When he is the vine, it can be quite a ride to be one of the branches (sermon from Sunday, April 22, 2018)

Readings:

Acts 8:26-40   

(The Book of Acts tells the story of the beginning of the Christian church.  It's a story of firsts -- first business meeting of the disciples getting organized, first decisions, first prayer meeting and Bible study, first experience together of the fire and passion of Spirit in their bellies, first stewardship program to share what they have for their common mission, first healing of an outsider, first time in prison for challenging the status quo, first martyr for Christ, first time having to go out into totally new territory -- which is the story today.  Until this story Philip was just "one of the disciples" -- nothing remarkable about him, until one day he followed a special prompting of God to go somewhere and do something totally new to him.  Because there's always a first time, isn' there?

John 15:1-8

(When people outside the early church looked at the followers of Jesus, they marveled at the way the disciples cared for one another, and reached out to others beyond their circle to make a difference in the world.  Where did such ordinary people get such extraordinary power?  The disciples knew the answer, and in their record of Jesus' final Last-Supper conversation with his disciples, they share the secret.)

Look up.

Not wa-a-a-a-a-ay up like in the Friendly Giant. 

And not up to heaven.

Just up to the ceiling.  Still inside our sanctuary and building.

“I am the vine, you are the branches”

What a wonderful reminder of our strength.

And of our purpose and mission.

So locally appropriate, given we’re in Niagara wine country.

And it was done by one of our own – at least, some one who used to be a member here.

And so compact, ordered, bounded, set – just like we like church to be.

But is that really how it is?

How old are those leaves and grapes painted on our ceiling?  How many seasons have come and gone since they were put up there?  How many changes have come to who and what we are as church?

A vine is a growing thing.  Its leaves and grapes mature every year.  Grow old quite quickly.  And then there comes the pruning and letting go, that have to happen for a real return to the source, and a growing out again with new leaves and grapes. 

Isn’t that more like what we do here?  And what we celebrate about our church?

And ... even when you look at just one season – what’s here at any one time in our life as a church -- like right now, it's not always as easy to be a vine together, not as idyllic or comfortable or comforting being branches and leaves and grapes together as that painting on our ceiling suggests.

Rev. Thom Shumann, whose prayers and calls to worship we sometimes use in our liturgies, tells the story of one church he served where along one central interior corridor wall, they painted a long green vine, with tiny little branches.  Then each person, whatever age, whether member or guest, was invited to put their palm in paint, leave a palm-print at the end of a branch, and sign their name.  It was a lovely visual reminder of the life they were called to lead as the church and as far as he knows, it's still there on the walls.

But, he says, it also proved to be a visual reminder of how hard it is to be God's vineyard, because the person whose palm print is closest to yours might just be the one gossiping behind your back; just like the neighbor who you lived next door to for decades might be the one having the affair with your spouse; and the folks who talk most about “community” might be the ones who tear it apart if they don't get their way.

He says as attractive as the image of us being in a lovely and pastoral vineyard might be, it just ain't easy.  Just being baptized doesn't make us love our neighbor as much as we love ourselves.  Singing hymns next to our enemies doesn't make us bosom friends.  Claiming to be a “warm friendly church” doesn't always include the stranger; and when it comes to setting aside our lives and our agendas for others, well, he says, just sit in on any church board meeting. 

He concludes that maybe the worry about being pruned from the vine is the least we have to worry about.  Our biggest concern and the thing we find hardest to live with sometimes is that it’s Jesus’ vine and not ours, and it’s Jesus and God, not us, who decide who we get to be with and grow close to.  It’s the fullness of his life and the fullness of God’s love, not the limits of what we want that get expressed in the true vine.

Which makes me wonder if this may be a helpful image of the vine that Jesus is.

It’s a little wild.  Somewhat twisted, even perverse.  And do you notice how in some places it’s even unclear what’s part of the vine and its growth, and what’s just wind blowing around it?  There are even different kinds of grapes growing on it – some red, some white, all from the one great vine.

Does that seem like us sometime?  With our different tastes in music for worship?  With some of us coming to worship in suits and ties and good Sunday dress, and others more casual and comfortable?  With the different kinds of programming we enjoy, the different needs we try to meet, the different expectations we have of what makes us a church? 

If so, if that's what we're like ... maybe hooray!  And if not, maybe the question is why not?

One other thought.  I know Jesus is talking about a grape vine here.  That's the Hebrew-Scripture image of God and God's people – of God planting and caring for them in the world, and them bearing good fruit for the world because of it. 

But might there also be something to be said for a vine like the trumpet vine as an image of Jesus and the kingdom of God, and of our life as followers of him and citizens of it?

I have had experience with a trumpet vine.  One year I was looking for something to fill and brighten up an empty stretch of fence between our and our neighbour's yard.  I saw the trumpet vine at the nursery, read about its colourful, full beauty.  I bought one, planted it, and before long was pleased with its growth and its colourful blooms.

No one told me, though, how prolific a trumpet vine is.  Within a couple of years as it grew it began to spread far beyond where I wanted it to be.  It spread underground in all directions.  Soon it was popping up in the herb garden, around a white pine (which it threatened to strangle if left unchecked), in the lawn, way on the other side of the yard among the peppers and rhubarb, and even coming out from under the back shed.

Can you imagine what it took for me to beat it back?  What measures I had to resort to, to bring it under control, and then get rid of it?  How long it took?  And how even now it is not really gone?  There are still occasional little shoots in scattered places.  It's still alive under the surface of the yard, and I'm just waiting for the day when it bursts forth all over.

Like Jesus?  And like the kingdom of God in the world?  Not bound by our expectations and designs?  Not limited to what we may find comfortable and nice?  Ready to break through where we least expect it -- both in here, and out there?

That's what the early church found.  Theirs is a story of one first after another, one surprise after another, one new experience after another of the kingdom of God for them to get used to, and learn to become part of.  Like when Philip -- mild-mannered Philip just minding his own middling business as an average disciple trying to follow Jesus in his own life, when suddenly he finds himself led out of his comfort zone into a place he's not been before, with a stranger not part of his community, and by golly this stranger is reading things about God and asking questions to which Philip knows in his heart the answer is Jesus.

Who knew?  That the Jesus-vine and a hunger for the kingdom of God would pop up like that out there?  It makes me wonder what kind of spiritual hunger is all around us out there in the wilderness of Winona's old and new communities.  And what kinds of questions people are facing, to which we may have part of the answer?

The Jesus-vine -- the kingdom of God as a living reality, like the trumpet vine, is everywhere just under the surface, just ready to emerge given half a chance.  Good news for the world.

Good news for us too.  Because how often do we -- like me in my back yard, out of our desire to keep our lives in some kind of check and some kind of manageable order, end up killing, or at least limiting within our life the the life of the vine -- tamping down the spiritual urges, limiting the growth of commitment to God, putting a little circle around our faith just to keep it under control and not take over everything?

The good news is that no matter how hard we try to kill it or keep it under control, we cannot.  Because this is God we are talking about.  It's Jesus.  The kingdom of God. 

And if there's one thing we know in the aftermath of Easter -- in the season of Easter, it's that you cannot really kill God, at least not for good.  God will go on, as Jesus goes on and the kingdom of God goes on. 

And all we have to do at any time when we feel cut off from the life of that vine, is re-connect.  Re-connect to the source.  Re-connect to Jesus.  Re-connect to the life of God's kingdom in the world.