‘I am the vine you are the branches’ is a scripture phrase we are all very familiar with. It is a wonderful and most beautiful biblical image. But actually the words we have in the text today are: ‘I am the true vine.’ Or as some scholars also translate it: ‘I am the real vine.’ What does this mean? Are we to assume that there is a false vine somewhere that we should avoid getting entangled with? Or is Jesus emphasising that he is the source of real life; life in all its fullness and that what we have here on earth is only a pale shadow? The contrast here being between what is heavenly and what is earthly.
To help understand this we could look to a similar phrase elsewhere in John’s Gospel: ‘It was not Moses who gave you bread from heaven, it is my Father who gives you the bread from heaven, the true bread… I am the bread of life…’ We then could think that John is trying to stress the dichotomy or split between the Old and New Testaments.
Here perhaps John could be thought to be emphasising the contrast between Jesus and his followers as the true vine with the false vine represented by the Jewish synagogue of his day. Whatever is meant we should understand that this image of the vine was frequently used in the Old Testament as a description of the relationship between God and his people. There were elaborate carvings of the vine and the branches in the Temple and this image was also frequently used on the coinage to represent the people of Israel. So it is a particularly rich image that St. John is drawing on; one that was in frequent use and easily understood by the people of what was essentially an agricultural nation. We don’t tend to think of Israel today as one of the great wine areas of the world. But there were vines there in plenty in ancient times. In those much harder days perhaps it was not so much the quality as the alcoholic content of the wine that was important since at that time no one could be sure that the water from the well was pure. The point is that we are dealing with a readily understood image.
And it is a lasting image; although Britain is not a wine producing country we are well aware of vines, if only because of the vast range of wine available in the local supermarket. Or it could be all those gardening programs. I remember listening to Gardener’s Question Time once—I know nothing about gardens but when Gardener’s Question Time is on the car radio I listen anyway hoping I might learn something. Anyway, one question that the expert gardeners were asked was about pruning fruit trees. I was very interested to note that they emphasised what a great quantity of dead wood one could get out of an apparently quite healthy tree. And also how important pruning was to promote growth and enable the tree to give a plentiful crop of good fruit. Pruning has to be done each year if the tree is to remain in good shape. But also it was quite surprising how a neglected tree could soon burst back into blossom with a bit of rigorous pruning. You don’t need me to point out the implications for the spiritual life, it’s all fairly obvious. To stay spiritually healthy a bit of pruning is necessary on a regular basis.
But even if there has been long term neglect not all is lost and you can make an amazing comeback. That’s all fair enough as far as it goes, but what about this spiritual fruit; what does it consist of? We are more comfortable with success as the object of our achievements, but what about fruitfulness; bearing fruit, spiritual fruit. What do we mean by this? The first thing we have to say with this rather biological metaphor is that we are talking about growth, organic growth. Growth requires movement and change. As Cardinal Newman said so wisely: ‘To live is to change and to be perfect means to have changed often.’ In fact change is the only sign of life. And change is difficult. But change is what we are about. Change is of the very essence of Christianity. Take the change out of Christianity and it is dead in the water.
The whole aim and purpose of the Church is to bring about conversion, radical change. But this is the very opposite of how the ordinary person, and indeed many of us, perceive the Church. It is generally thought of as a rigid, static organisation anchored to the past. And indeed there are important and vital aspects of Christianity that are anchored in the past; the teaching of Jesus Christ to start with, which is at the very heart of what the Church is about. Abandon this and we might as well pack up now. And the Church is rigid in holding on to these teachings and unlike other denominations the Roman Catholic Church will not water-down these teachings no matter how unattractive or unfashionable they may be perceived. But this teaching of Jesus is a call to change; it is a call to conversion. This is why the Church is called: ever the same, ever new. We hold on firmly to the teaching of Jesus and we resist any watering-down but we are open to change especially within ourselves.
We are open to the promptings of the Spirit. As we have progressed through our lives we have acquired a special sensitivity to God’s way of working and we see his hand in all things. We allow him to nudge us forwards; we deepen our faith; and we continually find new ways to model our lives on Jesus. The life of the Christian therefore can never be merely passive, just as love can never be passive. If we are truly in love with someone then we are always on the lookout for things we can do to please the other. We try to help them; we look for opportunities to demonstrate our love; we try to change the things in us that cause them irritation. It is exactly the same for the Christian who loves God.
This constant striving to please him, this openness to change in our lives is a concrete sign of our love. This is active Christianity. This is a faith that is truly dynamic and living. Prayer brings about change in our lives; maybe it is only very slow and gradual, but it does change us. It does move us forwards; it does gradually draw us ever closer to God, the source and summit of all life and love. This is spiritual fruitfulness; a coming to the fulfilment of all that we were made for. This is the wonderful ripeness of a life lived in faith.