SERMON

SUNDAY, MAY 5, 2002

CHURCH OF THE REDEEMER

Back when we lived in San Francisco, we loved to drive up to Napa or Sonoma into the famous wine country of the Golden State.  In the heat of summer one could walk among the rows of vines and watch the grapes growing larger and more lush in the hot, dry days and cool nights of the region.  Thousands of vines covered the beautiful hillsides of those towns north of the Bay.  The business of growing grapes and producing wine is one of the great industries of California, and it was fun to get to know something of it.  Many of the vines were old, renewed by other vines grafted onto them, and each vineyard employed trained experts to keep their vines trimmed and healthy.  Vineyards are one of the most ancient of agricultural endeavors.  Some are simply wild and undisciplined, others highly cultivated and kept in order by the winegrowers.  Wine has been made since before the beginning of records, and the world in which Jesus lived was familiar with wine’s flavors and delights.   

In today’s Gospel, Jesus, despite his famous miracle of changing water into wine, focuses more on tending vines than on the end product.  He had elsewhere described himself as the “light of the world” or the “good shepherd”; he now takes his description from grape vines.  “’I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  . . [he] prunes it to make it bear more fruit.’”  “’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.’”   His words mandate interconnectedness.  They also remind us that what is weak or useless must be pruned away to make room for greater productivity.  As in other Biblical images, bearing good fruit is of utmost importance.  In Jesus’ talk about vines, fertile soil, pruning and bountiful crops there is something of accountability, even of judgment.  He uses images to which his followers could relate.  They, like us, knew about wines and grapes and pruning, for grape vines ran up and down the hillsides of Israel in Jesus’ time.   

The metaphor of the vine and branches has much to teach us.  If Jesus is the vine, then we are the many branches that receive our life from the main plant or vine.  We are completely dependent on our life’s source and must keep a healthy relationship with the vine.  If we try to be a vine on our own, we wither and die, cut off from the source.  “Apart from me you can do nothing.”  People who turn only to self or to idols for their sense of worth court failure and will be pruned away.  When put to the test, you and I have to remember our vital connection to the source of our life.  The nutriments we receive from the vine are many and varied: love, forgiveness, comfort, growing, and the enjoyment of our labors.  We learn that trying to stand alone can result in withering of soul or spirit.  Like the image of the Father, or the parent, the vine reminds us of our indelible connections. 

Having recently returned home from my 35^th reunion at General Theological Seminary, filled with renewed good will from friendships and memories, I have been thinking about the connections we individual branches make, particularly as we allow ourselves to be nourished by Christ the true vine.  Modern life has brought about the sad diminishing of connection, of belonging, and of being a viable part of something greater than ourselves.  People in our time long to connect.  Vines and branches create vineyards, then wine.  Their interconnectedness gives strength and actuality to the whole.  So too with the community of God’s people.  We gather as in this church to offer ourselves and to receive nourishment, strength for service and faithful living.  To recognize another on the street, in the shop, or in the give and take of reunion conversations, makes us feel good and renewed.    I feel connected to each of you, and I hope that you feel connected to me and to those about you right now.  We are a vineyard, a parish, and a community.  Sometimes the shock of a tragedy or intense suffering reminds us of our basic need for connections and belonging.  

Let me tell you about my trip to New Haven last Monday night.  It illustrates the importance not only of interlinking lives but also of the connection between Christ the vine and the endless, outreaching branches.  The Senior Varsity Dinner at Yale University annually gathers about two or three hundred people and honors those members of the graduating class who have played on varsity teams.   I went as the guest of the Walton family, three generations strong.  The centerpiece for us was that one of the speakers was Amanda Waltobn’02.  Now you will remember that nearly two years ago, Memorial Day, Amanda suffered a terrible accident on her way home from her sophomore year at Yale. A man being chased by police at 85 miles per hour smashed into her car broadside.  Since that dreadful day Amanda Walton has emerged from a coma, completed a lengthy course of rehabilitation at the Spaulding Hospital, and returned home to continue her daily grind of exercise, study, and various therapies.   

Monday evening as three strong football players lifted her wheelchair to the platform, we all thought of how far she has come since 2000.  Her speech lasted five or six minutes, read from a manuscript held by her sister Francie.  Amanda spoke of the lessons she had learned as a champion athlete  -  lessons of hard work, positive attitude, and being part of a team.  She was really talking about connectedness, about the vine and the branches, about community, and mutuality.  The speech was superb, beautifully written and delivered with strength and the sparkle that define Amanda.  At its conclusion everyone in that vast room jumped to their feet, with thunderous applause and cheers, and not a few moist eyes.   

Thanks to the connections of family, medical science, dozens of skilled caregivers, friends everywhere, patience, compassion and serious faith in the One who called himself the Vine, we stood as one that night, proud, deeply moved, thankful, and thrilled.  Everyone there has a connection to Amanda – grandmothers, parents, sisters and brothers, roommates, team mates, and the dozens of people who knew her story and rejoiced in her appearance on the platform in the Commons.  We may not have known each other’s names, but we resonated to each other’s humanity and emotion and admiration.  We were connected.  Nobody spoke particularly of the presence of God in that place, yet we knew in our hearts that we were so blessed and nourished and loved.  “Apart from me there is nothing.”  Grapes, the vine, the branches, the soil, the sunshine, the cooling night breezes combined at that moment to create a vintage of such wonder that we could only applaud and cheer and share knowing glances of wonder.  Next time Amanda gives a talk at Yale, we hope and pray that she will walk to the platform on her own.  She has much more work to do, but with her strong connectedness to so many, to her family, to God’s mercy, she will keep going. 

I tell you this story for its personal beauty but also as a dramatic illustration of our Lord’s teaching about the vine and the branches, about being part of the greater entity, about the family of humanity, and about our God who nourishes us as the sun and water and good soil nurture the fruit of the vine.  “I am the branch,” said Jesus “you are the branches . . .” “Apart from me you can do nothing.”  AMEN.

                                                                                    The Rev. Richard H. Downes

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