Here is the passage from John’s gospel that I’m writing about for a class; it shows up in the Lectionary a few times throughout the year and for some occasions, including in a Mass for the Laity:
Jesus said to his disciples:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower.
He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit,
and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit.
You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you.
Remain in me, as I remain in you.
Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own
unless it remains on the vine,
so neither can you unless you remain in me.
I am the vine, you are the branches.
Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit,
because without me you can do nothing.
Anyone who does not remain in me
will be thrown out like a branch and wither;
people will gather them and throw them into a fire
and they will be burned.
If you remain in me and my words remain in you,
ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.
By this is my Father glorified,
that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.” (John 15:1-8)
A few things to notice here:
First, there are three different roles mentioned. The Father is the vine grower, or gardener. Jesus is the vine. We are the branches.
The Father, as the vine grower, decides what kind of garden he wants to have and what he will do to achieve that. He wants an abundance of fruit, and he takes action in the garden toward that goal of producing more fruit.
Jesus is the vine, and we are the branches. The branches receive all of their sustenance from the vine — nutrients, water, etc. If they are cut off, they will die. If they remain on the vine, they will bear fruit and are likely to be pruned so they can bear more fruit. (The verb for “prune” can also mean “clean,” which is interesting. Here’s the dictionary entry for “prune” in v. 2.)
In CL, John Paul talks about how we are grafted onto the vine by our baptism. It is by our baptism, by our connection with the vine, that all Christians find our purpose and the dignity of our vocation, as well as our sustenance (i.e. access to the sacraments, etc.). One of the big points in CL is that our vocation is rooted in our baptism.
One of the commentators I read pointed out this very important piece: the goal of the whole operation is bearing fruit. The Father, the vine grower, takes away branches that don’t bear fruit, and prunes the ones that do. Jesus, the vine, provides sustenance. The goal is not to be pruned, or to be clean; rather, those things serve the goal of bearing more fruit.1
Also explicit in the image is that we cannot do this unless we remain connected to the vine.
We need to ask: What does “bearing fruit” mean? Several of the commentators I read pointed out that it means love. It is a kind of extraordinary love that is not humanly possible, which is why we need to be connected to the vine. We need the grace of the sacraments, and other things, in order to be capable of this extraordinary love. (This is probably the biggest logical jump of my whole post here; if you want me to flesh this out, let me know.)
Love is something that can manifest in diverse ways. We all know priests who are loving, and priests who are not. We know families that are communities of love (that phrase is from John Paul somewhere) and families with a lot of conflict. We know single people who are generous and single people who are selfish. We know people in positions of authority (political or at work) who are deeply loved and respected because they love the people under them and work to serve them. And we know people in positions of authority who are not like this.
So the exhortation for us (in my reading of this so far) is to love, to grow in love, to take in God’s love and grace and allow that to work in our hearts so that we can love more. Love starts with the people immediately around us: for most of us, our families; also, co-workers, friends, the strangers we bump into over the course of our day. This is the fruit that God wants to see. This is the vocation of every baptized person. This should be the fundamental orientation of our lives.
What are some different (and perhaps unexpected) ways you have seen love manifest?
Since love can exist (or be painfully lacking) in so many difference circumstances, what does this mean about how God calls us? How do the material realities and circumstances of our lives relate to this call to love?
This is important for anyone struggling with scrupulosity or shame. Being clean is not the goal.
I've seen love manifested in lots of ways, all of them specific. One does not love in generalities or in sentiment, but in the concrete actions and in truth. My son picked us up from the Baltimore airport on a Tuesday afternoon. Traffic was the worst he's ever seen in all the time he's been living there. A 45-minute drive home took 2.5 hours, and he never lost his cool. He and his wife, from different cultures, have each adjusted to the way the other does the daily tasks of life with patience and acceptance. Instead of hosting a huge party with their friends for Thanksgiving, they postponed that until we had left so that we could enjoy family time with them. I heard my daughter-in-law praise my son to me when he wasn't even around. Clearly she sees and appreciates the attributes that make him a good husband and father. She got up early on the morning we left to make us crepes with raspberry sauce before our son drove us back to the airport. (Better traffic this time)
Love is always concrete, whether in word or in deed. Therefore, we need to love in the concrete circumstances of our lives. God isn't calling me to be kind to patients in a cancer ward on a daily basis. I'm not a nurse. He is calling me to be kind to my disabled brother-in-law, whom we visit weekly. God calls me to be loving in the circumstances of my life, not the circumstances of another's life. He hasn't called me to babysit for my grandkids so their parents can work, a sacrifice some of my friends make for their kids. He calls me to travel to visit my kids, which is a different sacrifice for us, an unexpected way he calls us to love. And love always involves sacrifice. It's a sweet sacrifice, but a sacrifice, nonetheless.