The Vine, The Branches And The Grapes
Sermon
One of the joys of moving house is making interesting discoveries in the garden. In the garden of one of the houses we moved into, we discovered a lovely little herb garden, completely covered by masses of overgrown Michaelmas and Ox-eye daisies.
There was also, to our astonishment, a vine, gently creeping up the wall. A somewhat small and delicate vine to be sure. One which had been all but choked by the daisies, but a vine nonetheless.
But I have to confess, it was nothing like the vine which friends of ours inherited when they moved house. Their new house had a conservatory filled with vine, with thick, strong, gnarled branches. It had clearly been growing there in ideal conditions, for many years. And in the summer, their vine was full of delicious grapes, which supplied the entire neighbourhood.
"I am the vine," said Jesus. "You are the branches. Whoever remains in me, with me in him, bears fruit in plenty; for cut off from me you can do nothing."
It's interesting that a vine branch which bears much fruit is quite difficult to see. It's so thickly covered with foliage and great luscious bunches of grapes hanging from it, that the branch itself is largely obscured. You see the leaves, you see the fruit, but you don't actually see much of the branch.
The purpose of the branch is to transmit nourishment from the soil, via the vine, to the fruit, so that the fruit may grow. And the branch bears the weight of the hanging bunches of grapes. It supports them. Along with its leaves it protects and shelters them, for the bunches generally hang below the branch.
But one branch can do nothing of this by itself. Our little vine in Unthank Road never actually produced grapes! A well established and mature vine has a thick network of branches like a hedge, all supporting and underpinning one another. All working closely together.
And the branches which bear the most fruit are often the older branches in the centre of the vine. Those that have been at it a long time. The newer, thinner branches are on the periphery. To start with, they don't bear much fruit. It's as the years roll on, as they become more mature, better established, that they really become bearers of fruit.
It's perhaps also true to say, the dead branches are generally found in the middle of the vine. Those new delicate branches that don't make it, tend to break off by themselves. But the thicker, stronger branches in the centre of the vine perhaps die off much more gradually. Almost as though something blocks their transmission of nourishment and they dry up imperceptibly.
In the winter at the beginning of the season, all branches on the vine look pretty much the same. Some are thicker and stronger than others, because some are more mature than others. But none of them have any leaves or any fruit. It would be difficult at that early stage to predict which branches were likely to produce fruit. It would be difficult to identify any branches which were dead, because in winter the dead branches appear to be very similar to the live branches. It's only much later in the season, when the foliage, and more particularly the fruit, appears, that it becomes more apparent which branches are dead.
We're all branches of the vine, and we're all involved in Christian ministry. Perhaps the early stages of Christian ministry are unlikely to bear much fruit, because the branches aren't yet sufficiently mature. New branches are slender and somewhat delicate. They're easily broken. They're easily choked by weeds. And they're on the periphery, not yet part of that strong network of supporting branches in the centre of the vine. Movement towards the centre is a gradual one and usually takes many years. Young, delicate branches need to be nurtured and encouraged and protected, but not pushed.
In my opinion, it's always dangerous to predict deadness in Christianity, because that deadness may only become apparent after years of Christian ministry. And that deadness tends to be well hidden right in the centre of the vine, perhaps where you'd least expect it. And it's not the branches which identify deadness in each other. Only the gardener, who has the overall view, is really in a position to determine which branches are dead.
From time to time I hear stories of people who for years were highly regarded by their community, often the church, but at home were regularly abusing their family in various ways. Children of such a home grow up damaged, and with fury in their hearts. The deadness of their parent was never identified by the community because everything was hidden. Nobody ever knew what was really going on.
Even so, those chilling words about the dead branches being collected like so much garbage, and thrown on the fire and burnt, always leave me feeling uneasy. I may not be in a position to identify other people's deadness, but what about my own? How do I identify whether or not I'm a branch which is dead?
It must surely be true that everyone has a certain degree of deadness within them. We are, after all, only human, and therefore we sin. And God who created us understands that, and loves and forgives us. But Jesus is talking about people who are dead through and through. Who have lost their connection to the vine. Who don't transmit any goodness from God via Jesus the vine, either to themselves or to other people.
Those for whom Jesus always had the harshest words, were the hypocrites. Those who gave the outward appearance of being pillars of the community, but inside had no connection to God whatsoever. They made all the right religious noises, but they were empty shells.
