Sermon at The Church of
the Holy Apostles, New York City
April 27, 2008,
The Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year A
The Reverend William A. Greenlaw, Ph.D., Rector
Acts
17:22-31
Psalm 66
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 15:1-8
On this Rogation Sunday, we give thanks for and ask
God’s blessing on all the things that grow in the earth, crops,
vegetables, fields and flowers and trees. We remember God’s
bounty and the beauty of the earth, we bless spring flowers and
our children lead us outside as they plant them in our church
garden. It is a good and joyous time, all the while pausing to
remember that it is God who gives the growth and who blesses
both the earth and us—and it is God who calls us to tend and
care for the good earth—which is in mortal peril.
Our gospel theme for today, the vine and its branches,
is one of the most beloved and familiar as well as very rich
images in John’s gospel. Let me say first off that I am not
going to assert what a certain Bible study group in the Bronx
concluded in studying this passage. This was the group that
claimed that these verses were proof positive of Jesus claiming
his own divinity. What else could be the meaning of the words,
“I am da vine and you are da branches?” ….That settled it—for
them.
For us, I’m going to take a somewhat different tack.
In our gospel lesson of today we have another of John’s “I am”
sayings, clearly hearkening back to that first great “I am”
saying of God speaking out of the burning bush that was not
consumed. “I am who I am.” Today, instead of Jesus proclaiming
“I am the good shepherd” or “I am the gate for the sheep” as we
heard two weeks ago, we have “I am the true vine,” or, “I am the
vine, you are the branches.”
Jesus tells his disciples and us in this passage, “You
have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to
you.” Before anything is asked of us or suggested to us, this
is the word we must hear first of all. We are free, we are
redeemed, we are made whole, we are filled with God’s grace,
baptized into the new life of the risen Christ.
What then? Well, rather than any instruction or
marching orders, we hear these words, “Abide in me.” “Abide in
me as I abide in you.”
I think it is important to emphasize that when we hear
the words, “abide in me,” we don’t hear a drumbeat, we don’t
hear threats, we don’t hear suggestions that if we don’t get it
together, we will be cut off and thrown into the fire. Rather,
we hear words of rest, refreshment, being grounded, finding
ourselves surrounded by the love of Christ. Held. Nurtured.
Really loved. It is really quite astonishing.
If we look at the text quite carefully, we discover
that it does not say, if you don’t bear fruit, you will be
thrown into the fire. Rather, it says, “Whoever does not abide
in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches
are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.” In other
words, if we abide, we are like branches connected to the vine,
the very source of our life. We flourish. We live. To
continue in the vine imagery, we sprout and flower and bear
fruit. We may be pruned, and that might well hurt—perhaps a
lot.
The branches that are thrown away are those that have
gotten disconnected from their source. To be disconnected from
our source means that we cannot get the nourishment we need in
order to live. And that is when we try to live without
reference to the vine which gives us our life—something that all
of us try to do so very much of the time. We may have enough
sap within us to sustain us for awhile, but if we do not remain
connected, God does not force us, Jesus does not force us. The
message would seem to be, stay connected, or wither and die.
The choice is very much ours to make.
So, there is no gun to our heads, no “bear fruit, or
else!” No “get it together, or else.” This is a quite
different image. When you think about it, the image of the vine
describes a much more intimate relationship between Jesus and
the believer than do the images of Jesus as bread, light, door,
or even shepherd. It would seem that Jesus’ relationship with
his disciples has deepened considerably by the time of the Last
Supper, deepened and interiorized. A true “holy communion,” if
you will.
With the vine and the branches, the relationship of
Jesus with the believer becomes almost organic. The believer
depends upon Jesus for the very source of life which wells up
into eternal life—a very strong glimpse of which is offered to
us even here and now, just as branches depend on the vine for
their life.
We are sustained in our connectedness to that vine, in
our relationship to Christ, preeminently in word and sacrament,
by participating in the body of Christ, the church, and in a
life of prayer and devotion., in a life of gratitude and
thanksgiving, and offering. And that is precisely where fruit
comes in.
As I have tried to say in varying ways through all my
years at Holy Apostles, fruit—another name for ministry—comes
most authentically, I believe, when we allow ourselves to be in
that indicative mode of being, of really being who we are. For
if we are connected to our source, we will be in a different
place within ourselves, and in all our dealings and
relationships with those we encounter. We will be in a
different place in manifesting the love and justice of Christ in
and to all the world.
Now, as a person who has spent most of his life and
energy and priorities on “making it happen” out there, I count
myself as “exhibit A” of what happens when we, when I, lose
sight of this most basic truth of the gospel. For I slip so
easily into that imperative mode of shoulds and oughts and
demands—where I think that simply by squeezing or working harder
or by relying on my own wits, I can somehow “make it happen.”
