Abiding
John 15:1-8
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
May 2, 2021
“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….” This is not a theological treatise, crafted to convey an ultimate truth for all times. It is not a doctrinal statement, written to define an institution and compel a set of beliefs. These are words intended for a particular group of people—a beloved group of people—living in a time of dislocation and distress, to give them courage and comfort.
This passage includes one of the seven “I am” statements found in the gospel according to John. “I am the bread of life…I am the way, the truth and the life…the resurrection and the life…the light of the world….the good shepherd. I am the vine.” The statements perplex biblical scholars. In the other three gospels, Jesus hardly ever talks about himself. Why does John portray Jesus making all these bold statements about who he is?
Some scholars make sense of these “I am” statements by focusing on how powerfully the early church felt the presence of the risen Christ in their midst. They suggest that John’s community may have experienced the risen Christ present with them as they shared in communion, and in that mystical connection they heard Jesus’ spirit say to them, “I am the bread of life.” When they were struggling to stay together as they faced persecution and rejection, perhaps they felt Jesus with them, holding them together, saying, “I am the vine; you are the branches…Stay with me, and I will stay with you.”
Whether or not Jesus actually said these words to his disciples during his earthly life, the author John included them because he believed they expressed profound truth. John invited his congregation members to feel the resonance between their own experience in a time of tumult and the struggles of Jesus’ disciples a hundred years earlier—and to hear Jesus speaking to both communities.
We don’t know for sure—and we will never know for sure—whether Jesus, in the flesh, spoke these exact words to his disciples. For today, I invite you to join me in imagining that he did. I invite you to join me, and join the members of John’s early Christian community, in imagining what it might have been like for those disciples to hear these words.
Imagine that we are crowded into a borrowed upper room in Jerusalem, gathered together by our teacher and friend Jesus. It is Passover, a joyous festival of freedom. As we celebrate, we feel the heaviness of foreboding. There is a dissonance between the freedom story we are re-telling and Rome’s occupying army patrolling our streets. On top of that, it is beginning to sink in that Jesus will be gone soon. We dropped everything to join this movement, and now our leader is about to be crucified—humiliated, tortured, executed. What will happen to our movement? What will happen to us? Our distress is deeply personal; we each have a personal connection with Jesus, for we each, in our own way, have experienced healing through his words and touch and actions.
After supper, Jesus begins to talk—sometimes praying for us, sometimes speaking to us. He knows how hard it is going to be for us to stay together when he is gone. He knows how deeply we will grieve, how dangerous and frightening it will be.
“I am the vine,” he says, “you are the branches….If you abide in me, I will abide in you, and you will bear much fruit.”
Jesus calls us, his beloved disciples gathered in that upper room, to stay connected in a time when our physical connection with him is about to be ripped away. Our bond, he assures us, is deeper than physical presence. There is a spirit—what he will name later in the evening as the Holy Spirit—that is stronger than physical proximity. “Even though I will no longer be with you in person,” he says, “you will still receive the nourishment of my teachings, my spirit, my love—and you will bear fruit.”
Some of Jesus’ words feel deeply comforting; some sound harsh. After years of following him, we have learned that Jesus loves to be provocative. When he talks about burning branches that have become disconnected, we are taken aback for just a minute. Then we realize he is simply trying to wake us up to the urgency of the moment. “Right now,” he says, “it is so important to claim the life-giving, fruit-producing gift of our connection. Don’t let yourself wither away by getting disconnected from the teachings and stories and community that nourish you. You have so much fruit to bear if you stay connected. God longs for you to bear fruit. The world needs the fruit you have to offer.”
I imagine that, in his words about pruning, we would also hear a challenge to focus on what is most life-giving in this time. “There will be old ways of being that you will need to let go of,” he says. “There will be distractions you will need to prune back. Let go of whatever pulls you away from the source of nourishment. Let go of whatever weakens your capacity to absorb and reflect the love of God.”
Some harsh words, softened by love. Some daunting words, awakening us to urgency. Most of all, we hear words of promise: “I will be with you. My teachings, my love, my spirit will continue to nourish you. You will bear much fruit. You will be my disciples.”
***
Once again, our gospel story speaks directly and powerfully to our lives today. Over the last year, we have been living with a sense of dislocation. We have been faced with wrenching physical separation, with the loss of so many ways we experience our connection with one another and with God. Singing together, handing each other a piece of bread for communion, passing the peace with a handshake or a hug—these are touchstones that embody the heart of our faith, the assurance that we are beloved. Almost overnight, they were gone. Although in very different circumstances than those first disciples, we have faced a challenge similar to theirs: how do we stay connected when we are physically removed? How do we find the spiritual nourishment that enables us to bear fruit when it feels as though we have been cut off?
Now, we are moving into a new time with its own sense of dislocation. Even as we look forward to re-establishing those familiar touchstones, many of us admit to feeling unexpectedly unsettled. We’ve spent a year learning how to connect from afar; will we remember how to interact in person? We feel the awkwardness of negotiating our different levels of comfort with changed requirements for social distancing. We are claiming the hidden gifts from this year—the slower pace of pandemic life, the discovery of beauty in our homes and close to home. Will a new onslaught of activities make us too busy to appreciate the connections we have? What might we need to prune so we can allow the new growth from this last year to flourish?
Just as Jesus spoke to the disciples in the upper room, just as Jesus spoke to the early congregation gathered by John, so Jesus speaks to us: “Abide in me,” he says, “I will abide in you.” We have dared to trust this promise and live this challenge.
Remember the water bottles project last summer. Rooted in Jesus’ call to care for those who are struggling, our Christian Explorers led us in filling water bottles with masks and hand sanitizer and tasty treats for people who have no homes. Jesus abides in our love for our neighbors.
Nourished by Jesus’ proclamation of the coming of the kin-dom of God, our Board of Wider Missions and Open Spirit are becoming community leaders in working for racial justice in our city. Jesus abides in our passion for justice.
Inspired by Jesus’ healing spirit, we enable patients at Metrowest Medical Center, who can’t receive visits from families, to feel the comfort of a prayer shawl crocheted in love and blessed by community prayer. Jesus abides in our healing hands.
Encouraged by the promise that new life emerges out of loss, we have moved past our sadness of not being able to sing together in the same room and have created multi-household anthems. Jesus abides in our courage to try new things.
Strengthened by Jesus’ promise that he is with us when we break bread together, six bakers and nine drivers distributed birds’ nest cookies to congregation members for Easter communion. Friends in Florida and Arizona got the recipe and made some too. Jesus abides in the sweetness that bring us together.
Jesus abides in us. Rooted, nourished, inspired, encouraged, strengthened by the vine, we bear much fruit—fruits of compassion and justice, fruits of comfort and creativity and connection.
Today, once again, we gather for communion, each of us in our own spaces. Today, as we share this meal, we live out our faith in the promise Jesus made to his disciples and to us. There is a spirit—God’s spirit, the Spirit of Love—that connects us no matter how far apart we are. Jesus is with us now, abiding with each of us in our individual households, abiding in this virtual zoom room. Jesus is seated at every single one of our 60 or 70 communion tables; by the power of Jesus’ presence those tables are made one. We are made one. Jesus is with us, connecting our branches to the vine that is rooted in love, so that we may bear fruit.
May we abide in Jesus. May we abide in love. May we bear fruit to nourish and renew our world. Amen.