How do I know whether or not my religion is an empty shell?
After years of ministry, when they should be concealed under the weight of fruit, dead branches are still easily seen. When they should be in the background, supporting and enabling and protecting others, they're still very much concerned only with themselves and with their own image.
They fail to nourish. They may produce church work much as they always have, but they don't feed other people, and they're not fed themselves. They don't grow. They don't change. Their opinions now are exactly as they were years ago. And those opinions tend to be harsh and judgemental.
They haven't grown strong in themselves, in their inner being. Despite their appearance, they're still the thin, delicate branches they were in the early days. Easily broken, brittle, quick to take umbrage, because they're cut off from the source of nourishment.
Jesus says: "Cut off from me you can do nothing." The purpose of the branches is to bear much fruit, and withered branches can't do that. They need to be cleared away not by the other branches, but by the gardener to enable growth of the live branches, so that fruit in abundance will be produced.
In Christian ministry, only one thing really matters. And that's remaining in the vine, in whichever way is right for you. If I'm in the vine, then fruit will be produced in me. I don't have to do anything. If I'm in the vine, then I can't help but respond to the needs of my neighbour. I don't have to do good works as a duty, I simply respond. I don't have to give more money to the church because I think I ought to, I simply respond. I don't have to go to church every Sunday because I feel I'm obliged to, I simply respond.
All I need do to remain in the vine, is to give quality time and space to God, in whichever way is right for me. We're all different, and so we all respond to God in different ways. I need to remember vines need rain as well as sunshine, and so I need to allow God to use both the sunshine and the rain in my life.
In this passage on the vine, the word "remain" occurs seven times. According to my Thesaurus, there are a number of synonyms for "remain". They are: abide, continue, prevail, stay, last, and endure. Many of those words have overtones of struggle - prevail, last, endure, stay. Remaining in the vine sounds so simple, but it isn't necessarily easy. Jesus is well aware of the difficulty of the task to which he's called us. He knows of what we are made. He knows that remaining in the vine will require endurance and a network of support from each other, because branches don't produce fruit in isolation.
But Jesus has called us, every one of us, to Christian ministry. And I guess the reason he's called us to this difficult task is simply this, as it says at the end of this passage from John 15: that his joy may be in us and our joy may be complete.
There was also, to our astonishment, a vine, gently creeping up the wall. A somewhat small and delicate vine to be sure. One which had been all but choked by the daisies, but a vine nonetheless.
But I have to confess, it was nothing like the vine which friends of ours inherited when they moved house. Their new house had a conservatory filled with vine, with thick, strong, gnarled branches. It had clearly been growing there in ideal conditions, for many years. And in the summer, their vine was full of delicious grapes, which supplied the entire neighbourhood.
"I am the vine," said Jesus. "You are the branches. Whoever remains in me, with me in him, bears fruit in plenty; for cut off from me you can do nothing."
It's interesting that a vine branch which bears much fruit is quite difficult to see. It's so thickly covered with foliage and great luscious bunches of grapes hanging from it, that the branch itself is largely obscured. You see the leaves, you see the fruit, but you don't actually see much of the branch.
The purpose of the branch is to transmit nourishment from the soil, via the vine, to the fruit, so that the fruit may grow. And the branch bears the weight of the hanging bunches of grapes. It supports them. Along with its leaves it protects and shelters them, for the bunches generally hang below the branch.
But one branch can do nothing of this by itself. Our little vine in Unthank Road never actually produced grapes! A well established and mature vine has a thick network of branches like a hedge, all supporting and underpinning one another. All working closely together.
And the branches which bear the most fruit are often the older branches in the centre of the vine. Those that have been at it a long time. The newer, thinner branches are on the periphery. To start with, they don't bear much fruit. It's as the years roll on, as they become more mature, better established, that they really become bearers of fruit.
It's perhaps also true to say, the dead branches are generally found in the middle of the vine. Those new delicate branches that don't make it, tend to break off by themselves. But the thicker, stronger branches in the centre of the vine perhaps die off much more gradually. Almost as though something blocks their transmission of nourishment and they dry up imperceptibly.
