Easter 5B
May 3, 2015
John 15:1-8
Today’s
Gospel is one of those texts that starts out fine, with this very accessible
image of a vine – an image that fits well with our delight in spring finally coming,
and growth, and life – but then quickly moves to images that are far less
comfortable. Images of pruning, and cutting off branches, and removing, and
burning in the fire. Oh, how I’d rather just focus on that nice agricultural
stuff, that growth, and pretend Jesus never said anything about removing
anything or
On the other
hand, I suppose I’m glad Jesus included those less nice bits in there as well.
When I first was learning how to write sermons, I was told to pay attention to
the things that irk me, that bother me, that make me uncomfortable, because
that’s probably where my sermon is. Because that’s probably where the Holy
Spirit is trying to say something to me, and if it is something I need to hear,
it is likely something someone else needs to hear as well. And so, I suppose
this is a text for all of us who are wandering through this life of faith and
trying to figure out what it is God wants us to be doing and when and how. It
is the perfect text for anyone who has ever prayed a prayer I know I have
prayed so often: “What do you want from me God? What next? What now? Please
tell me what to do!” (Anyone else ever prayed that?)
So looking
together at this text, if we can can get past the initial fear of all this
pruning and removing and burning of branches, we can see that the heart of this
text is not destruction and removal, but growth, nourishment and promise.
Even though
it comes later in the text, let’s start with that pruning and fire stuff,
because for me at least it is that part that catches me up a bit. Now, let me start
by putting this out there: I don’t nor have I ever claimed to be a gardener –
on the contrary, I have killed probably ¾ of the plants I have ever had. But in
retrospect, I think the reason I have killed so many plants is that I am never
sure when and how much to prune them, and so they get tired, they put too much
energy into things that don’t bring life, and they shrivel up and die. I’m
always afraid to cut anything, but as it turns out, pruning is necessary for
things to grow strong and fruitful.
Courtney Martin tells a story about
her neighbor teaching her to prune apple trees. She writes: “[She] showed me
how each branch of the tree can only reasonably support two apples. You have to
go, branch by branch, and pluck off little baby apples until every branch has
only as much as it can support. It felt sad to me at first, twisting off these
hopeful little apples and dropping them into a bucket. They amassed quickly,
collectively robbed of possibility… But then I looked over and
Oh, this is
a hard message for me to hear. Twice this week I have had conversations about
this with my dear husband, who was saying to me that his worry for me is my
insistence on being Super Woman, on doing it all and doing it all well, and
that because of it I will burn out. My secret worry is not that my investment
in my call or my hobbies will burn me out – I love all those things after all,
and often they bring me life. Rather, my worry is that I will become so focused
on doing the day-to-day tasks that life requires (whether job, health, family,
or even pleasure-related), many of which are not life-giving, yet I still
obsess over doing them perfectly… and then not leave time simply to be nurtured
by my one true vine, Jesus Christ. When I get stressed out by life or my
schedule, I’d like to say I am driven directly into prayer, but the truth is
that what always seems to get squeezed out first is my focused, intentional
prayer time. Oh, I still try to squeeze it back in here or there – you know,
while I’m doing something else, like falling asleep, or driving a car – but
just in those times when I need God the most, I suddenly don’t have the time to
just sit and be with God.
It is with
this recognition of my human nature that I can return to this challenging text
and see it not as fire and destruction, but as promise and hope. “I am the true
vine,” says Jesus, “and my Father is the vine grower. He removes every branch
in me that does not bear fruit.” Suddenly the promise that God would remove
from my life, from my heart, from my mind, all the junk that does not bear
fruit is no longer fearful, but a relief. How many times have you been awake at
night, fretting about this or that item on your to-do list, or this or that
person who is making life difficult, or this or that circumstance that has to
be dealt with. None of those frets bears one bit of fruit in our lives, and
they need to be pruned, removed. And the only way for them to be removed and
tossed into the fire is to be in touch with our source of life, our vine, our
God.
I remember once, when I was very far
from home, receiving a phone call in the middle of the night with horrific
news, news that devastated me, and there was nothing I could do about it. I
called my parents, and my dad (who was also my pastor) advised me, “Pray
yourself back to sleep.” Connect with God. And that is what I did. As I lay
there with a pained heart, I prayed more ardently than I ever had before. I
clung more adamantly to the one thing that could bring me back to life: the
And so here my heart rests on the
promise that follows this opening statement about the vine: “Abide in me as I
abide in you.” Not just a command – “abide in me, or else” – but a promise – “as I abide in you.” Abide in Christ –
through prayer, through study of scripture, through worship, through quiet
solitude, through listening. And remarkably enough, we find, as we abide in
Christ, that Christ was there all along, abiding in us, nourishing us,
sustaining us, helping us to bear fruit.
Of course, faith is not an individual
sport, and neither is striving to abide in Christ. One of the most powerful
ways we do that is in the worshipping community.
Here we gather around the Word, which so often finds ways to both comfort and
challenge us, sometimes simultaneously, but always in the end to lead us to
life. We gather around the font, where we first hear that we belong to – abide
in – Christ, in which we are promised that our sins are always forgiven (or we
could say, they are
pruned and burned), and by which we are tied and connected
with the whole Christian community. And of course we also gather around
Christ’s table, where we hear again and again the story of a loving God and
experience through all of our senses God’s abiding in us, alongside all of our
brothers and sisters from all time and place, fellow branches along the vine of
Christ. In and around these gifts of life, we find the strength and sustenance
we need to find our way through our own trials and struggles, and to be God’s
good fruit in the world.
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| Word and Sacrament |
Let us pray… Abiding God, you have named your people branches on Christ, the vine.
When we struggle to know what you would have us do, help us to remember your
promise: that you will nourish and sustain your people, and that in all we do,
you abide in us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
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