Becoming Together Through Generosity: People to Planet

John 15:1-11

Jesus said, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”

Back in August, Bethlehem staff gathered on the West Lawn at the Minneapolis Campus for our weekly staff meeting. It was the first time we had gathered in person since early March. We wore masks and socially distanced.  I can’t tell you how absolutely lovely it was to be in each other’s presence.  

I had asked Pastor Holly Johnson, Spirit Garage pastor, to begin our staff meeting with devotions that day.  She took us through a guided exercise and offered a prayer.  I invite you to join me in it again, now:

Hold your hand up, facing you, about 12 inches from your face. Focus on your hand.  Notice how little you see; how everything else in the space becomes blurred.  This has been our way of seeing for the last seven months — screen time; facetime; Zoom.

Now stretch your hand to be arm lengths away — this is for the binge watchers in the crowd — think of it as a TV distance away.  Notice what changes in how you feel, in what you see.

Now put your hand down and look around the room where you’re at  — what do you notice as you pay attention to the space you’re in.  If there’s another person with you, look them in the eye and hold that gaze ‘til I say stop; if you’re in solitude, is there a photo or picture nearby?  Who do you see, what are the stories you share? Focus on one for right now, calling to mind your connection with them.  Ok.  Stop.

Now, if there’s a window nearby, get up and go look out the window — what do you see just outside the window, what do you notice? How does this gaze change how you feel?  If a window to outside is not available to you, close your eyes and use your mind’s eye to imagine a particular outdoor space.  

Shift your gaze one more time,  look out and up as far as you can see, let your eyes or your mind’s eye see the tops of trees, the birds overheard, the clouds in the sky. Hold your attention in the space for a moment.  Breathe deeply.  And again, notice how does shifting your perspective change you?

If your eyes have been closed, blink them open.  If you’ve been on the move, come on back to your seat.  

When Pastor Holly led us through a similar exercise, it was just what I needed.  It has stuck with me these past several weeks.  I’m trying to remember to be intentional about widening my gaze. On every walk — I look up and look around. Paying attention to more than what’s right in front of me changes my perspective.  It brings a sense of calm to remember that I am part of something bigger; to see that I am not alone, that I am interconnected to my surroundings, one small part of God’s good and great creation.

In times of fear, anxiety and uncertainty, our inclination is to turn inward.  We narrow our focus. Our world becomes small. The pandemic exacerbates this. It’s exhausting. Isolation takes its toll. Grief exists on so many levels. The chaos of the disease, politics, schedules, distance learning and a social reckoning… it’s a storm we’ve not experienced before.  I feel a little like Dorothy in the “Wizard of Oz” — swirling and twirling, and all I know is I’m not in Kansas anymore. What used to be is no more. What will the future bring? 

This is the question on the hearts of the disciples in our Gospel today.  It comes from a part in John’s gospel referred to as Jesus’ farewell discourse. Jesus has gathered his disciples around him. He’s preparing them for his departure. He knows the hardships and death he is about to face. Trials are ahead for all who follow him. Jesus wants to assure them of his presence. He shares a metaphor to offer comfort and to change their perspective, to shift their focus from fear to faith, from hopelessness to promise, from death to new life and growth.

The power of any metaphor is not that it defines a thing but that it points to something else. Jesus uses metaphors to identify who he is.  Seven times in John’s gospel Jesus says:  “I AM…” bread, light, shepherd, life, way, truth and now vine.  The metaphors all point to relationships — with God, with Jesus, with each other, and with the world.

Today’s metaphor points us to our life-giving connection to the Divine. Jesus is the vine.  God is the vine-grower. We are the branches. Jesus doesn’t live separate or apart from God.  Neither do we. When we separate ourselves from Jesus’ love, when we try to go it alone, we wither, we fade, we die. This isn’t a threat. It’s just a fact. For we are created in the image of God who is the source of all life. And we are created to be in community; planted, pruned, growing with neighbors, rooted in the same source of life. We can’t survive cutoff from each other. We can’t survive cutoff from our Creator God. 

I’ve been making efforts in the last few months to listen to voices of those most often marginalized. I’m learning. A lot.  A couple of weeks ago I did a deeper dive into the indiginous world view: mitakuye oyasin (mi-tah-ku-yay-oh-yah-sin) which means we are all related.  I’ve learned that for the Lakota people it is often spoken at the end of prayer, like “Amen” is for Christians.  Amen — so be it. Mitakuye oyasin, we are all related.  

The phrase is all inclusive — human beings, two- and four-legged creatures, the earth and trees — everything that lives.  We are all related because every life is a pure gift from God. The phrase nurtures an extensive and expansive image of interrelatedness and interdependence. It’s a kinship model of creation care that practices respect and compassion for all. Theologian Frederick Buechner writes, “Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else’s skin. It’s the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you, too.” 

A couple of weeks ago we launched our annual and capital campaigns:  Reach forward in faith to build a future with hope. Many of you attended the information session last Sunday following worship. Many of you attended the information session last Sunday following worship. If you missed it, another one is scheduled for Tuesday at 6:30 pm on Zoom. An element included in both campaigns is a commitment to the well-being of all our relations — people, place and planet. The Minnetonka Campus was first to start a pollinator garden and now our Minneapolis Campus grows one, too. Food shared with neighbors, connections made, relationships restored. Thank you for your generosity that supports composting and building improvements, too. Your commitment to care for others and for our shared spaces contributes to the well-being of our planet, our home. 

Jesus talks about home in today’s story, too. Tangled up in the metaphor of vine and branches, Jesus impels his disciples to abide in him. He uses “abide” nine times in just these few verses.  Seems like we should pay attention to that. Abide isn’t a word that’s part of our everyday vernacular but the Greek word meno translates: to remain, to stay, to dwell.  Jesus is calling them to make their home in him as he has already made his home in them. That is God’s promise to you.  It is our source of hope and strength.  It may not always feel like enough — especially in this season when it feels like there’s no stability, no constancy. But to be a part of the living Vine is where you can find roots and grounding and the strength to begin to produce fruit again. Jesus’ promise is that he is with you, abiding in you, holding onto you, keeping you connected to God, your life-source, and interconnected with your neighbor with whom Jesus also abides. 

My oldest daughter currently makes a home at the corner of Bloomington Avenue South and East Lake Street. She rents a room where she shares a house with four other artists.  When you first arrive at her place,  it’s hard not to notice the buildings that have been burned to the ground or the boarded up businesses with messages about justice for George. The violence, pain and suffering is still fresh. But there is more. Expand your gaze, look around, look up and you’ll see neighbors showing up for each other, doing what they can to help one another, working together to make life better. Keep walking, and push open the rickety fence that surrounds her house and you step into a garden that fed the neighbors throughout the summer — fresh produce, herbs and flowers, everything is harvested and shared. It’s not a metaphor for her community.  It’s a glimpse of the life-giving promise that Jesus is alive and at work in their lives, their neighborhood, their world. 

Friends, when Jesus urges us to abide in him and, by extension, in community with a bunch of other living branches that we did not choose, it is because God’s desire is for all people to experience the deep connection of God’s life-giving love. This connection changes perspective and shifts focus — from fear to faith, from hopelessness to promise, from death to new life and growth.  Amen.