Easter 5 B 2021: Vine & Branch Questions
Dear Partner in Preaching,
I will confess right up front that I find preaching from the Farewell Discourses (John 14-16) seriously challenging. The combination of significant metaphor; a palpable sense of, but nevertheless elusive, original context; and strange mixture of promise, exhortation, and warning have always prompted me to walk – and preach – gingerly when tarrying in this particular portion of John’s Gospel. It feels like the Fourth Evangelist was writing to a community in pain, struggling with their identity in relation to former friends and synagogue members and a host of losses and fears that are palpably present but difficult to name. (For what it’s worth, I still find Raymond Brown’s Community of the Beloved Disciple immensely helpful in understanding that context.) All of which makes me, well, pretty cautious so that I don’t read into this passage things John never intended and yet unclear as to what John did in fact intend. Which means that, this week, I come to this passage with more questions than insights, and I thought I’d share a few with you.
First, Jesus is the vine and God the vinegrower. Fine. And we’re the branches, also fine. But… how do we hear Jesus warning (or is it a promise?) that the vines that bear good fruit will be pruned so they can grow more? Pruning is part of gardening; that’s just how it works. Sometimes you cut a bush or vine back until it looks nearly like a barren stalk precisely so that new growth is possible. It feels aggressive, but I think perhaps it is, ultimately, a promise that God can and will take even what is most challenging in our lives and use it to prepare us for service. How do you hear it?
Second, “apart from me, you can do nothing.” Again, I wonder how our folks may hear that. On the one hand, I believe it. Moreover, I think that, when offered as a statement of faith, most of our people do, too. On the other hand, I’m not sure I live like that, or pray like that, or act like that. Day to day, most of us don’t act like everything we do and are and accomplish depends on God. This verse challenges our sense of being self-made men and women in the world. And yet… maybe after a year of pandemic and racial reckoning and political paralysis, maybe this is the year we can hear that affirmation more accurately and with fresh appreciation. It, too, initially sounds like a warning, or even a scolding, yet embedded in these words is a promise. It is precisely because everything we do depends on Jesus that we can count on doing something meaningful. At the end of a series of exhortations that close his First Letter to the Thessalonians, the Apostle Paul writes, “The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this” (5:24). So also, Jesus’ words here remind us that it’s not up to us. It never was. It never will be. Thanks be to God.
Third, across this whole passage is an affirmation of both the immense dependence of the branches on the vine and simultaneously the tremendous potential of being branches on the vine. I’m curious what it would look like in our own lives and in our congregations if we took that a little more seriously. That is, what does it mean to be a branch on Jesus’ vine? How might this promise shape our actions? I’ve been struck by how often when a parishioner of mine questions something I’ve said in a sermon and devotion – usually about racial equity but also about vaccines or political division – the complaint is usually that I’ve only stated one side of the issue (presumably, a too-liberal side). And I try to listen and learn and be respectful, both in that conversation but also in the sermons and devotions that come, recognizing that Christians have, do, and will disagree about strategies to move forward in realizing God’s dreams for God’s people. I have learned a tremendous amount from folks who disagree with me. But I’m struck by how seldom the conversation moves to a discussion about what Jesus actually wants for us and from us, about what Jesus might actually do in the face of the problems we’re talking about. And, just to be clear, I can be as guilty of that as the next person. Of course I try to root whatever counsel or perspective I offer to the words and actions of Jesus, but in later conversation it’s easy to be swept into the philosophical or political tides of the day, and I’m curious what it would be like to agree ahead of any such conversations to point, as often as possible, to Jesus the vine and then ask how we’re called as branches to live.
As I mentioned, Dear Partner, more questions that insights this week. I hope some of them might spark your own thinking and, if so, that you’d be willing to share your insights and questions in the comments for others to profit by. Once again, and especially with a passage like this, know how much I appreciate your faithful labor in the vineyard of the Lord (just to mix metaphors!). Blessings on your ministry.
Yours in Christ,
David
Once again, brother, your reflections remind me of who we are and whose we are, and that it is not enough to settle for the chaos of our culture as a reality to promote,…that we are invited to imagine who we are in Jesus Christ, the vine. your thoughts make me want to become all that God is dreaming for us
It feels aggressive, but I think perhaps it is, ultimately, a promise that God can and will take even what is most challenging in our lives and use it to prepare us for service. How do you hear it?
I think we cannot hope to understand another’s pain unless we ourselves have gone through something similar. It’s how we learn empathy. Secondly, we cannot be helpful to each other unless we are empathic, realizing we are all connected to each other.
I’ve been struck by how often when a parishioner of mine questions something I’ve said in a sermon and devotion – usually about racial equity but also about vaccines or political division – the complaint is usually that I’ve only stated one side of the issue (presumably, a too-liberal side).
There are many ministers presenting the gospel from an ultra-conservative viewpoint, so I wouldn’t worry about being too liberal. In fact, I suspect that a harsh, conservative message is being preached in the majority of churches.
We’re called to proclaim the Gospel, not necessarily to give answers. You ask questions but you keep coming back to the promises of God. Those are Good News. So maybe there’s Gospel even behind the questions. Thank you for questions that will spark my proclamation.
That is, what does it mean to be a branch on Jesus’ vine? How might this promise shape our actions? I’ve been struck by how often when a parishioner of mine questions something I’ve said in a sermon and devotion – usually about racial equity but also about vaccines or political division – the complaint is usually that I’ve only stated one side of the issue (presumably, a too-liberal side).
I can so hear and feel this tension about being too progressive or liberal. I preach on the fact that we are taught that there are no labels, just like we are no longer Jew nor Greek, but disciples of Christ and that the communion table is open to all who believe. Not to say this is taken with awe and wonder by those objecting or questioning this message, but I too, try my hardest to listen to their perspective. I hope it is helpful!
I wonder if the Johanine community was wrestling with loss of members because of the opposition of Judaism and the Roman Empire. Could it be that John was saying such losses were a pruning to make the community stronger? This is a real guess. I am part of ELCA. We had a large group leave over our acceptance of the LBGT community. Now that a few years have passed I believe we have been strengthen for our our witness by such a pruning. I will not be preaching on these observations. They are in the realm of I wonder, but I would like to hear how others see such a pruning. Shalom