Pruning to bear good fruit

    

                                         

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

St. Alban’s, Simsbury, CT  

May 2, 2021, Fifth Easter

Acts 8:26-40; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8; Psalm 22:24-30

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word, who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

The house in which I grew up sat amidst an ancient apple orchard.  And behind the house, next to the vegetable garden there were two grape vines.  And then across the hayfield and the break in the trees, you come to nine acres of (Maine wild) blueberries.  The delicious, sweet, small ones that grow on carpet of small vines, only inches above the rocky soil.  Given that I spent my childhood surrounded by all these vines and branches, you can imagine my mind went straight there when I read the Gospel lesson for today.  Jesus said, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.”  Ahh, the pruning. 

I remember one early spring when my Dad went out with his pruning shears to cut the grape vines back.  He peacefully went about his work, and when he was finished, we were in a bit of shock and concerned that he might have done irreparable harm to the vine.  There seemed to be hardly anything left of it.  We were convinced that might be the end of our grapes.  But no.  The vine grew in, lusher than ever, and was weighed down with fruit by the end of the summer. Pruning truly does bear more fruit. 

And then there are the blueberry plants. They are pruned by mowing and burning.  After they are harvested the whole field is mowed and then, when weather permits, it is burned. Then it lies fallow for a year, growing back the vine, setting buds, but producing no blossoms and no fruit.  Then the following year, it produces more of the delicious fruit.  If the field is not mowed and burned, the plants would produce more and more leaves, and fewer and fewer berries.  Mowing and burning are actually key to a bountiful harvest of beautiful berries. 

One can see why Jesus chose these images from the natural world to make his point - they are so fitting, and so true!  

The trouble is, most of us don’t like to think of pruning.  And we particularly don’t like to think of God going around with pruning shears sniping away at bits of our lives.  We might not mind so much if God would like to do some pruning in some OTHER people’s lives - as a matter of fact I would bet that most of us have days when we would like to tell God exactly who and what needs pruning!

But we know that is not what Jesus is inviting us to consider.  Jesus is inviting us trust in the possibility that good, bountiful fruit will come, even when we are in the times where it looks like the vines have been pared back far too much. I would guess that most of us feel like there has been far more pruning in the past year than anyone of us would have liked or have desired. So many things have been taken away. In many ways our lives have been stripped bare. 

This is hard and painful. There is grieving to do. Much grieving to do. Over lives and opportunities lost. Over the loss of what we thought we could count on, of what we might even say we took for granted. I hope that you are finding time and space to grieve. That you are gentle with yourself when you find yourself overwhelmed with emotion or wanting to cry at unexpected times. This has been a hard year. 

And I hope that we do not miss the opportunity, the invitation that is there in the midst of these challenges. There is an invitation to clarity. An invitation to reorient our priorities. An invitation to be thoughtful and considerate about what fruit we would like to bear going forward. 

What might it mean, what might it look like for us to live lives that are more fulfilling, more meaningful. How might we be more deeply connected to God and each other? How might our actions be a part of realizing God’s dream, of contributing to the transformation of the world? The world needs transformation. The tragedies of this past year have laid bare realities of systemic injustice and oppression that too many of us have been able to ignore for far too long.

I think it is important to remember that pruning is natural.  Sometimes it just happens.  Lightening storms happen.  Wild animals do their share of damage. Pruning happens. It can look and feel like a real loss.  It can even be a pruning that threatens the survival of the whole plant.  But what does nature show us again and again?  It can also come back stronger.  It can overcome adversity and bear beautiful, nutritious fruit. 

So, what can we take away from this? This has been a year of pruning. Some of it the kind of pruning that clears away the detritus that has kept us from seeing the realities of injustice in our society. Other pruning has been loss on a scale few of us could even imagine. The losses have been harsh and painful, and they seem to make NO SENSE.  There is real pain and grief. And there is also an invitation to clarity. An invitation to remember that our roots run deep.  We are grounded in the love of God, and no matter what, we can trust that we are being given the strength to bear good fruit.  If we allow God to work through us, our bare branches and fragile stems can be transformed into a gift that helps feed the world.

AMEN. 

