In the Thick of It

5.6.12

John 15:1-8

Easter 5B

“In the thick of it”

It’s that time of year when the lectionary people decide we most need to hear the passages that deal with plants and gardening and farming-- which I guess makes sense sense this is when we’re most able to see what the plants are up to.   It’s the time of year where we make trip after trip to the plant section in hopes of having the yard of our dreams.

Of course, these plant passages are lovely-- but unless you happen to be a gardener (which we long ago established that I’m not), these passages can get a bit confusing.   Like today’s-- about the vine.

I don’t know much about vines-- but when I hear people who do know about them talk about them, vines don’t seem to fare very well.  I hear people talk about how much of a nuisance they are.  Sometimes they can be pretty, but the only people who seem to talk about how pretty they are are the people who don’t know vines.  Donovan and I love wisteria, but every time we tell someone that, what we hear is “That’s a weed! It’s like kudzu-- it just takes over everything!” or “That vine kills everything in its path-- better watch it!” 

You would think I would’ve learned that by now.  When I was old enough to want some spending money, but still too young to get a job, my dad had an idea.  He led me to the side of our brick house, which was covered in lovely, thick, green ivy. Ivy that I’d always liked.  “It needs to come down” he said.  I liked it, but money was money-- and he’d offered me what I considered to be a fairly generous amount of money...at least until I started fighting with the ivy.  After all, I reasoned that I could have it down in an afternoon--and still have time to clean up and hopefully go pick up whatever it was that I was wanting.  I was seeing dollar signs.  So I cut and I scraped and I ripped and I yanked.  I took enough skin off my hands that I’m lucky to still have any fingers left.  I looked like I’d had a run-in with a mean cheese grater.  That ivy had been growing for years-- it had made a nice home for itself, and it wasn’t going anywhere. The vines were all tangled up on top of each other.  And it was the biggest mess, and most time consuming project I’d ever been a part of.  It took me a solid week to get the whole wall clean.  

I guess that’s why when I pick up Jesus’ lovely sounding metaphor about vines and branches that I get a little bit hesitant.  Why Jesus would compare the body of Christ to tangly, uncontainable, pains in the neck, plants?  Out of all the metaphors Jesus could’ve used--why that one?  Seriously, why didn’t Jesus say, “I am the sun, and you are the sunflower.”

I could make a great case for that metaphor.  Just think about sunflowers for a second.  They stand tall and strong and proud and beautiful.  When you see them growing, they just seem to radiate happiness-- their heads face up to the sky and they seem to be praising the lord.  Their stalks are crazy strong...these aren’t plants who are going to fall over in a little storm.  They are hearty and vibrant.  They attract people to them.  They make beautiful cut flowers that last for days.  “I am the sun, and you are the sunflowers.” That is a heckofa metaphor, Jesus. Certainly easier to preach than “I am the vine, and you are the tangly, on top of each other, out of control branches that are going to die unless you stick together.”

But then again, sunflowers kind of like their space.  They don’t mind sharing the field with each other--but they don’t want to stand too close to each other.  They don’t get in each other’s way.  They don’t get all tangled up together.  They have one flower on a gigantic stalk.  They’re kind of individual flowers.

Hey, let’s be honest here.  Even knowing that-- or maybe especially knowing that-- most of us would have preferred that Jesus made use of the sunflower metaphor. Because if Jesus went there, then we could stand as tall and proud as we’d like.  We could delight in our own beauty, our own accomplishments, our own free-standingness. 

Of course though, Jesus would could’ve made use of any metaphor he wanted and didn’t choose the sunflower one.  He went with vines and branches and tangly-uppy things that make most of us wrinkle up our noses.  And not only did he not use the metaphor that most of us would’ve liked, he takes it a step farther, by insisting that those tangly-uppy messes become productive. 

What, Jesus? It’s not enough that we all have to share the same space, and all be a part of each other? You want us to thrive in that environment?  You want us to look lovely, and to produce good things?  You want us to allow ourselves to be so taken over by our community that we acknowledge that we will die if we get separated?  Don’t you think that’s just a bit over the top, Jesus? Don’t you think you’re asking just a bit too much? 

Jesus obviously doesn’t think that he’s asking too much.  He obviously thinks that’s a perfectly doable thing. 

Here we are in the 5th week of Easter, still teaching ourselves to remember the power of the Resurrection in our lives-- how the resurrection transforms us and gives us the power to do the unimaginable. What the unimaginable looks like this week is being a thriving, fruit bearing, tangly uppy group of holy people.

What’s the secret?  It seems to come near the end of the passage as Jesus talks about “abiding with him.” The message translation phrases Jesus’ words this way: “Live in me. Make your home in me, just as I do in you.”  

I love that imagery of making a home in Christ.  But how do we do that? 

Obviously, home-making starts with having accepted Christ.  That’s the easy part.  Maybe the second part comes with being connected?  Connection seems easy too-- after all, we’re more connected than we’ve ever been.  Gone are the days that it took weeks to get a letter to a friend.  We email and have 24/7 access to news and weather.  There are entire rings called “social networks”.  I could pick up my phone, and depending on how quickly my fingers are moving, I could have a message sent almost instantly. If I were away on a trip, I could sit wherever I was and have a conversation with you-- where you could see my face and I could see yours.  We’ve never been so “connected”. 

So it’s odd that given all this “connection” people are talking more and more about how disconnected they feel.  They feel cut off from the world. The rates of depression and suicide are skyrocketing.  We have more and more facebook friends, but less and less friends that we see in person.  We text easily and quickly, but we’re starved for real conversation.

Maybe the case is that connection isn’t enough.  Maybe we have to go farther than “connection” and we have to create relationships.  Just being connected isn’t enough to sustain us.  Having relationships is part of what gives us roots that can withstand the meanest drought.  

Have you ever thought about the unique opportunities the church presents us for making not only connections, but relationships. Where else do you hold the struggles and joys of people in your hands, hearts, and prayers? Where else do you dare let yourself be vulnerable enough to let someone else hold yours? 

We’re hearing a lot of people say lately, “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” In other words, “I like God and Jesus, but I don’t need the church. I don’t need people in my business.  I don’t need them telling me how to be.  I’m just fine on my own.”  But here’s the best quote I’ve ever heard on the matter.  “Your yoga teacher won’t bring you a casserole when your mother dies.  You can have all the zen you want, but who will hold your soul?” 

“I am the vine and you are the branches” is what we hear.  All connected to Christ  who nourishes us and feeds us.  All connected to each other, in ways that we couldn’t easily run away from.  We’re a tangly uppy mess of people-- wild and out of control sometimes.  But the VInegrower, who knows enough to see beyond the nusiance of vines, wouldn’t have it any other way.  This is what a strong community looks like. 

Abiding in this way isn’t always easy.  We drive each other crazy.  We make even our loved ones want to head for the hills.  Perhaps that’s because connection is easy, but real relationships aren’t.  But abiding is the only way that we can continually be nourished by Christ.  Lovely as it would have been to be created to be sunflowers, we weren’t.  We were created as vines--because in order to live and thrive and produce fruit, we need to be tangled up with each other.  It’s a matter of life and death.