John 15:1-11
Vine and Branches
Moving with the Spirit
James Sledge May
31, 2015
Back
in the early 1990s, before going to seminary, I lived in Charlotte, NC, not too
far from my grandparents’ home. The city was beginning to surround them, but
they still had seven acres of land, a barn, a pond, and a big garden plot. And
there were grape vines.
As
a child I ate muscadines and scuppernongs from those vines and helped my
grandmother make jelly from them. But by the early 90s there hadn't been grapes
in a while. Some vines had been lost to a road widening. Other vines still grew
on the metal and wire trellises my grandfather had constructed years earlier,
but no grapes.
Our
daughter Kendrick was a toddler then, and I often took her to visit her great
grandparents. On one visit, I reminisced about grapes and making jelly. Too bad
there we no grapes any more, and Kendrick would never get to do that, but my
grandfather quickly corrected me. “Nothing wrong with the grapes,” he said.
“They just haven’t been tended in recent years.”
Grandad
had suffered a mild stroke that affected the vision processing part of the
brain, leaving him nearly blind. He could no longer do gardening or yard work,
but he told me that if I pruned the vines early next spring, there would be
grapes.
So
it was that he and I went out to the vines one day with pruning shears. He sat down
in an old, metal lawn chair as I began to prune branches. He couldn’t see much,
but he quickly realized that I was being far too timid. “You’ve got to cut them back hard,” he said. “Get rid of all that growth from last year,
all the way back to the main vine.” That seemed extreme to me, cutting off lots
of perfectly healthy growth. But with his encouragement, I pruned them way
back, leaving what seemed to me very little.
Time
passed, and just as Granddad promised, the wires supports filled with branches. Then tiny grape clusters began to form. Later that year, Kendrick and I ate grapes and
made a batch of jelly with my grandmother’s supervision.
It’s
a special memory for me. I don’t know if Kendrick remembers it, but I cherish that
she got to make jelly with my Grandmother, just as I had once done. It’s a
small link to a rural past that has vanished. A drug store now sits where my
grandparents’ home once was.
That
memory also helps me understand when Jesus says he is the vine and his Father
the vinegrower who prunes the healthy branches so they will bear more fruit.
And I have to admit, I find that image both comforting and disturbing at the
same time.
It
is comforting to think that I can abide or dwell in God’s love and it can abide
in me. The notion that I am never alone, that God loves me and comes to me, that
Jesus abides with me through the Spirit, that I can draw life from him, is a
wonderful reassurance. But it turns out this is not simply a resource for me to
tap into when it suits me or when times
are tough. Not only is Christ’s indwelling presence essential for true and full
life, such a life requires God to prune and form me to God’s design, shaping me
in ways I would never do.
As
the product of American culture, I’m not so sure about this. I was raised in a
society that celebrates individual achievement, that mythologizes the self-made
man or woman. In this myth we are what we make of ourselves, yet Jesus says, “apart
from me you can do nothing,” and God must prune us for us to bear good
fruit.
I
often reject such notions. In my own vocational life, I have a distressing
tendency to turn to God only after my ideas or plans don’t pan out. I try to be
a totally independent branch, doing what seems best to me. I can be oblivious
to God much of the time, until I notice that I’m drying up and withering.
I
wonder if Mainline Protestantism isn’t having a similar experience these days.
One hundred years ago we were at the center of culture. That’s how we got the
name Mainline. We dominated culture, and so we assumed the culture was
Christian. That culture did expect people to say they were Christian and
assumed they would affiliate with congregations. And I think many assumed that
participation in this “Christian culture” would somehow form people into
Christians. Clearly that didn’t work
out.
A
recent Washington Post op-ed piece quoted
historian George Marsden who said, “Liberals have learned that it’s difficult
for the church to survive if there’s nothing that makes the church distinct
from culture.” The op-ed itself went on to say, “The assumption of faith has
gradually — now more rapidly — fallen away. There may or may not be a decline
in Christian practice. But we are certainly seeing the collapse of casual
Christianity and of religious belief as a civic assumption.”[1]
I
might put it another way. We are seeing the collapse of Christianity that is
not firmly grafted into Christ, not pruned and shaped by God. There may not be
a decline in actual Christian practice, in deep faith that seeks to follow
Jesus and stays attentive and alert to God’s call. But what the op-ed piece
calls “casual Christianity” and others have called “cultural Christianity” –
Christianity as a civic institution, an accident of birth and circumstance – that
is fading away, just as Jesus told us it would.
There’s
actually good news for the church this – not for the civic institution
sometimes called church, but for the living body of Christ. Those who long for
the revival of cultural Christianity will likely be disappointed. But for those
who seek to be a part of the body of Christ, to bear fruit in the world, there
are many signs of life and vibrancy.
Brian McLaren’s chapter for today opens this
way. “The wind can be blowing, but if your sail isn’t raised, you won’t go far.
You can be surrounded by oxygen, but if you don’t breathe, it won’t do you any
good. The sap can be flowing, but if a branch isn’t connected to the vine, it
will wither. If you don’t have kindling and wood in your hearth, a lit match
won’t burn long. It’s the same with the Spirit. We are surrounded with the
aliveness of the Spirit. All that remains is for us to learn how to let the
Spirit fill, flow, and glow within us.”[2] I
might add, We must learn to stay connected to the vine and allow the vinegrower
to prune and shape us.
____________________________________________________________________________
In
a few moments, we will celebrate the sacrament of baptism. For casual, cultural
Christianity, this was just something you’re supposed to do. I’ve even heard
people refer to it as “getting the baby done.” But today, we graft Maggie into
Christ, into the vine. Her parents promise to lead a life shaped by God as
faithful disciples of Jesus their Lord. They promise to help Maggie learn what
it means to live a life pruned and shaped by God’s call. And we as community
promise to do our part to help, support, and encourage them.
There
is still enough residual, casual Christianity left that such promises are
sometimes made without much thought or meaning. But when they are truly rooted
in Christ, when we truly open ourselves to the life giving movement of the
Spirit, God will shape Maggie and us for our place in the body of Christ, and we
will bear much fruit in the world.
We Make the Road by Walking. The practice begun in Advent continues through
summer of 2015. Scripture and sermons will connect to chapters in Brian
McLaren’s book. This week’s chapter is 41, “Moving with the Spirit.”
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