Full service can be viewed HERE. Today was the first day with actual people there (who were not helping lead), including our four choir section leaders. What joy!
Easter 5B
May 2, 2021 (first day of post-Covid in-person worship)
John 15:1-8
INTRODUCTION
Today’s readings are like, a medley of our greatest hits. First, we get the wonderful story of the Ethiopian eunuch – in which a man who is as culturally and sexually other as he can possibly be is reading and trying to understand scripture, and Philip takes the opportunity to help him understand. The man is so moved that when he sees water, he excitedly suggests he could be baptized. Tradition says that he went on to evangelize Ethiopia. Great story.
Psalm 22 we know better from hearing it during Holy Week – it begins with Jesus’ cry from the cross. But lament Psalms always end with praise, and that praise part is what we will hear today.
Nearly every line of our reading from 1st John could be embroidered on a pillow. Both this letter by John and John’s Gospel were likely written by the same person or people, and both were written for a particular community of believers, mostly former Jews who had been expelled from the synagogue for their belief in Jesus as the Messiah. This community was feeling a real sense of being cut off from their former religious community, even as they were trying to live into this new, Christian community, one based on the abiding love that God has for us and we for one another.
With that in mind, the image of a vine that Jesus uses in the Gospel reading takes on yet more meaning: that although they felt cut off like branches from a tree, they would never truly be cut off as long as they were still attached to Jesus the vine. And keep in mind, these words are offered to the disciples on the night Jesus was betrayed, as a part of his farewell discourse – when they are no doubt feeling fearful about losing him and feeling even more distant and cut off! This strikes me a pretty relevant image for us, today. So as you listen, hear these words from all these texts as ones spoken to whatever ache, longing, or fear you have this day. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from our Risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
In my exploration of today’s Gospel passage, I learned something interesting about vines: a vine’s fruitfulness today is a reflection not only of this past year’s conditions, but of the trauma that the vine may have endured also in previous years. A trauma for a vine could be, well, all that you would expect: an abundance or lack of sun, nutrition, or water. It could also be a time of over-fruitfulness, bearing more than it could really handle and thus depleting its resources. All of this is reflected in future fruitfulness (or not) of the vine. In order to thrive, a vine needs time to heal from its past trauma.
Hm, sounds like some other organisms I know! Our human experiences and circumstances over the course of our lives have formed the way we engage and respond to the world. And in fact, that even goes beyond our own experience. There is research that shows that even trauma from a couple generations past can be passed down epigenetically – that is, the DNA itself doesn’t change with trauma, but the material around the gene is affected. These epigenetic markers can then be passed down and affect things like stress reactivity, metabolic processes (so, weight gain), and connections between cognition and emotion. For example, there is evidence that descendants of Holocaust survivors experience patterns of stress hormones based on their ancestors’ experiences rather than their own circumstances.
Turns out we are very much like vines in this way! We are not just dropped into this week, immune from the effects of what happened to us or our loved ones last week, last year, or even last century. Like, vines, we also need time to heal from trauma we have experienced. And friends, I know this is no surprise to you, but we have all been through, and are still going through, a trauma: the sudden loss last March of things important to us, a near constant state of fear, anxiety and unknowing, loneliness and despair… and consequently a dramatic increase in mental health concerns (something I’m especially aware of this week, as May is Mental Health Awareness Month!).
We ignore this fact at our own peril. Though we are starting to come out on the other side of this, cautiously re-opening church sanctuaries, hosting small indoor gatherings with vaccinated friends, sending kids back to school in person – the trauma of the past year will not suddenly disappear because more and more people are vaccinated. Just like a vine whose fruitfulness in any given year is based on the trauma of previous years, we will be working through this experience for many years to come. We will be working on it as individuals, as local and global communities, and as a church. The drought of personal contact, the over-fruitfulness of parents trying to juggle homeschool and a full-time job working at home, the hunger for meaningful connection, the clouds and sunlessness of grief… all of that will affect our future fruitfulness. Some things will need to be pruned in order to bring health and thriving. Some things will need some particular TLC. And all of us will need to have immense grace for one another and for this process as we seek collective and individual healing.
I know, this sermon so far is kind of a downer, especially for such an exciting day as our first time worshiping with people in the building since last March! I know we just want to get to the good part again, but I think it’s important to name that overcoming trauma is kind of exhausting – there were times this year that I was just holding on by my fingernails, hoping to make it to the end, and now, when we’re ready to put it behind us, I’m saying, “Just wait, don’t break out the balloons and confetti yet – we have barely even begun healing from this!” Again, kind of a downer.
But actually, today’s Gospel speaks the perfect word of grace to us in this moment. First, Jesus says, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower.” If there is anyone who can bring healing to this vine that is Christ’s body, it is our loving Father. We are in good hands, my friends! But then, it gets even better. Jesus says, “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. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit.”
Do you hear what he is saying there? First of all, that we are not in this alone. We are not solely responsible for our own healing from this trauma. Do we have to do some personal work? Yes. Trauma cannot be overcome without taking a look at our hearts, finding and facing the pain, and growing from it. But we do not have to do that in isolation. We do it with Christ, abiding in Christ. In John’s Gospel, that word, abide is extremely important. To abide is what it means to have faith. It is being in a close relationship with Jesus, resting and finding your home in him, and letting him have a home also in you. What a beautiful message for us, as we prepare to overcome the trauma of this trial.
Second, there is great hope in this passage. Jesus does not say, “You can’t bear fruit.” No, he says that the branch can bear fruit when it abides with the vine. In other words, when we stay connected to Christ, the true vine, we will receive the nourishment we need. It’s so easy, isn’t it, when we are struggling, just to turn in on ourselves, to cut ourselves off from sources that previously brought us life because in our grief, it is easier to find an escape – through having another drink, or buying a new outfit, or escaping physically or emotionally from our commitments and responsibilities. Such behavior may offer quick relief, but not lasting life. That can only come from staying connected to the vine. Flowers wither and fade, never to return when they are disconnected from the vine, but when we remain connected to the Source of Life, we are able to let flowers and fruit come and go each year, and still thrive. We can endure the vine-grower’s necessary pruning, the removal of those things that cramp our ability to thrive, and come out healthier for it.
And that is, finally, what happens here: as traumatic and difficult as our past may have been (both our collective experience in this past year, and the many different traumas we are all dealing with personally), with Christ there is always new life possible. When we abide in him, and he in us, we will still have to deal with the trauma of the past, but, connected to the true vine, we can be assured that we will not wither. We will once again find life.
Let us pray… Christ our true vine, we carry with us the marks of trauma. Let us not be cut off from you, our source of life, so that we may heal and once again bear the fruit that glorifies the Father. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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