“The True Vine”
“The True Vine”
John 15.1-8
John 15.1-8
In the name of the Living God and the risen Christ. Amen.
Good Shepherd last week, True Vine this week. And like the Good Shepherd from last week, the True Vine image we find in our gospel lesson is a simple, organic, and beautiful way to describe our relationship with Jesus. Vineyards were plentiful and important in ancient Israel, and the prophets before Jesus used the vine and the branch and the vinedresser to both convict and comfort God’s people.
But like the Good Shepherd, the True Vine has at its heart a hard message for us. Once we get through the beautiful walled garden, the flowering vine, the peaceful shade, the wine— once we get past this, we see that there are only two ways for the branches: 1) cut off for burning, or 2) cut into for pruning. If you’re not connected, you’ll wither; if you stay connected, you’ll be pruned. There really is no other way with Jesus, the true vine. Ouch!
Our world tries a middling-kind-of way, a lukewarm stance towards Jesus. You can like him enough, even take some of his teachings, pick and choose like you’re at a buffet line either the loving Jesus, the accepting Jesus, or the 60s alternative Jesus (maybe even he’s got sandals on too since he’s all cool like that). So, the world says that you can get really close to Jesus, the vine, and pick pieces of the fruit from him that you like. And then you can just go off somewhere and finish your glass of red.
Those in the church often have a sort of equal and opposite misunderstanding. We think that, if we stay connected to Jesus, the true vine, it’s all going to be all good. Blessings will appear. Peace will prevail. Joy down in my heart will commence. Life will get easier and maybe even material wealth will start to come our way. We think we can be engrafted into Jesus without any real consequences to our old selves. As if the lifeblood of the true vine can just go through our veins with no effect—as if no pruning is necessary.
But this is not what Jesus speaks here in John 15. The True Vine speaks a cutting word. A convicting word. The Jesus here makes two truths absolutely clear: if you’re not engrafted into him—a tendril drawing life from him—then you’re a dead branch, and you’ll get cut off and thrown into the fire. And if you are engrafted in him, deriving your very life from him, it’s going to hurt, because you’re going to get pruned.
So, happy Sunday, everyone (!) — not a lot of good news here from such a beautiful passage! Cut off and burned; engrafted into and pruned. ‘dems our choices, this morning.
There are a couple reasons for this. The first has to do with who Jesus is and claims to be, and the second has to do with who we know ourselves to be, according to the scriptures.
Jesus here is claiming to be truth itself—not a piece of information, or additional knowledge, or a part of the larger picture. Like the other “I AM” claims St. John has recorded for us, Jesus’ assertion here is both divisive (to the world) and devastating (to our old Adams). John 6: “I am the bread of life”—any other food you’ll starve. John 8 and 9: “I am the light of the world”—if you don’t follow me, you’ll stumble in darkness. John 10: “I am the door of the sheep”—you can’t enter in by any other way. John 10 (again): “I am the good shepherd”—all other voices will lead astray. John 11: “I am the resurrection and the life”—anything else means death, here and forever. John 14: “I am the way, the truth and the life”—no other way to God. And, lastly, from today’s gospel, John 15, “I AM” number 7 (yep, that’s important!): “I am the truevine”—apart from me you can do nothing.
So that’s the first part: who Jesus really is. Like the vine in a vineyard, all life flows from him.
The second is who we are, in our old sinful selves. Because we live in this world, because we remain sin-sick souls, because we’re still breathing the poisoned air of this fallen place, when we abide in the true vine for life, we’re going to have to get pruned for fruit to come. To live the life of a Christian and to think it isn’t going to be hard sometimes, is to presume you’re not on earth and in a body anymore.
Simply put: if you’re going to bear fruit, you’re going to get pruned. No pruning, no fruiting. When the lifeblood of Jesus confronts the lifeblood of Adam, Adam’s going to lose. And he isn’t going to like it.
What does this mean? It means that fleeing from sin is not easy. It means that giving and living for the Kingdom will require sacrifice. It means that suffering and persecution will come (yes, this is also one of things Jesus promises in John). It means that when the big questions and the great mysteries of God confront us face to face, we’re going to have to keep leaning into Him even when the answers don’t satisfy us. It means that when pain and problems arise in this world, we’re going to have to seek and pray for God’s greater purposes to be at work. It means that, in the end, if the pruning takes us to him and makes us like him, we’re going to rejoice in it—even when it is hard.
Thrown into the fire or pruned to bear fruit? What’s important in the Christian life is to learn to receive the pruning, as hard as it might be, as from the hands of the loving gardener. And you can only ever do that when you know his heart. And you can only ever know his heart when you see the cross.
At the cross, we see the loving, perfect Jesus cut off, tossed away, and destroyed by our sin. Our sin. Not just “our sin” in general, but the real stuff—the ways we’ve disconnected ourselves from God and refused to remain engrafted in him. Jesus took all of it upon himself and was cut off so that we might live in the Father’s vineyard forever. In this greatest, giving act we see the heartbeat of God’s love for us, and find our life there. Knowing that he did this for us, for our salvation and for our restoration, helps us know that his love is behind the pruning, as difficult as it might be.
In the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, we can be assured that because he lives, we will live too. And one day—one glorious day—the pruning will be over and only the fruiting will remain: no strife, only joy; no sin, only love; no anxiety, only peace.
So stick to him, the True Vine. Stick into him. Draw life from him. Abide in him. Let his blood course through your veins and give you life. The pruning will come, but it won’t last forever, and you can know that it comes from a loving hand.
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.