Abide in Love

May 8, 2022 – Mothers’ Day
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

John 15:1-8[1]

Who is the gardener in your family? For me, it is my mother. I have memories of her working away in the back yard, digging weeds, pruning the bushes, planting flowers. Gardening kept her moving and brought her joy. When my parents moved into the mountains away from lawns and gardens, she still found a way to garden. There was a patch of meadow by their house where my mother diligently weeded out the invasive species. It was hard work – on her knees most of the time – and never-ending, but she loved it. She now lives in an apartment, but still finds ways to tend to and nurture the world around her.

Even though most of us have never tended a vineyard, anyone who has gardened or seen a grapevine can understand the symbolism in this passage. The branches wind around one another, support one another, and – if they are not well tended – can get rather unruly. Too many stray branches will reduce the fruitfulness of the entire vine, so the vine-grower must prune regularly. Branches that break off from the vine wither, and cannot bear fruit. They must be gathered and tossed in the fire. A vineyard is a long-term, labor-intensive investment. Tending a vineyard can be almost as much work as raising children.

My mother tended another garden – our home, where my sister and I were the branches. Just as the vine needs sunlight, water, and good soil, so we needed fresh air and shelter, nourishment, and a loving community. Mom provided a home for us in which we lived, grew, and ultimately became fruitful. I can’t think of home without thinking of mom.

The word abide means “to live in” or “to make a home in.” In THE MESSAGE translation of the Bible, by Eugene Peterson, verse 4 of John 15 reads, “Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you.”[2] Jesus takes this motherly image of home and applies it to himself; he is to be a home for the disciples. For the early Christians, many of whom had been uprooted from their homes, villages, and families, and who faced oppression and persecution, this image is meant as a comfort. Wherever you go, no matter what happens, you always have a home in Christ. And if you abide in Christ, you remain attached to the vine, connected to the nourishment of God’s love.

It is the relationship with God, the one who tends the vine, which is emphasized here. Bearing fruit is not a prerequisite to being a branch. The branch bears fruit because of its relationship with the vine, and the care of the vine-grower. My mother raised us to make a difference in the world, and because of her tender care, and necessary pruning, my sister became a teacher and I became a pastor. Christ abides in all of us, and when we live close to the vine, we bear much fruit. As Barbara Essex wrote in a commentary on this passage, “When God is doing the maintenance, we are assured that new life and new growth will result.”[3] Fruitful Christians live out the love of God, and love of neighbor, and we do so together as branches of the one vine.

Of course, just like my mother tending the garden, the maintenance work is ongoing. The weeds need to be dug up. The branches that fail to produce fruit need to be pruned. My mother was diligent to weed out my misbehaviors, and prune my unproductive endeavors. Jesus warns the disciples that God, too, is engaged in weeding and pruning. As another scholar, Stephen Cooper wrote, “The imperative to bear fruit in works of love is reinforced by the image of the branch that fails to respond positively to God’s pruning and providential care. That branch ‘withers’; cut off from its source of life and fruitfulness, its usefulness is reduced to wood for the fire.”[4] When we cut ourselves off from the love of God, when we focus our energy on destructive behaviors and fail to act with love, we are cut off from the vine and we wither.

But there is a big difference between being pruned and being cut off from the vine. When we are cut off, we abide no longer with the source of life. Those who go it alone find failure more often than success. And even success is bitter when it cannot be shared and enjoyed with a loving community. When we abide in the community of God’s love, however, we find joy that can be shared, and we also find the grace and strength to support us in tragedy and failure. It has been said that we are stronger together that we could ever be on our own. Alone, we are just individuals, in danger of withering like branches. But as members of the family of God, we are part of the vine itself.

As branches of the vine, we must be pruned in order to bear more fruit. We must put aside all that gets in the way of living out the commandments of Christ to love God and our neighbor. Nancy Blakely gives a wonderful explanation of what can happen when we remain close to the vine, to Christ, to the source of life:

As in nature, the pruning and the abiding are held together. When we remain that close to Jesus, we attuned to him and he to us, the remarkable result is that what we want will be what God wants, and it will surely come to pass. “If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you” (v. 7). All that is extraneous is carefully and lovingly removed. What remains is centered and focused in God’s word.[5]

As we seek to center ourselves in God’s word, to live out the commandments of Christ, and to nurture one another as with a mother’s love, what is the fruit that we hope to bear? What difference can we make in this community and in our world? St. John’s has deep roots in this community. Our branches have brought the love of God to Union, Marengo, and beyond. We have touched people’s lives across this country and around the world. We can continue to do so. Because of our relationship with God, because Christ abides in us, because the Holy Spirit empowers us to live in love, we can bring glory to God by the living of our lives. Amen.

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[1] Unless otherwise noted, the scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.

[2] John 15:4. Scripture taken from THE MESSAGE. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

[3] Barbara J. Essex, Homiletical Perspective on John 15:1-8 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, year B, volume 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), pp. 472-477.

