“Fruits and Vines”

John 15:1-8

A sermon preached by the Rev. Douglas M. Donley

May 18, 2003

University Baptist Church

Minneapolis, MN

 

Sometimes when one is planning out worship a month or so in advance, they will choose a text, even a title for a sermon.  But then when it comes time to prepare said sermon, you are dry as a bone.  I looked up what the commentaries said about this repetitive scripture and I found it frankly rather boring and uninteresting.  I looked though my own files of pervious sermons and found that in 14 years of ministry, I have never preached on this text.  So, no help there.  Then I went to the collection of sermons have accumulated from colleagues.  Nothing Nada zip.  No one preached on this passage, or if they did, I never held on to the sermon. 

            When I read the words, I abide in you and you in me, I think of sappy hymns sung by people at my first church in Hartford.  I hated those hymns, because they spoke only of personal piety and not of any wider context of discipleship.  But they loved them.  I wonder if the reason I am not drawn to this scripture is because of its gentle assurance.  It might just hold the balance I need as an activist.  It just might hold a key to a healthy spiritual life.  So rather than turn tail and running, like I was tempted to do last night, I am going to address this scripture and talk about mutual abiding. 

This is the Sunday when we celebrate the students among us.  The teachers will tell us that the way to teach something that will sink in is through creative repetition.  I guess John’s Jesus was a good teacher in this sense.

Jesus spends chapters upon chapters in John’s Gospel giving the disciples their final warnings.  I’m so used to action or story-telling scriptures that this theologizing can get a little too much .  After the third time he says the same thing, I want to say, “Okay, we got the point already.”

            People learn and do what we teach them, in and out of the classroom.  St Francis of Assisi said that we should preach every day, but only if necessary should we use words.

What a difference a month can make.  It’s a different beast in Dinkytown this weekend.  Whereas a month and a half ago it was on fire with celebrators and rioters, it’s now festooned with people sporting caps and gowns and cars full of stuff leaving for home or for a new life.  This celebration doesn’t bring the violence that the earlier one did.  It holds a different metaphor.  A month and a half ago, people were venting their joy or their rage, strangely similar to the rioting and looting in Iraq. 

Now, they are joyously or cautiously taking a step to another part of life.  They are branching out into uncharted territory.  They’ll need to define and refine who they are. 

            Jesus uses the metaphor of vines and branches in his sermon.  I can imagine him saying this surrounded by blackerry bramble.  They go off in all directions and get real good at bearing fruit.  Until you cut them off from their root.  Then they quickly whither and die. 

I have spent some time in the garden this weekend and I have learned a good bit about vines.  I know how some vines are so incredibly resilient, like mint or sumac.

            If you cut them down, you can get rid of the annoying growth.  But unless you get at the root, you will only make the plant stronger.  It will grow in different directions, putting out its shoots.  We are the fruit that ought to stay connected to the root.  The root is God.  The branches and the fruits are you and me.

            When we graduate or reach another life stage, we branch out.  We yearn and point in a bit of a different direction. We use skills that we have never used before.  We explore places where we had dared not tread in times gone by.  If we do it right, there is new growth, new fruits, new vines growing out of older ones and making us into the people we are today.  By our actions, we answer Mary Oliver’s question, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

            As we grow up, one of the things that we need to do developmentally is to break from the past that we have known.  College is the time people do that.  It’s why students don’t come to church very often.  It’s why some others find in church a groundedness or creativity they had never seen before growing up.  College students are like the budding new life of spring.  When we do church right in this setting, it means we give people the space to try something new, to figure out what they need from their traditions and what they can no longer abide.

            I grew up in a large church in suburban Cleveland, Ohio where there were 200 people in church choir alone.  It was the baby boom and we were booming.  I learned how to be a good person and to love everyone in this church.  The four of us kids went to church every Sunday and even were a part of the wilderness survival based youth program.  I gained my own sense of self-confidence in my church setting.

            But when I went to college, everything seemed to change.  I loved my church and the people in it, but I found the church lacking in its ability to speak to issues of social and economic justice.  In short, I discovered politics in college.  And as I looked back at my church upbringing, I cynically saw how much we were sheltered from the world.  Religion had to do with personal piety, not social justice.  I grew up during the civil rights movement and the Viet Nam war and I don’t ever remember them being topics of discussion in church.  I began to see church as a place where We could become comfortable with our prejudices.  Like Marx, I could see how the religion could be the opiate of the people—placating people and soothing them instead of inspiring them to change the world.

            It wasn’t until I went to Nicaragua after graduating from college that I got back to church.  I saw a passion and a depth of spirituality amongst the Nicaraguan Baptists that I visited that I had not seen in the US.  In short, I was evangelized b the Nicaraguans.  They reminded me of my roots.  They encouraged me to read the stories of Jesus in light of the contemporary struggles for justice and mercy.  And in that new investigation, I found a new power, a new passion and a renewed faith.  And I committed myself to branch out and find new ways to spread this message of Jesus to a world in need.

            We’re real good at branching out.  We’re good at trying new things.  But we can’t totally cut ourselves off from the past. Like it or not, our past is part of who we are today and who we will be tomorrow.  We won’t forget our roots.  Instead, we’ll find new places to plant new seeds.  I think the old adage, forgive and forget makes no sense.  We can forgive, but part of us will never forget a hurt.  We need to reintegrate it into our lives, hopefully in a healthy way.

            Today’s scripture has Jesus say, over and over again that we are the branches and God is the vine, the root.  The root is always strong, and always there.  If we are to live, we need to connect with that root, too.

            Now, let’s think about the roots of our lives.

            These are the people, places, and experience that shape our outlook.  They are our core, our vine.

            They could certainly be God.   

They could be family.

            They could be the church.

            They could be our family of choice.

            They could represent a close friend or lover.

            All of these feed us, and all of us need them.

            If you find yourself wandering or alone, or confused, you may want to remember about your vine, about your roots, about your sense of being. 

What does it mean to abide?

            In the context of the scripture it means to have the words and message of Jesus ingrained in you so much so that when pain or persecution arise, you may not wither and die.  This is another way of saying you’re connected to the vine.  But it’s also knowing yourself, knowing your core.  Knowing what feeds you and what bleeds you.

            On of my favorite places in the world is Samuel P. Taylor Park just north of San Francisco.  When I was younger and in better shape, I used to ride my bike up there and commune among the towering redwoods.  One day I overheard a ranger tell me that the redwood roots are only about six feet deep.  How do they stand up, then?  Their roots are hundreds of feet wide and they spread out in every direction connection with other redwoods.  They will not stay standing if they were not so intertwined at the root.  They could not tower over us or inspire the awe that they do if they were not connected at the root.  We’re a lot like those redwoods.  We need each other and we need to be connected to the vine, the root in order for us to stand up straight and to bear fruit. 

            May we be always connected with each other and with the true vine which grants us nourishment, power and hope beyond measure.