The imagery of the vine and branches ( John 15:1-8) is intended to conjure up a "dwelling place" in which a beautiful intimate  relationship between the Father, Jesus, and his followers exist. 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 prefer to keep God at a distance. We might ask how a relationship can be both communal and intimate, but in the imagery of the vine, God’s remaining presence is underscored as abiding, nourishing, lasting, and permanent for all.

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.
 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 of abiding 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 nourish tender vines to come. By this is my Father glorified that you will bear much fruit.

I know my own and my own know mw

 

There is a profound difference between believing in a personal God and knowing God personally. Words fall short if we attempt to explain the difference. When I read the familiar 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 recent discussions of “knowing and believing” and Thomas and Emmaus.

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 everything real in one’s life as a gift and a blessing in disguise. Michael 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 wrote 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 or cowboy outlaws of the 19 and 20th centuries. Shepherds 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).

The Story is Not Over

 

What prevented the disciples from believing that Jesus really was the Messiah? You would think that seeing is believing is enough for most people to eventually come around to accepting a new reality but is it? How many times have we been confronted with a set of incontrovertible facts only to resist them and persist in our original belief? It’s not that we are delusional, it’s just that we are so set in our original man-made concept of our reality that it’s hard to let go. Consider how many “normal” people seek psychological counselling to undo preconceived notions that continue to distort behavior and alter their health and well being.  

I wonder what we would do if all the things we have been taught about and believed about God were contradicted by the things we actually experience in life? It was in the midst of such uncertainty, questioning, and hopelessness that Jesus came to the apostles and walked along with them, stood beside them, and opened up for them the possibility of renewal. Jesus knew that the only way that this could happen would be through a new beginning. It was the resurrected Jesus who took the initiative to come to them so as to open their eyes to a new reality, and bring them a hope that went beyond the endings of the past. Despite the Resurrection, the apostles were paralyzed by a feeling of hopelessness: "Now what do we do?"

The story continues beyond the resurrection in Luke 24:35-48 . The story continues not because the disciples found  a will to press on into the future within themselves. The story goes on because the resurrected Jesus came to them and sought his doubting, questioning, failing, and hopeless followers. Therein lies our hope. God comes to us in Jesus in surprising ways when we least expect it. To meet the risen Lord is as much a possibility now as it was for the disciples or for Paul. Part of our task as modern disciples is to share the reality that Jesus is seeking that encounter with us and that hope is very much alive! It’s a new beginning.

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.”