I Am the Vine, You Are the Branches

In the imagery of the vine and branches, John depicts (John 15:1-8) a "dwelling place" or "home" and a beautiful intimate relationship between the Father, Jesus, and his disciples, us. Just as the "you" in the passage is always plural, so the intimate relationship of "abiding" binds together Father, Son, and the community of believers in a way that challenges a culture that would often prefer to imagine or even to keep God at a distance. Far from being a God of rules or some cosmic judge who exercises power as the preserver of morality, here a quite different role defines the Father. Instead, He offers us the promise of new possibilities of life in the present. Jesus, inspired words now become flesh in us, and have an abiding and lasting life that continue to dwell among us.

In the imagery of the vine, God’s remaining presence is underscored as abiding, nourishing, lasting, and permanent. Just as Jesus is intimately related to the Father, we, the branches can do nothing unless we abide in relationship with Jesus. As we relate to Jesus in all that we do, we are related to the Father. As such, Jesus’ two-fold promise, I AM the vine, you are the branches…is not said as a command or in judgment, but rather as an invitation, a summons, or a promise. This promise is likewise emphasized as he repeatedly reminds us that without him in our lives, we are powerless and can do nothing.

The promise abiding in…living-in…Jesus is not for its own sake, or an end in itself. Jesus is revealing a dynamic and changing life for us, his disciples. Vines are pruned and cleansed. Branches that wither and die are removed. We, as the branches in the vine, are a constantly changing community that is called to follow his word by actively living his word. And in keeping with the stewardship of good shepherds, we as the branches grow to become vines for those we nourish…By this is my Father glorified that you will bear much fruit…

I know my own and my own know me

There is a profound difference between believing in a personal God and knowing God personally that is easier to understand than describe in words. How often have we wrestled with these definitions? When I read the words in this week’s Gospel I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father, (John 10:11-18), I am reminded of our discussions in recent weeks related to our readings of Thomas and Emmaus that relate to believing and knowing.

Believing in a personal God, that is giving mental assent to the existence of a supernatural entity, may or may not make a difference in the life of the believer. Without transformation, belief is empty. On the other hand we are transformed when we relate to God personally, knowing that each of us is accepted just as we are, and trusting that it’s possible to interpret everything real in one’s life as a gift and a blessing in disguise. (Dowd, Thank God for Evolution)

“If the purpose of our existence is to seek and find God, then there is a seed of desire in each of us, a fundamental motivation, a basic longing for the fulfillment of that purpose. Augustine tells us that ‘Thou has made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.’ Accordingly, we are not only born with God at our center, but we are born with a heart full desire for God. This yearning is our fundamental motive force; it is the human spirit. It is the energy behind everything we seek and aspire to. And if indeed we are in intimate union with God in the center, then the soul’s desire is God’s desire. The soul’s love for God is God’s love for the soul.” (May, The Dark Night of the Soul)

Our frame of reference for a shepherd does not likely fit with the image of the shepherd in the time of Jesus. Is there any more powerful artistic depiction of Jesus the Good Shepherd in our Christian heritage? For me it is the famous painting of Jesus with the lamb draped over his shoulder. This hung on the wall in one of my grade school classrooms, and it was one of the stained glass windows in the church of my youth. Yet, when Jesus lived and John writes his Gospel, shepherds were among the most disreputable and mistrusted outcasts of society. We might consider replacing the image of the loving guardian strolling peacefully in the sunshine among his flock, with the marauding gangs of our century or cowboy outlaws of the 19 and 20th centuries. They were drifters with no fixed address and because of their occupation, they were perpetually unclean and, by definition, in violation of Jewish law. These outcasts are the very people John’s gospel is talking about.

Needless to say John shocks his audience by comparing Jesus to a shepherd and then later calling this very shepherd “good.” He challenges his listeners to look past their assumptions of where God is located and who God belongs to and who can belong to God. We and the people of John’s time are asked to see God in those who are outsiders, who exist on the fringe of the community, who are despised and even a little feared. The readers of John’s story are told to look for God among the despised, to which Jesus tells us I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So when Jesus tells us that there will be one flock and one shepherd, I am reminded of St. Paul’s words “…there is no more Jew or Greek, slave or free, man and woman, but all are one, are the same in Jesus Messiah” (Gal 3:26-28).
 

 

 

 

 

 

Word to word

Over the years I’ve come to appreciate that “spiritual development” has less and less to do with religion. And while the Church, the Bible and the liturgy are important to our development, spiritual formation is more about learning to discern the call of God “outside,” in our everyday lives. Spiritual Formation is an ongoing dynamic process in which we develop the tools to be able to see and align ourselves with people, places and things where God is at work. I know this might sound like heresy but in some ways religion or “being locked in the upper room” and not being involved in the world, can become a static process that lulls us to sleep in its repetitive sameness. As such, it can become an obstacle to our call to “bear witness” to God’s Word to those outside the safety of our “upper rooms.”

