John 15:1-8 "Lessons from VIneyards"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         There was once a farmer.  He had been a farmer for a long time.  He was in his 80’s, a quiet man and very wise.  He was one of those fellows who said little, but, when he did speak, it was worth listening.  Nothing against his wife, but she usually spoke for both of them.  You get the picture.

         One day he was in his backyard doing some pruning while a neighbor, a young man who was just learning about farming, looked silently on, eager to pick up any tips and tricks from the vintage expert. Having pruned several branches, the old farmer said to his neighbor: “Let me show you a trick.”

         The young newbie watched closely as the old farmer bent down and gathered a handful of dirt, which he then rubbed over the fresh cuts on the branches.  His neighbor nodded his head and tucked away this nugget of information, assuming that such a simple action would seal the new cuts and protect the tree.

         “Oh, no,” the farmer replied when queried about his unusual technique.  “That’s to protect me. This way, my wife can’t tell I pruned her plants.”

         Today we are talking about gardening, a worthy topic in the spring, even in this very late coming spring here in Maine.  We are pondering pruning – and branches – and vines – and, of course, because we are in church, God and Jesus and us as well. 

         “I am the vine.  My father is the vinedresser, and you are the branches”: That is what Jesus said to his disciples during the so-called “Farewell Discourses,” a lengthy passage unique to the Gospel of John.  It is the last of the “I am” sayings and sets the scene for another one of Jesus’ extended metaphors, one that even the most simple-minded of his followers would have understood. 

         Jesus’ disciples knew about vineyards, just as today many of us might know about apple orchards.  Methodist pastor Philip McLarty put it this way: “They knew the secrets of proper planting and grafting and pruning. They also knew the responsibilities of keeping a vineyard, that when plants fail to produce, it's up to the keeper of the vineyard to dig them up. After all, they're not there for show. Unless the vines and the branches bear fruit, they're taking up valuable space.”

        In their mind’s eye, the disciples could imagine the gnarled central vine, so sturdy and likely hundreds of years old.  They could envision its taproot and capillary roots firmly entrenched deep in the ground.  They could see the branches radiating outward, not haphazardly and unkempt, but rather cut back dramatically each early spring to force not so much new growth as an abundant harvest of grapes in the autumn months, grapes which would then be processed and made into wine and raisins to see them through the year.  No vine, no wine.  No fruit if you don’t prune the shoot.  No pain, no gain.

         Pruning (particularly from the perspective of that which is being pruned) does not seem to be a pleasant endeavor.  I must admit that I shudder when I see Joe emerge from our barn with pruning shears in hand, making his way toward the large forsythia bush and lilac that border our woodshed.  There is quite a large pile of brush by the time he is finished.  However, I must also admit that there are more and fuller blossoms in future seasons – though sometimes it takes a couple of years to see the benefit. 

         In this passage we just read, Jesus speaks about the need for pruning.  Every branch that does not bear grapes must be cut off, he says.  And every branch that is grape-bearing must be pruned back so it will bear even more. 

         He seems to be telling us that, whether we are fruit producers or not, if we are part of this vine, we will not remain the same – change is inevitable - which perhaps is a way of, at the very least, suggesting that none of us have it all together spiritually.  We are either deadwood, or we need pruning.

         Either we do not get it at all, or we could be so much better at it.  We could love more.  W could take compassion to a new level.  We could more deeply understand that the Nepalese family who last week lost everything – shelter, clothing, furniture, kitchen equipment, friends, children, cousins - is our neighbor as much as the lily-white family who lives next door to us – the former undoubtedly needing our neighborliness now more than ever.

         There was once a robber, a 5 foot 6 inch man weighing some 270 pounds.  He walked into two banks in broad daylight and attempted to rob them. He also made no attempt to disguise himself.

         Within hours of the robberies, police found him. He was easily identified from the surveillance tapes. Nevertheless, he was shocked.

         "But I wore the juice!" he said to the arresting officers.

         It turns out that before the robberies he had smeared his face with lemon juice. It caused his face to burn, and he had difficulty seeing, but he was under the impression that smearing lemon juice on his face would render him invisible to the security cameras. 

         You know, the old disappearing ink trick taken to a new level.  His case was highlighted in a social psychology study entitled, “Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties of Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-assessments."

         Incompetence can take many forms, not the least of which is spiritual incompetence (that is, not having it all together spiritually), which maybe is why pruning is such essential aspect of Jesus’ metaphor of vine and branches.

         For me, another striking image in this passage is the connectedness between the vine and the branches.  “If you remain (or, as some translations say, “abide”) in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” 

         I love that word, “abide.”  As blogger John Shore writes, “It means to dwell, to live your days, remain in . . . rest in the love of God.”  He goes on to say that “to abide is not effort, it is gift.

It is the way you live in the presence of a loved one…They are never far from heart and mind…You and I are called to abide and dwell in Christ - to live as if it were not possible for distance or circumstance to separate us.”