[4] Stephen A. Cooper, Theological Perspective on John 15:1-8 in Ibid.

[5] Nancy R. Blakely, Pastoral Perspective on John 15:1-8 in Ibid.

Bearing God into the World

December 20, 2020

St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Luke 1:26-38

Frederick Buechner, a theologian and storyteller, renders the scene with Mary from Gabriel’s point of view:

She struck the angel Gabriel as hardly old enough to have a child at all, let alone this child, but he’d been entrusted with a message to give her, and he gave it.  He told her what the child was to be named [Jesus – YHWH will Save], and [he told her] who [the child] was to be, and something about the mystery that was to come upon her.  “You mustn’t be afraid, Mary,” [the angel] said.  As he said it, he only hoped she wouldn’t notice that beneath the great, golden wings he himself was trembling with fear to think that the whole future of creation hung now on the answer of a girl.[1]

OK, it’s up to you.  You have to bring the Savior into the world.  Can you handle it?

Luke’s Gospel tells us how this teenager named Mary came to understand her call to ministry. Her ministry was to be the person God called her to be – both in and in spite of her own culture. She would be the God-bearer.

She is to be a mother – something fairly normal for a young woman of those times.  She was to be married.  She wasn’t supposed to be pregnant before she was married.  So, she starts out on precarious cultural footing.  Joseph wanted to leave her, until God gave him a talking to as well.

Who am I? Mary may have wondered.  And God replied, “You are my favored one, beloved and beautiful to me.”  In truth, Mary does not stand much chance for an identity apart from God.  She is too young to have had time to achieve much on which to base her identity.  She is too poor to purchase her place in society.  Add to this the fact that she is female, which means that even if she did have accomplishments or social stature to her credit, they likely would have gone unrecognized because of her gender.  All of this makes Mary a most unlikely candidate for helping God save the world, which is precisely why God enlists her.  Nothing about Mary suggests that she can be who she is apart from God’s favor of her.[2]

None of us can do this alone.  The real miracles, the really hard acts – creating, saving, giving of good gifts – those can only come from God working in us.

The Eastern Orthodox tradition calls Mary Theotokos, or “God-bearer,” because she quite literally brought God into the world.  In the biblical witness, God seems especially fond of calling upon unlikely suspects for such missions.  Young people – impetuous, inexperienced, improbable choices by all accounts – figure prominently among God’s “chosen” in both the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament.  And while God does not ask any of us to bring Christ into the world as literally as Mary did, God calls each of us to become a God-bearer through whom God may enter the world again and again.[3]

God works in the world through our hands, our voices, our actions, and our relationships.  What gifts have you been given?  What opportunities have been presented to you?  Have you ever felt called?  How did you respond?

God’s message to Mary and to us has two parts – affirmation and expectation.  Because Mary is beloved by God, because she has found favor in God’s eyes, God has a plan for her.  It is an astonishing plan: never mind the angel in the living room, never mind the impossible conception. This child will grow up to be who he will be, and Mary will be witness to it all.[4]

Sounds like too much for such a young girl to handle, especially all on her own.  But she is not really alone.  Joseph does stay by her side.  Her cousin Elizabeth loves and encourages her.  And remember, this is God’s miracle, not ours.  God is with her.  That is the meaning of the name by which Gabriel calls the child – Immanuel – God with us.  God is with Mary, and God is with us through all of the challenges of our life.

God’s salvation is coming with or without Mary’s help.  But God does not seize Mary and take her by force.  God does not enter this girl, or any of us, without our consent.  After all, we don’t know how many stops Gabriel made before he got to Mary’s house.  What sets Mary apart from the rest of us is quite simple: she says yes, a yes that changes her life forever and, because of her, the world in which she lives.  The ministry and the mission do not end with Mary’s transformation; they begin with it.[5]

And what happens when we say yes, when we fling open the doors of our souls so that grace no longer needs to sneak in through the cracks?  The Holy Spirit rushes in “like a mighty wind” and fills us, overshadows us, transforms us by forming Jesus within us, restoring us to the image in whose likeness we were created.

We too bring God into the world.  It’s a difficult task, it will be hard.  Some may not like what you have to say – unconditional love can be threatening to those who desire only power – they might try to take your life.  But you are not alone.  God was with Mary, God is with us, and God will be with us always.  Amen.

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[1] Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who’s Who (San Francisco: Harper-San Francisco, 1979), 39.

[2] Kenda Creasy Dean and Ron Foster, The Godbearing Life: The Art of Soul Tending for Youth Ministry (Nashville: Upper Room Books, 1998), 44.

[3] Ibid, 17-18.

[4] Ibid, 46.

[5] Ibid, 48.

God's Dwelling

May 10, 2020

St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

John 14:1-14

If you have been to a funeral, you have probably heard this passage. It is one that I have used many times. In this passage from John, Jesus is talking about leaving the disciples. He is trying to prepare them for what is coming. Jesus gives them this vision of heaven. When Jesus tried to describe heaven, he used words that meant home: love, and peace, and family. “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places… I go to prepare a place for you” (v. 2). There is a place prepared for each of us. We have a home that is beyond this world. A home filled with love and peace. A home where God welcomes us like a father or a mother.