In a real sense we are preaching to the choir! We in the comfort and security of our Church community, are like the apostles in the upper room after the Crucifixion. When Jesus appeared to the apostles and Thomas, he said “... As the Father has sent me, so I send you." He beckons us as he did his disciples, to leave the upper room and live our lives outside the walls of our Church as we engage in Christian practices that are fundamental to human needs, and may have nothing to do with religion but everything to do with faith. As such, we join with one another, and with Jesus, and with the Communion of Saints across time and space in a way of life that proclaims Christ’s victory over death and our eternal life. (Luke 24: 35-48)

Now in bearing witness to the Word, I'm not talking about "life-style evangelism." That term for many of us, may evoke discomfort and have a strange connotation. We bear witness that is, tell someone about, the movies or television programs we've seen and want others to enjoy. We share the accomplishments (or failures) of our sports teams. We share important events in our family or work lives. We share photos of loved ones and acknowledge milestones. We bear witness to the things that matter to us all the time. But do we bear witness to the presence of God, the Love, in all things in the here and now of our lives?

Witnessing is not really all that different when it comes to faith. It does not mean forcing our beliefs on someone or shunning those who do not believe as we do. The ego tries to convince, while love shares. To witness is simply to communicate with others as we know God’s presence…as the Word becomes flesh in us and those we encounter… by Him and with Him and in Him in the unity of the Holy Spirit. 

My Lord and My God

 

In many ways we are just like Thomas; aren’t we? We really don’t want to come by our faith second hand (John 20:19-31). Our parents taught us that something worth having was something worth working for?  So we ask; is there really such a thing as “blind faith?” Blind faith does not encourage us to probe; it denies us the opportunity to question, to know what we believe intuitively, in our “core.” Blind faith requires minimal spiritual investment, and permits those inclined to cruise through their spiritual journey without the opportunity to really living life’s joy and danger. True faith requires knowing what we believe…beyond any doubt.  So Thomas in refusing to say that he understood what he did not understand, or believe what he did not believe, exhibited an honesty that prompted his need to know.

Thomas wasn’t the faithless doubter. The so-called faithful disciples remained locked up in the upper room hiding in fear. Fear not doubt gets in the way of our letting the Holy Spirit take charge. Where did Thomas go while others were in hiding? What prompted him to return to his community? Was Thomas “working” at trying to know what he was asked to believe? Thomas wanted the experience of a deeper vision or sight. He was unwilling to blindly accept; it had to be real for him.

True faith is based on trust in God. True faith knows we can deepen our faith by asking critical questions of our traditions and our “inherited” belief propositions. We do this by leaving our comfort zones and living in new ways. Thomas’ encounter with the risen Lord challenges us to know what we believe so for us as, with Thomas, we too can personally acclaim “My Lord and my God.”

Why Easter matters

 

 

Shouldn’t Easter be “elevated” to a sacramental event rather than a miracle if modern man is to be a part of it? (John 20:1-9)The proclamation of a miracle excuses us from having anything further to do with it.  A miracle is God’s doing. We are on the sidelines. A sacrament, however, makes a demand upon us for its existence.  God performs miracles but men celebrate sacraments with him.  God may work a miracle apart from men.  Man, however, is essential to the presence of a sacrament. 

If Easter is to be a sacramental event, we must symbolize it for our fellow men, not only in the grace of God, but with our flesh and blood.  Easter is sacramental every time one of us makes his life a source of light for his fellow man.  Easter is sacramental when our words heal, when our hearts understand, when lesser values die in us for the sake of greater realities.

We are sacramental with Easter when men know us to be faithful.  We are sacramental with Easter when our fellow men see us suffer not for selfish advantage but for their redemption.  Easter is never more sacramental than when one man gives his life on behalf of another.

Christians seek to make Easter sacramental in their lives by their memory of Jesus.  If Jesus is remembered, he has not died altogether.  If the memory of Jesus inspires us to sacrificial love, Jesus is grace.  Jesus is an Easter-maker. God became incarnate as the word became flesh in us and was shared among us to not only teach us how to live our lives but to learn how to reside in Him through Jesus. And so when the celebrant proclaims "in him through him and with him," we are reminded of how we are participants in his birth, death and resurrection. If it was "just" another miracle it would not matter as much as it does. (Adapted from Dawn Without Darkness, Anthony Padovano, Paulist Press 1970)

 

 

 

 

...But why a Donkey?

