“I am the vine and you are the branches” 

 

            The stormy weather of the past couple of weeks caused some serious problems around town.  Certainly there was the immediate problem of downed limbs and uprooted trees across the city.  Riding my bike the other day down Wood Hollow on the other side of Far West I saw one magnificent but unfortunate oak leaning against the second floor balcony of some poor guy’s second story apartment.  Imagine his surprise when he looked out the window the next morning.  Although we didn’t have to deal with power outages up her in Northwest Hills, the story wasn’t the same for others who had to wait almost four days for them to see the light once again.

 

            Still, in some ways the damaging hail and high winds paled in comparison to the storm of blame and recrimination that followed.  Angry residents demanded to know why city officials seemed so slow to respond.  Meanwhile Austin Power representatives seemed to suggest that tree loving residents were to blame.  If they’d been more diligent in pruning back branches from power lines or more willing to let them do so, then there wouldn’t be a problem.  In true civic fashion the mayor and other officials have called for a full scale investigation. 

 

            But whatever differences of opinion there may be whoever is to blame, it’s really all just a part of the natural process, “nature’s pruning” as someone has suggested.  The branches that were too big for the tree to support went down.  Trees like that one over on Wood Hollow weren’t rooted well enough to sustain themselves anyway.  While it looks like a war zone in some parts of town, damaged trees may well not only survive but be in better shape than they were before.  And where old trees are gone, there’s a whole lot more room for those little oak seedlings on the ground to grow and flourish. Such rending and destruction inevitably leads to new life.  It’s one of the wonders of nature. 

 

            Like the stormy winds of a week ago, one could say that God is in the business of pruning too.  Speaking to the disciples shortly before his crucifixion, Jesus tosses out an evocative and familiar image for them to consider.  “I am the vine, and the Father is the vine grower.”  Jesus says.  “He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.”  Now there’s no mistaking the organic and intimate connection between the vine Jesus and the vinedresser God.  But the image doesn’t end there, because Jesus extends the image to include you and me.  “I am the vine and you are the branches.  Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”  Vinedresser, vine and branches—consider the wonderful and mysterious connection.

 

            I confess that when it comes to pruning, I’m no expert.  So waiting for dinner last night, I sat down with the only true expert in pruning that I know, my beautiful and agriculturally knowledgeable wife.  She informed me that you never prune just for the sake of pruning.  You do so for a reason, to cut back dead growth, to shape the plant and to help it flower and bloom.  It’s not a job for the faint of heart.  Cutting back unproductive, dead limbs can be brutal and shocking.  That being said, there are ways to prune and not to prune and driving around town this time of year, you can see plenty of examples.  Crepe myrtles are a case in point crepe.  For some reason people seem to think that it’s a good idea to lop them off square at the top like some kind of weird horticultural crew cut.  Thick, strong braches are lopped off with result that little shoots begin to grow out of the top like some middle aged guy sporting hair plugs.  And what looks rather silly to the eye actually prevents healthy sustained growth.  When you’re pruning, it’s far better to work carefully and selectively. 

 

            In the analogy that Jesus gives us today we might well consider God to be the supreme master gardener, who, when it comes to the art of pruning knows far better than we do about what to do.  He knows what’s good for us, even we don’t.  Still, the idea that someone, even God is at work on us hacking and cutting away is unsettling to say the very least.  It suggests that there are parts of us, qualities, aspects of who we are that aren’t beneficial and that may well even hinder us in the living of life.  We are smart, resourceful people.  We know what we have to do in order to get things done.  We’re responsible and can take care of ourselves.  The last thing that any of us wants is to appear weak, needy and dependent on others, our family, our friends or even God Himself.  What’s more who among us want to hear that the way we choose to live our lives, our priorities, our assumptions, our notions of right and wrong may be out of whack and actually prevent growth and new life?  I know I certainly don’t.  But the minute we begin to lose our connection to the life-giving vine, we’re doomed.  So, I think we’re led to consider today the dead wood in our own lives, the things that get in the way and even cut us off from Jesus the vine who is our only source of hope and life in this world.  

 

One warm and steamy Monday last spring, Jenny recruited me to help her with one of her landscaping jobs, the miraculous transformation of a sad looking side yard into a sophisticated and beautiful xeriscape presentation. On towards the end of the day, she left me and one of the other workers on our own to finish the planting and mulching.  One of the plants was what’s known as passion vine, an amazing flowering vine with a bloom that looks like something you’d at a fireworks display, light purple on the outside that turns into a deep violet towards the center with a white stamen protruding in all directions.  It’s quite a sight to behold.  Now, the plant I was supposed to put in the ground was bound up in a kind of wire mesh to ensure that the lone, tender sprig coming up out of the pot wouldn’t break in two.  Well, as I pulled the plastic container away from the root ball you can probably guess what happened.  Lo and behold, to my complete horror the vine broke in two right there in my hands.  And by the time Jenny returned the once lush and flowering branches had begun to wilt and fade.  The passion was gone and there was nothing that anyone could do.  Needless to say I felt like a clod.  We took the vine home with us and set it outside the garage door.  The next morning when I went out to get the newspaper, it had already the leaves had already begun to grow dry.  It was a sad ending to a magnificent specimen.  The only thing left to do it seemed was to toss it out in the garbage. 

 

             “I am the vine, you are the branches.  Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”  It’s a simple message, so simple that even the youngest child could understand it and yet, at the same time it’s a humbling message, the message that our life, our very being is intimately connected to Jesus’ life and without him, without that connection to him, we’d whither and die like branches and flowers cut off from the vine that nourishes and sustains them.

 

            But there is good news as well.  On account of Jesus, on account of what he’s done for us on the cross and what he has done for each and every one us us, ‘we have already been pruned and cleansed by the word that Christ has spoken for us” in baptism.  Indeed, “by water and the Holy Spirit we are made members of the Church which is the Body of Christ.” grafted to Jesus our vine we might say.  “As we live with him and with his people we grow in faith, love and obedience to the will of God.”  Through Christ we behold a skilled arborist’s work at work in and through us constantly shaping, pruning, cutting back so that life can emerge.  He’ll spare no expense in bringing about the new, not even God’s own son on the cross that through pain and death life new life emerges again.     

 

Which brings us back to that unfortunate passion vine I did a number on last year.  After sitting by the garage door for about a week, Jenny and I noticed something happening. The vine that had been cut off at the base began to grow and grow and grow as if nothing were going to stop it.  Instead of death, there was life, life abundant.

 

Jesus says, “I am the vine and you are the branches.”  Our life, our hope, our future are in his hands, hands that prune and cut, hands that care and tend with the love that knows no end.  Praise be to God.  Amen.