When Jesus spoke of God, he used the word “Father.” Joseph, the human father of Jesus, must have been a wonderful father. His family must have been his true passion. Joseph loved his family so much, that when Jesus had to choose one word to describe God, he chose “Father.”

Jesus might have used the word “Mother.” After all, it was his mother who outlived Joseph, raised Jesus on her own for at least part of his life, and stuck by her son as he became a traveling preacher and healer. She even tried to get him to come home when she feared the authorities might come to take him away. Mary was even there at the cross, despite all the horror, pain, and loss. Mother was always there.

God’s love for us is unconditional, like the love of our mothers and fathers. Jesus assures us that we have a home with God, a home where we will be welcomed like a devoted child. There are many dwelling places in the house of God. There is room for everyone. There is a place for you.

These words of encouragement were part of the farewell message that Jesus gave the disciples in order to prepare them for what was to come. Their hearts were troubled, as Jesus is telling them he is leaving. What they had been expecting is not working out they way they thought. They have been following Jesus all this time and yet they still aren’t truly understanding his message, vision, and mission. They have found the Messiah in Jesus, yet he’s not what they expected.

They may have expected the Messiah to be immortal, but he is about to be crucified. They may have thought that he would lead them to liberation from the Roman occupation and restore the kingdom of David, but their defeat seems assured. Jesus isn’t rallying the troops, but saying goodbye. His death will mean the death of their hopes and dreams. Their understanding of who he is will be transformed; but in this moment, they begin to grieve the loss of what they have known and believed.

I have read some articles in a collection called “Quarantine Journal: Notes from Inside.” One letter by Justin Smith, who was experiencing the beginning symptoms of the coronavirus, addresses the changes we are all experiencing. He writes:

I find that I am generally at peace, and that the balance between happiness and sadness on any given day is little different from what it always has been for me. I find that there is liberation in this suspension of more or less everything. In spite of it all, we are free now. Any fashion, sensibility, ideology, set of priorities, worldview or hobby that you acquired prior to March 2020, and that may have by then started to seem to you cumbersome, dull, inauthentic, a drag: you are no longer beholden to it. You can cast it off entirely and no one will care; likely, no one will notice. Were you doing something out of mere habit, conceiving your life in a way that seemed false to you? You can stop doing that now.[1]

While we are experiencing the loss of some things, new things are being born. New ways of relating to one another, of understanding the natural world, of what it means to live and work and learn are coming into being. The changes in our lives may be painful, but they are part of the transition to new life.

In the upper room, death and birth are revealed. Rev. Shannon Pater, a minister in Atlanta, describes this moment as both the hospice and birthing room. “In both the maternity wing and the hospice room, the family is changed—all things are being made new.”[2] What is old – who they have been, plans and dreams now shattered – is dying. Their sense of self, built over years of following Jesus, passes away. In that moment, what is new – the hope of the resurrection, the church, the mission of the apostles – is being born. In that in between moment, Jesus is the hospice chaplain and the midwife, guiding the transition.

In our own rooms, our homes where we shelter, leaving behind an old way that is dying, and not yet knowing what is to come, we need the presence of one who reassures us as we transition. Just as Thomas asks “How can we know the way?” (v. 5), we too are unsure what the future holds for us. Like Phillip, if we could just see what lies ahead, that would be enough.

In the upper room, Jesus assured the disciples that no matter what happened, no matter the horror and loss to come, the most important thing would remain unchanged. There is a place prepared for you, with many dwelling places. I will come and take you there. The relationship you have with me, the relationship you have with God who is in me, will continue, even through all the change that is to come.

The change in the relationship the disciples had with God was a movement from outward seeking to inward dwelling. For all the time they had spent with Jesus, the still looked outward: who do we follow, where do we go, how do we find God? What they did not know, what they needed to be pointed out to them, was that God was always with them. Jesus begins with himself, “Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me?” I haven’t done all these things on my own. “The Father who dwells in me does his works” (v. 10). Are you looking for God? Look right here! “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” (v. 6). You know God, and you know the way, because you know me.

In the days to come the disciples will lose much that they had known and understood. But they would witness the new birth of the God of resurrection. They would know the God of life that could not be extinguished. They would know the Holy Spirit, the presence of God dwelling within them. If we seek to know where God is, and how we get to the house of God, we need only look within. The Holy Spirit of God dwells within each of us. No matter what comes after this plague passes over, our relationship with God remains. Let the Comforter heal your hearts and strengthen you to stand firm in the coming transformation. Amen.

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[1] Justin E. H. Smith, “It’s All Just Beginning” in The Point, March 23, 2020. Online at: https://thepointmag.com/examined-life/its-all-just-beginning/.

[2] Shannon Michael Pater, Pastoral Perspective on John 14:1-14 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A, Vol. 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), p. 468.