 


Palm Sunday is festive “holiday” filled with irony. We enjoy the parade and the children entering waving their palms. We watch and participate but then we seem to quickly rush from this parade to Easter Sunday. Perhaps we should take a closer look at this parade and its inevitable outcome - the cross. We ask, why the cross? In many ways understanding the story of Palm Sunday gives us a glimpse into the nature of God. (Mark)

Every year the Roman army would come marching into Palestine during Passover. It was Pilate in the time of Jesus, who riding a white stallion, led the parade as a symbol of Rome’s dominance and oppression. It was a reminder to “nobodies” not to cause trouble during the Passover. So what does Jesus do? In a seemingly mocking parody, he rides a donkey, a lowly beast of burden in the opposite direction and enters through the gate from which Pilate exited. While Pilate needed a whole legion to demonstrate his importance and control, Jesus’ “power” was rooted in relationships and the everlasting love of God and in God’s desires for the good of the world and all its creatures.

The gospel writers tell us that this event was not accidental. Jesus planned it ahead of time. He knew what he was doing and he knew he was risking the wrath of Rome by provoking the authorities. And eventually they caught up with him. God did not plan Jesus’ death. God did not desire it. God did not need it for God’s salvation of the world and all its creatures to work out. So then, why the cross?  The Cross was used by the Romans to not only destroy the identity of the one who was crucified, but to erase his mission and send a warning to any of his followers. Ironically reviled as an image, the cross became and endured as a central symbol for our faith…a symbol of a nobody who is resurrected. No one would expect a nobody to be resurrected. 

Contrary to some beliefs, Jesus was not ransomed for us, but rather, he takes our place, not for our sins, but for the trials of our human journey. We know and have known people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, who at the very least put themselves at risk for the sake of others. This exchange is God standing with us as we face our reality and its dangers. God is in the midst of our human experience. 

The cross reminds us that our world is still a “risky” place, and that much will be asked of us. Yet it reminds us that death has no power over us because we live in the light of the resurrection of a nobody who was raised up as will we. The cross reminds us to stand up for those who need to be rescued and to stand with those who work for the common good even when it seems to be hopeless or dangerous. We can live in a time of trouble with joy. Jesus challenged the love of power and lived for the power of love. Jesus was offering a different vision of how things could be, Palm Sunday asks us: which vision of power will rule our lives? To which kingdom will we belong? Which parade will we join? (Adapted from Parades and Crosses, Holy Textures, George Hermanson)

Everything Must Change; Nothing Stays the Same

 

Let’s face it change can be unsettling; it requires our leaving our comfort zone and adjusting to a new way of doing things. Change can be as subtle as using a new pen, sitting in a different chair at dinner, or as profound as losing a job or a loved one. Some changes are optional; others are forced on us. In all instances change is associated with anything from temporary discomfort to long-standing emotional pain. 

Our Gospel lesson (John 12:20-33) suggests that the incarnation of God changed everything through Jesus: through his birth, his life, his teachings, and especially through his dying and rising to new life. It’s a message of hope that God is working in this world to make everything new through Jesus. Yet we know the birth of new life is not without pain. Childbirth is more than a metaphor for life; it is life itself, but it’s preceded by dark days of preparation, ultimately yielding to pain and eventually new life.

Meister Eckhart writes that human nature is like a stable inhabited by the ox of passion and the ass of prejudice; animals which take up a lot of room and which I suppose most of us are quietly feeding. And it is there between them, pushing them out, that Christ must be born and in their very manger must be laid. (Evelyn Underhill, “The Light of the World,” Watch for the Light, 2008)

Christ is the essence of God’s love and his birth, the birth of love in our souls, is for a purpose beyond ourselves: it’s manifestation in the world must be through us.
How will we surrender to our new life? What changes will we make? How are we preparing during these dark, passive aggressive days of Lent. Change does not happen automatically. 

In a very real sense, to experience the new life that God offers us, we must open ourselves to God’s will ahd allow ourselves to be vulnerable. Sure, we’d much rather avoid any kind of difficulty or discomfort and just stay in the same old rut we’ve been in all our lives. But change requires us to resist the ways we typically use to avoid difficulty and discomfort. Following the will of God requires persistence and in some cases may result in personal upheaval. It’s not easy to resist the tendency to avoid discomfort that ultimately heals and transforms us into a new life.

That sounds difficult and perhaps even harsh. But in a very real sense, it can be as simple as aligning ourselves with God’s peace, justice, freedom and compassion by reaching out to others in need. When we make changes in our lives, we’re not just engaged in a self-help project! We’re opening ourselves to the change that God has already made through Jesus, and that God continues to make in all our lives. Everything must change; nothing stays the same.