And I, and we, keep at it in that mode as if it were
our second nature, keep at it until we run out of gas, find
ourselves on empty, find ourselves withering on the vine
(interesting image!), and wondering what has happened. And we
wander in desserts that are all too often those of our own
making, until finally, once again, we find an oasis, a sense of
the vision that has been lost, a sense of being reconnected to
our source. And of realizing that we are frail branches indeed
without our source, the vine that gives us our life and peace
and hope—and from which comes every good gift.
But then, we repeat the pattern all over again,
difficult creatures—or branches—that we are.
But God is always there, the risen Christ is always
there to take us back, no, to welcome us back, for the
promises are still there which exceed more than we can desire.
And one day we just might learn that those promises, and those
promises alone, are what save us and give us hope.
This past Thursday evening Holy Apostles had the honor
of hosting an event we co-sponsored with General Seminary, a
gathering to celebrate the new book by Bishop Gene Robinson,
In the Eye of the Storm. And our dear friend and
inspiration Gene was in vintage form. He spoke of the
controversies of the church, and responded to questions. And he
read a moving passage about the Blessed Minority Christian
Fellowship of gay Christians meeting in secret in Hong Kong.
This was the same group that Father Frank Alagna spoke of at our
coffee hour last Sunday—and who asked us to pray for them. It
was Frank who introduced Gene Robinson to that fellowship last
fall—and I had heard much about them from Frank and others when
I was in Hong Kong last year.
If there is one person who comes to mind when I think
of “abiding in Christ” it is Gene Robinson, even when he is
living “in the eye of the storm.” His abiding faith, his
rootedness, his connectedness are all quite palpable—and he is
very clear that it is this sense of God in his life that makes
all else possible. For Gene Robinson is a man at peace. And it
is clear to so many that Gene Robinson is a man of God who
conveys that reality in his very being.
Toward the end of the discussion, Jeffrey Penn made a
very insightful request of Gene. Since quite a number from Holy
Apostles were there, and since Gene spoke so glowingly of this
parish in which he feels so welcome and at home, Jeffrey asked
him if he would he say a word both to, as he put it, “our
rector,” and then, “to the rest of us” at Holy Apostles at this
particular time in the life of our parish.
Well, Gene rose to that with his usual grace, telling
those assembled that he and I had had a chance to talk at some
length before the reception about what life will be like for me
after 25 years if not being “in the eye of the storm,” then at
least so often feeling myself very much “in the frying pan.” Of
urging me to take time to rest and decompress, but also of his
sensing that God just might not be done with me yet, of being
open to what might lie ahead—including at least one visit to New
Hampshire. But infusing it all was to keep abiding in
Christ—from whence all good things come.
And then he spoke to the rest of you about by referring
to parishes in transition—especially when a long-serving rector
is retiring or otherwise leaving and there will be an interim
period between rectors. He noted how it will be a time of at
least occasional high anxiety. Of hopes and dreams but also
fears and deep uncertainty. Of waiting. Waiting for what will
be revealed in due course, namely a new rector to lead this
parish into a new future in ways that cannot yet be known.
But the main thing he said in this process was to
remember God. Or, to put it in the context of today’s
gospel, to remember to abide. To gather together to hear
the word, to pray, to break the bread and bless the cup. To
keep faith with our God who is faithful beyond imagining. And
all good things will be revealed in the fullness of time.
Even in the light of those wonderful words from Gene,
admittedly, there is still a lot that is murky and uncertain.
For you and for me. How could it be otherwise? But I know and
feel it in my heart and soul and bones that retiring at this
time is the right thing for me, difficult and painful as it is
at times—and will likely be in the three months remaining in my
time here and certainly also in the months after as I learn to
adjust to a life without Holy Apostles, the community I have
known and loved for 25 years. But I am also confident that new
and good things await me that I cannot yet know yet know. My
calling in the meantime—and always—is to abide, if only I can
remember.
I also sense a wonderful energy and hope and creativity
emerging here. Of deeply committed Holy Apostles stepping up to
the plate in remarkable ways. There will be moments—of anxiety
and dis-ease. Things will certainly be different, and change
can always cause discomfort. But, again, I am confident that
new and good things await you that you cannot yet know. And
your calling in the meantime—and always—is, remember to abide.
I ask for your prayers in my journey—in Jane’s and my
journey. And do know, that you will always be held in my
thoughts and prayers.
May God continue to bless us and keep each one of us,
now and in all the days to come, wherever we may be.
Amen.
