I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. 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. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.
I read something recently that stopped me in my tracks, and I’d like to begin by sharing it with you. It’s by Layne Redmond from her book, When the Drummers were Women.
"Before we were conceived, we existed in part as an egg in our mother’s ovary. All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother. This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb and she, in turn, formed within the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythms of our mother’s blood before she herself is born. And this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother. We all share the blood of the first mother - we are truly children of one blood."
Occasionally somebody comes along and simply nails it! Occasionally, somebody has the words and the audacity to name an absolute truth about human life—namely, that we are not as different as we think we are; that we are one; that many of the walls between us are but figments of our unimagination.
The word I would use today is “connectional.” It’s not a word that usually finds itself into our vocabulary—connectional—but it’s a word that says a lot about who we are and who we aim to be. As a seminary student, in order to become a pastor in the Presbyterian Church, I had to take my ordination exams. Nine hours of essay exam questions spread over two days, followed by a take-home written exam on biblical interpretation. Three hours of that test-taking covered the subject of Presbyterian polity—the government, structure, and administration of the Presbyterian Church. And I can remember some of the more experienced seminarians giving this advice: no matter what you do on your polity exam, try to work in the word, “connectional” a couple of times. Now obviously, there were other keys to successfully passing those exams; casually dropping the word “connectional” into your responses wouldn’t guarantee a passing grade. The truth is, however, that in our polity and in our heart, the Presbyterian Church is a connectional church—we practice and celebrate that to be connected to God means, among other things, that we are connected to each other. Our One Great Hour of Sharing/Hand of Hope offering is just one of those points of connection—an expression of shared vision and shared responsibility that connects us to each other and to our world.
Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” That’s connectional. Who we are and what we do are more than individual expressions—they are reflections of a much larger whole to which we are connected.
Of course, Jesus’ vineyard analogy can leave us scratching our heads. Jesus is the vine and God is the vinegrower. Branches that bear fruit are pruned to produce more fruit, and branches that fail to bear fruit are cut off and thrown into the fire. And so Jesus doesn’t say it, but when you read John chapter 15, you can almost hear the words, “or else.” “I am the vine; you are the branches; and your job is to bear fruit or else…” The thought of a branch bearing no fruit being cut off and thrown into the fire has no doubt motivated many a Christian through the years to bear down and produce—anything—just so long as I don’t get cut off and burned!
So perhaps the first thing to say here is that there’s a danger in taking Jesus’ parables and allegories and turning them into formulas for salvation—as if faith itself can be reduced to some sort of chemical equation that will somehow prove our status as full-fledged members of the vine. And the danger is that we diminish our relationship with God into something that can be proven with measurable outcomes. “I’m a Christian, see? I’m saved and I can prove it. Not only have I said the right things and prayed the right prayers, but I have all this fruit to show for my efforts—all these good deeds, bushels of good Christian productivity…” No, I don’t think that Jesus is laying out a formula here as a means for proving our faithfulness or our salvation.
Having said that, however, we must confront the fact that Jesus appears serious about bearing fruit—that, at the end of the day, this whole faith thing (being a Christian, going to church, saying your prayers, tithing, teaching, worshipping, studying…) this whole faith experience yields something. Yes, it’s true, faith is about more than what we have to show for it, but at some point, do we have anything to show? It’s a valid question for us to ask ourselves. Where’s the fruit?
I can remember a fiery preacher asking a congregation, “If you were on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?” Such hypothetical questions are supposed to send us back to the formulas—back to the task of proving our status among the faithful—searching through our life experience for something, anything that might count as fruit. And so we return to the courtroom and ask the judge, “How much fruit is enough? How much evidence do you need? Should I get these faith statements notarized?”
I hope that in your own minds, I am bringing light to a paradox. Faith is never about what we have to show for it. AND. Faith without anything to show for it is questionable. Put another way, the purpose of faith is not to produce anything. On the other hand, if it produces nothing, is it faith to begin with?
So back to Jesus’ vine analogy. Is there an “or else” in there? Is Jesus saying, “I’m the vine, you’re the branch, produce some fruit, or else I’ll find another branch to take your place?” No, I don’t think so.
I want to shift gears somewhat suddenly and say that I don’t think Jesus’ vineyard teaching is meant to boost good Christian productivity. I think, rather, that it’s a connectional teaching. Jesus is not saying here, “Work hard and produce much fruit so that you can stay connected to the vine.” Rather, he’s saying, “Stay connected to the vine, and you will produce much fruit.” Be connected! Stay connected! Be and stay connected to me, and so to one another, and together we will do what a good vine does—we’ll bear fruit.
I want to leave you today with a question and a story. The question is, “What if we realized how connected we were? What if we realized just how connected we really were?”
A couple years ago, I was watching some mindless TV. It was Dateline or 20-20 or one of those shows, and they were doing a study of twins. For years, biologists have studied twins to try and gain an understanding of how the human brain develops and operates in relation to other humans. Identical twins pose a compelling question. How much of our brain development is tied to our DNA and how much of it is tied to our experience?
Well on this show, they found a pair of identical twins who for some reason had been separated at birth. They were grown women now in their 50’s, living in different parts of the country. Up until just recently, they didn’t even know they had a twin sister. Truly a “made-for-TV” moment, isn’t it?
Anyway, the segment highlighted their lives lived without knowledge of each other, and in many ways the women were quite similar. The experts were eager to do some studies to measure their brain activity, but not as eager as the producers were to reunite these long, lost sisters on national television! And so at the end, there was a scene at an airport. The cameras followed one woman as she got off the plane and they captured the other, sitting anxiously, excitedly outside the security checkpoint.
And I watched as the sisters met each other. They ran to each other, bursting into tears. They hugged tightly, laughing and crying and bouncing up and down. And I sat there on the couch getting a little weepy myself, and then I thought, “Wait a minute! These women are complete strangers! They’re grown women who’ve never met before. They share the same DNA, yes, but beyond that, they’ve lived lives in complete separation – different families, different homes, different cities… And now they’re hugging and kissing and crying all over each other! How strange is that?”
What happened to these two women that they went from not knowing about each other and therefore not caring about each other, to this place where they were completely wrapped up in each other, expressing delight and love and care? What happened to bring their relationship from total obscurity to this sisterhood? I’ll tell you what happened. They realized that they were connected. They realized that they were connected—separated at birth, but connected—part of the same vine…
Now here’s the fun part. What will it look like when we realize that the same thing is true for us? Because we are all sisters and brothers—it’s just that we’ve been separated at birth. I always call this church a “family of faith” because we are—long, lost members of the same family, coming together, reuniting again and again, and celebrating: “Yes. We are one. Part of the same family. Sisters and brothers in Christ.”
What will it look like when we realize how true that is for us? And what, in turn will it look like when we view the rest of our city that way, or, for that matter, the rest of the world? What if a truth central to our being was that all humans could be sisters and brothers to us—because we’ve all been separated at birth?
Think about how that connectional idea could change the world!
Think of the fruit!
