Fifth Sunday in Easter
Sermon by The Reverend Loree Reed

John 15: 1–8
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your Name. Amen.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells us who he is through a whole series of statements that begin with the words, ‘I am’.  He says,
I am the bread of heaven.
I am the light of the world.
I am the resurrection and the life.
I am the good shepherd.
And in our Gospel reading today he says, “I am the true vine.”  And though each one of these images sounds simple, as you begin to explore them in the light of your own experience, you quickly find things growing more complicated.
For these images do more than hint to us who Jesus is.  They also suggest who and what we are – or are supposed to be – in relation to him.  So when Jesus says that he is the bread of heaven we begin to realize that we are the ones who are desperately hungry for this bread.  And when he says that he is the light of the world we suddenly perceive how dark the world around us looks without his light.  These statements, you see, are not just about Jesus.  They’re about Jesus in relationship to us, actually making a difference in our lives.  And that difference turns out to be crucial.
So this morning, when he says that he is the true Vine and we are the branches, he is sending a message to his disciples – in fact a whole series of messages.  When he says that he is the vine, we are the branches and God the Father is the vine dresser, his disciples would have understood immediately that their responsibility – as branches connected to the vine – was to produce grapes, good grapes, some kind of Godly fruit in their lives.  For in that agrarian culture everybody knew that the best grapes were produced through the branches that were closest to the central vine.  That’s where the nutrients are most concentrated.  That’s why the lateral branches, the less productive ones, weren’t allowed to ramble all over the arbor.  They were pruned and kept short so the whole vine would have some vitality, and could produce flavorful grapes.
The disciples would also have heard a note of judgement and warning in that illustration.  The message was that closeness to the Vine, their Lord, was not optional.  By staying close to Jesus, they could produce Godly fruit to share with others.  If they failed to produce that fruit they risked being cut off and thrown onto the fire.
So how were they to tell if they were close enough?  More importantly, how are we?  We can tell, Jesus seems to say, by the fruit we are able to share with others.  We can tell if we are sowing peace and love in relationships around us – rather than division.
Suddenly, you see, this little illustration is much more about us than it is about those first century disciples.  And all of a sudden – this week – I began to see an application of this illustration in my own life.
Maybe like you, over the past few weeks and months I’ve been sickened by all the incidents of police brutality around the country – police killing men or women of color over what seemed like minor infractions.  But even as I’ve grieved those situations and realized they pointed to a fundamental illness in our society, I’ve felt powerless to do anything to stop them.
But a few days ago, after reading Jesus’ words about the vine and the branches, I suddenly remembered an incident that ended differently in Baltimore a few years ago.  As many of you know, I grew up in Wilmington, Delaware, not many miles away from Baltimore.  So in 2015 when that city erupted in violence and anger over the police killing of Freddie Gray I paid attention.  It was just too close to home for me not to feel involved.
Once again the alleged infraction that got a man arrested was minor.  Once again, there was a film of the incident, showing the police treating the suspect roughly.  And once again the man they arrested died in their custody.  Over the next few days, riot police and the National Guard were called out to restore order – but not before cars were set on fire in the streets and stores were looted by angry protestors.  I found myself praying that the young blacks, demonstrating for justice, wouldn’t resort to even more violence, or the whole situation would deteriorate into a bloodbath.
But I wasn’t alone in those prayers.  All of a sudden, the spiritual leaders of that community – rabbis and priests, imams and pastors – met together to take spiritual authority over the situation.  They remembered the Vine to whom they were all connected – and they put out a call for prayer, for peace, for mutual respect – not only to their own congregations, but also to congregations across the country.  And everybody prayed.  Everyone reminded their own congregations of the Source to whom they were connected – the Prince of Peace himself.  No one was excluded from the appeals.  Even the leaders of rival gangs, the Crips and the Bloods, were included.
And then those elders in Baltimore – the priests and pastors, imams and rabbis – went out into the streets, linking arms to form a line between the angry black demonstrators and the line of police, all dressed in riot gear.  To both sides they spoke sense and restraint, peace and love.
And the next morning, the day after Freddie Gray was buried, the whole situation had changed.  The news media covering the story were surprised to find residents of that community out in the streets, sweeping up broken glass and boarding up the windows of stores that had been looted a few nights before – neighbors helping neighbors.  The press also showed a film they had shot the night before of a mother accosting her teenage son when she found him joining in with the rioters – hitting him upside the head to get his attention and telling him in no uncertain terms to get himself home.  For she too was taking spiritual authority over the situation, reminding her son of who he was and to Whom he belonged.  They showed another film of a father bringing his three young sons out to help with the cleanup, “Because this is what we do as responsible members of this community,” he said.
All these people had remembered the Vine to whom they were connected.  And now they were flowing the Godly fruit of compassion and kindness, mercy and patience, wisdom and love into the situation – to bring healing to both sides.
When I remembered that incident this week – I realized – there is something I can do to bring healing to our nation, even today, even here in Eatonton.  I and the other spiritual leaders in this area can come together in fellowship and love to begin to heal divisions in our midst – even before they result in some crisis.  We can remember the Vine to whom we are all attached.  We can begin to prune the branches that are connected more to fear than they are to love – the branches that speak of “us” and “them” rather than “we.”  And all of us can begin to pray.
It’s only a thought, an intention at this point.  But it just might be a beginning.
Amen.
 
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