Remembering 9/11

Rev. Molly F. James, PhD

17 Pentecost, Proper 19C: 1 Timothy 1:12-17; Luke 15:1-10

September 11, 2016

May God’s Word be spoken. May God’s Word be heard. May that point us to the living Word who is Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

It was a bright, sunny Tuesday with clear, blue sky when our cousin Ben went to work in his office at The Fiduciary Trust company on the 97th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center.  At first it seemed like any other day. There were tasks to be accomplished and appointments to be kept. A few minutes before 9 am, it became clear that it was a day like no other. Someone whose office window faced the other tower, came to tell him that a plane had hit the North Tower. The office began to evacuate. Our cousin Ben was a tall and imposing man, a natural leader with a generous heart. Beyond his regular job, he had been designated to be an emergency manager for his office. He helped his colleagues down to the 44th floor where they were able to get people onto elevators. Ben ensured the elevators were full and then stepped back. He walked down the remaining floors to street level. On the concourse where there were lots of emergency personnel, and he stopped to talk to them. He wanted to know what was going on. Minutes later the towers collapsed. His body was found right next to a fireman. We know the story of how Ben died because of all those he helped that day and because our family was one of the fortunate ones that had a body to bury. 

I think about Ben often. He was my mother’s first cousin. He had kids close to my brother and me in age, and we spent a lot of time together when we were kids - big Thanksgiving dinners and ski trips to New Hampshire. Ben had a wonderful sense of humor and a flair for the eccentric. He drove a purple Volvo with a pink pinstripe. Ben knew how to find joy in the present moment.

And of course, I think about Ben on this day. It is hard to believe it has been 15 years since September 11, 2001. Today will be a day of stories and remembering. Thousands of us have loved ones who connect us deeply to the tragedy of this day. Everyone over the age of 20 likely has a story of where we were when we learned the news. The images of the smoking and crumbling towers, of the damaged Pentagon and that field in Shanksville, PA are etched into our minds and hearts. While it is a day of sadness and grief, I also believe it can be a day of hope and transformation. It is a day that invites us to take stock of our lives and to live in a new way. 

There are thousands of stories like Ben’s. Stories of regular people who embodied compassion, generosity, and a sense of our shared humanity on that day. Small actions, like helping them on to the elevator or down the stairs. Actions that meant someone else got to go home and hug their kids that night. Think of all those phone calls and text messages sent by those who knew they would not survive. They said, “I am sorry.” They said, “Thank you.” They said, “I love you.” Innumerable witnesses to the fundamental goodness of humanity. The terrible evil that inspired the horrific acts of violence on that day did not have the last word. If we are paying attention, the messages of love and generosity speak far louder. 

And the world needs those stories and those messages. We need to be reminded that Love is stronger than death. We need to be reminded that Hope is stronger than fear. We need to be reminded that violence is not the solution to our problems. Divisions are not healed by attacking those who differ from us. 

I don’t know about you all, but I spent the afternoon and the evening of September 11, 2001 reaching out and connecting with those who mattered most to me. It was a day that reminded me of two very important truths that ought to always be at the forefront of my mind. First, we never know how long we have; life is short and risky. Second, relationships matter more than anything else. 

Interestingly, I think these truths are also at the heart of our Gospel today. Today we have the familiar story of Jesus searching for the lost sheep, and the woman searching for the lost coin. There is a sense of urgency in the Gospel. What has been lost is precious, and it must be found. There is no time to waste. We must focus on that which is most important. 

It is a parable that is meant to show us how much we matter to God. We are the sheep and Jesus is the shepherd. And yet it can be a human story too. It can just as easily be applied to our relationships with each other.  We all have people in our lives with whom our connection is essential. People who matter so much that we would drop everything and give of ourselves to ensure that we do not lose that connection. 

The juxtaposition of our Gospel and the anniversary of the tragic events of 9/11 give us much food for thought today. Life is short. We never know how long we have, and so we must ask ourselves the question of how we want to be remembered? What are the stories we want people to tell about us after we are gone? How have we cultivated relationships and sought to build connections? 

The thing that brings me up short in reflecting on our Gospel today and on the final hours of my cousin Ben’s life, is that he went seeking after anyone who needed help. He wasn’t just helping his best friend or a family member. He worked in a huge office. No doubt there were many people he guided to safety with whom he might not have ever even had a conversation. There were no favorites. 

Ben’s actions, and the actions of countless others that day, call me to a higher standard. They call me to seek out those who differ from me. Those who are currently strangers. As people of faith we are not just called to strengthen our ties with those whom we know and love, we are called to go seeking after those who are not in our inner circle. We are called to reach out and to contribute to the flourishing of ALL people. 

It is my prayer that we will have the courage and the grace to reach out and to seek after new relationships. May we follow the example of our Lord and Savior and live into the higher standard to which we are called. May we make the best use of whatever time we have left on this earth, so that the stories that are told about us long after we are gone are stories that inspire. 

AMEN.