         To produce that good fruit we are called to produce as followers of Jesus, we as the branches need to stay firmly attached to the vine.  We need to be abide in Jesus, be connected to him, for he is our lifeblood as Christians.  He is the one in whom we find real life, compassionate life as God meant life to be.  As Presbyterian pastor Meda Stamper notes, “We bear fruit not by squeezing it out of ourselves but because we are extensions of the vine.”

         In short, we need the vine. We need the model of Jesus’ ministry if we are to live the kind of lives God intended for us.  The connection is vital, and, in that sense, we are dependent on the vine, for it is the source of our compassion. 

         Without our attachment to the vine, we are deadwood.  When we look the other way, when we are consumed by our own lives and possessions and fail to have the time or inclination to respond to the deep need all around us, we are detaching ourselves from the vine.  We are just like everyone we point fingers at because they are not “very Christian” in their dealings with others.   

         Yes, we need the vine – though that is a scary thought.  It means engaging in deep dependence, profound reliance. It means recognizing that, in the end, life is nothing without the intimacy, without the relationship with the vine. 

         Now how un-American is that!  After all, we have been taught to stand on our own two feet, to demonstrate self-reliance (“The best help you have is at the end of our own arm” – that sort of thing. (Shore))

         And yet, this text says – over and over again – no!  This text says that there is no room for that rugged individualism that has characterized our culture for so long. 

         Instead it says, “’Abide in me.’ Over and over again. Abide in me. Live in me. Dwell in me. Trust in me and count on me, for all things. You will find your life — in me” (Shore) - not in possessions, not in the place you carve out for yourself in your world, not in your independent spirit – but in me and in the compassion I model and embody.  You are grafted to the vine.  Or, to be a bit more New England-ish: Rejoice, I say, rejoice in the fact that are a branch in God’s orchard.

         But grape vine or apple tree, you are not the only branch – and that is the final image I want to look at this morning.  The tree or the vineyard survives and thrives because of its many branches – interconnected, interrelated, drawing strength from the vine, from the trunk.  In Hampton Court near London, there is a grapevine, which is about 1,000 years old. This grapevine has one root, which is at least two feet thick, and some of the branches are 200 feet long. Despite its age the vine produces several tons of grapes each year.

          Although some of the smaller branches are 200 feet from the main stem, they still bear the sweet and delicious fruit because they are connected to the vine. Life flows from that single root and throughout the vine bringing nourishment and strength to each of the branches.

         There is something important to be said about such interconnectedness, not only between the vine and a single branch, but also among the branches themselves.  If Jesus were to extend this metaphor down to us here today, I think he would say that there is something important about community, about all the branches together.  For us, then, that would mean that we can not do this Christian thing effectively alone.  We are so much more powerful in community – as a church - than in isolation.

         If it can be taken seriously because of its deep commitment to compassionate mission, there is a role for the church – even today when membership is declining so precipitously.  But we need to be like those giant Western sequoia trees.  You have probably seen photographs and so know that they can be hundreds of feet tall, ten or more feet around, and thousands of years old.  But did you know that sequoias have very shallow root systems?   And the only way they can withstand the winds and rains and stress of the centuries is because they intertwine their roots with others, drawing their strength from one another. 

         We in the church need to be like those giant sequoia trees because if we are, that is, if we can effectively work as a community with a common vision, then we can be a wellspring of compassion.  That is our calling, you know – over and above fellowship and fundraising. 

Compassion is who we are meant to be because the lifeblood of the vine itself is compassion.

         And so we should not take our relationship with our church lightly, for it is through the church that we most fully realize our connection to the vine.  Reformed Church pastor Scott Hoezee makes an interesting point about our relationship with the church. 

         He writes, “We view our membership and involvement in most every institution as something that is wholly up to us—we can initiate membership and we can terminate membership at will. Hence we tend to view the status of our membership, of our belonging, to this or that group sort of at arm’s length. Being a volunteer member carries with it a vague sense of detachment. I come and go as I please, thank you very much.

         And so even in terms of church membership—and here (he says) I am recalling something Eugene Peterson once wrote—we have a hard time wrapping our minds around the idea that to say “I am a member of Second Church” (or I would add the Raymond Village Community Church) is (biblically speaking) like referring to your own hand as a member of your body. Being a voluntary member of some group means joining or resigning are rather easy things.  Being a body part carries with it quite other connotations!  A hand can’t quit the body without some pretty dramatic effects.”  Think about it.

         “I am the vine, and my father is the vinedresser.  I am the vine and you are the branches.”  In short, first, be prepared for pruning, sometimes deep and painful pruning.  But don’t let that scare you off.  Because, second, you will want abide with the vine.  You will want to stay connected because within the vine is the deep wellspring of compassion you will need to draw upon if you are (and, by connection, this church is) not to be relegated as deadwood.  And finally, remember that, though you are not the only branch, you are a most important one – sustaining someone here in this community or elsewhere in ways you probably will never know.  The vineyard will not be the same without you, without your presence, but most of all, without your active involvement in compassionate ministries.

         And when all is said and done, the wine – oh the wine – will be most intoxicating, in the very best sense of the word.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine