trees were wounded, but with care and attention they would heal. Nature’s destruction would give way to natures rebirth. It brought to mind something that I saw the previous summer. Where fire had scorched the landscape of Yellowstone national park some years earlier, now new trees grew up for the charred forest. Forest rangers told us that in fact the fire was necessary to activate the pine cones so that they would germinate and create an new forest. Nature has a way. It should be no surprise that God’s way is the way of his creation. It is a way that sees through death and decay to new life. It should also be no surprise that we who are connected to both God and the world around us should observe and adopt the method of pruning to promote growth. We are the stewards of this world. If we take seriously our task of caring for this world, we will understand that pruning is a necessary part of that care. The last of the great “I AM” statements Jesus connects himself and God’s ministry with various things throughout the Gospel of John in a series of statements that we have come to call the “I AM” statements. A quick survey gives us the following in John’s Gospel (NRSV). Jesus is: the bread of life (in various forms, Chapter 6), the light of the world (chapters 8 and 9), both the gate of the sheepfold and the good shepherd (chapter 10), The resurrection and the life (chapter 11), the way, the truth and the life (chapter 14), and here, in Chapter 15, the last of the sayings, “I am the vine.” All of these things connect the reality of Yahweh (the Greek phrase ego eimi, here translated as “I am” is the Greek Old Testament’s way of representing the very name of God) with the fabric of our lives. Off of these sayings deepen our understanding of how God interacts in the world and interacts with us. Of course Jesus is challenging the imaginations and faith of his Jewish contemporaries. Each time his statement would be considered blasphemy, claiming Yahweh’s name and authority. But more than that, he is taking on some of the most treasured concepts in Israel: he claims to be the new “manna” for all the people, he claims Israel’s vocation as light for the world, he claims to be the shepherd of Israel, he claims to be “life” for the people, perhaps calling to mind the reanimation of the dry bones, he claims to replace torah as “way, truth and life” for the people, and finally, he claims the language of vineyard, the intimate language of God and his people. In the Old Testament (see notably, Isaiah’s “song of the vineyard”) the relationship between God and people is likened to a vineyard owner and the vines. In the other Gospels, this concept is brought out in parables explaining why the vineyard is to be dug up and replanted, in one sense, or handed over to new tenants in another. But here, Jesus binds himself to the vineyard itself in metaphor. He maintains the connection to the Old Testament parable by setting his Father as the vine dresser, but in this version, Jesus himself claims to be the vine. This concept is unique to John, but not outside the biblical witness itself. In fact, a “theology of the cross” would expect nothing less from Jesus. Here he not only takes up the incomplete vocation of Israel as the vineyard, but in doing so, joins himself to the suffering and the consequences of that failed vocation. “I am the vine, you are the branches” he declares, and in doing so has set in motion the pain that he must feel as the branches are pruned and readied for new growth, new fruit, new harvest. Jesus suffers with his people, in this analogy, and not merely for them. This becomes the heart of the good news for us. Immanuel now not only dwells with us, but suffers with us, fails with us, and dies with us. Such is the extent of the love that the owner has for the vineyard. His life and destiny are joined to the vine. But then, so are we, who are grafted onto this tree, this vine, this Christ. Since indeed he suffers, fails and dies with us, so conversely we are made whole, conquer sin and receive new life with Christ. In the process there will be painful pruning, but once grafted into the “tree of life” we have the life giving sap of that trunk flowing through us and producing a whole new kind of fruit. Grafted into the “Tree of Life” In the parsonage of my first congregation I discovered on my arrival a small twig growing out of the ground. It was not there by accident but had been planted purposefully. I consulted a member who was a local agricultural agent for the state and he declared it to be a pecan tree. Over the five years I was there, I tended the tree, sprayed it for “webworms” watered it, made sure to mow and edge carefully around it and in that time it grew from a twig to a healthy sapling. But it gave no pecans. When I asked again, about this lack of fruit, the agent declared that it would need to have the variety of pecan we wanted grafted on to it to bear any nuts. This operation was done, shortly before I took a new call. But the signs, even before we left were that there would be nuts for many years to come from that tree. Careful pruning and grafting of the branches of the vine of Christ are intended to do the same thing. It can be either individually, as Christ is infused into each one of us in baptism, or corporately (as a body) as the Spirit blows through us with a mighty wind and alters our course as a congregation. Whatever the process, it is not painless, nor is it fast. But in time, it produces the fruit of the kingdom. That fruit is not numerical increase in members. Nor is it something that will benefit us individually in some meaningful way. Instead, I imagine that it is the life of the kingdom that comes in our midst, giving us a vivid taste of God’s future for all humanity. It is those things that mark us as God’s own people that are evidence of that fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness (Gal. 5:22). These things show that the pruning and grafting have taken root. These are also things that we cannot do for ourselves. Not only has God chosen to be our trunk, our life giving tree, but he has promised to tend and care for us the branches and will do what it takes for us to bear fruit. This includes the painful work of lightening our lives and taking away the things that weigh us down. We may resent this when it happens, but it is essential work. Otherwise the storms of life will blow with a force that we cannot bear and cause us to crash down, separated by the heavy load and our weakened connection to the trunk. But unlike the limbs in Austin, which were cut up and hauled off as quickly as possible, our God is at work again, re-grafting us to the tree with his forgiveness and pruning us to grow again in Christ. This love of God is particularly unfamiliar to our world, especially because it seems so contrary to how we imagine our gods to be. We see them as strong father figures. But on this day, celebrated as mother’s day in the USA, it is good to see this very feminine image of a God who cares for us as vine and vine dresser. This nurturing love of God who suffers with us and tends us with care. This image is particularly important to my congregation, named for Christ, the Tree of Life. We sing at all of our baptismal festivals (whether for the baptism of a new Christian, or the renewal of our own covenants) a hymn, text by Susan Palo Cherwien, that helps us all to sing ourselves into this mystery of the I Am who is the vine: “O blessed spring, where Word and sign, (With One Voice 695, st. 1 and 5) Rev. Dr. Luke Bouman
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