In the winter at the beginning of the season, all branches on the vine look pretty much the same. Some are thicker and stronger than others, because some are more mature than others. But none of them have any leaves or any fruit. It would be difficult at that early stage to predict which branches were likely to produce fruit. It would be difficult to identify any branches which were dead, because in winter the dead branches appear to be very similar to the live branches. It's only much later in the season, when the foliage, and more particularly the fruit, appears, that it becomes more apparent which branches are dead.
We're all branches of the vine, and we're all involved in Christian ministry. Perhaps the early stages of Christian ministry are unlikely to bear much fruit, because the branches aren't yet sufficiently mature. New branches are slender and somewhat delicate. They're easily broken. They're easily choked by weeds. And they're on the periphery, not yet part of that strong network of supporting branches in the centre of the vine. Movement towards the centre is a gradual one and usually takes many years. Young, delicate branches need to be nurtured and encouraged and protected, but not pushed.
In my opinion, it's always dangerous to predict deadness in Christianity, because that deadness may only become apparent after years of Christian ministry. And that deadness tends to be well hidden right in the centre of the vine, perhaps where you'd least expect it. And it's not the branches which identify deadness in each other. Only the gardener, who has the overall view, is really in a position to determine which branches are dead.
From time to time I hear stories of people who for years were highly regarded by their community, often the church, but at home were regularly abusing their family in various ways. Children of such a home grow up damaged, and with fury in their hearts. The deadness of their parent was never identified by the community because everything was hidden. Nobody ever knew what was really going on.
Even so, those chilling words about the dead branches being collected like so much garbage, and thrown on the fire and burnt, always leave me feeling uneasy. I may not be in a position to identify other people's deadness, but what about my own? How do I identify whether or not I'm a branch which is dead?
It must surely be true that everyone has a certain degree of deadness within them. We are, after all, only human, and therefore we sin. And God who created us understands that, and loves and forgives us. But Jesus is talking about people who are dead through and through. Who have lost their connection to the vine. Who don't transmit any goodness from God via Jesus the vine, either to themselves or to other people.
Those for whom Jesus always had the harshest words, were the hypocrites. Those who gave the outward appearance of being pillars of the community, but inside had no connection to God whatsoever. They made all the right religious noises, but they were empty shells.
How do I know whether or not my religion is an empty shell?
After years of ministry, when they should be concealed under the weight of fruit, dead branches are still easily seen. When they should be in the background, supporting and enabling and protecting others, they're still very much concerned only with themselves and with their own image.
They fail to nourish. They may produce church work much as they always have, but they don't feed other people, and they're not fed themselves. They don't grow. They don't change. Their opinions now are exactly as they were years ago. And those opinions tend to be harsh and judgemental.
They haven't grown strong in themselves, in their inner being. Despite their appearance, they're still the thin, delicate branches they were in the early days. Easily broken, brittle, quick to take umbrage, because they're cut off from the source of nourishment.
Jesus says: "Cut off from me you can do nothing." The purpose of the branches is to bear much fruit, and withered branches can't do that. They need to be cleared away not by the other branches, but by the gardener to enable growth of the live branches, so that fruit in abundance will be produced.
In Christian ministry, only one thing really matters. And that's remaining in the vine, in whichever way is right for you. If I'm in the vine, then fruit will be produced in me. I don't have to do anything. If I'm in the vine, then I can't help but respond to the needs of my neighbour. I don't have to do good works as a duty, I simply respond. I don't have to give more money to the church because I think I ought to, I simply respond. I don't have to go to church every Sunday because I feel I'm obliged to, I simply respond.
All I need do to remain in the vine, is to give quality time and space to God, in whichever way is right for me. We're all different, and so we all respond to God in different ways. I need to remember vines need rain as well as sunshine, and so I need to allow God to use both the sunshine and the rain in my life.
In this passage on the vine, the word "remain" occurs seven times. According to my Thesaurus, there are a number of synonyms for "remain". They are: abide, continue, prevail, stay, last, and endure. Many of those words have overtones of struggle - prevail, last, endure, stay. Remaining in the vine sounds so simple, but it isn't necessarily easy. Jesus is well aware of the difficulty of the task to which he's called us. He knows of what we are made. He knows that remaining in the vine will require endurance and a network of support from each other, because branches don't produce fruit in isolation.
But Jesus has called us, every one of us, to Christian ministry. And I guess the reason he's called us to this difficult task is simply this, as it says at the end of this passage from John 15: that his joy may be in us and our joy may be complete.
