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You Cannot Give What You Have Not Received

Easter 5, Year B : 6 May 2012 : John 15: 1-8

John A Lee’s book "Children of the Poor" has become a classic of New Zealand literature. In it he describes his grim childhood and growing up years. If this was the only book you ever read about what life in early Dunedin was like then you could be forgiven for thinking that it was a place of depressing deprivation.

But take a look at Eric Olson’s "Building the Future," which analyses the patterns of that energetic community called Caversham from the 1880’s to the 1920’s and you find out that John A Lee’s mother didn’t agree wither son’s view of life here. For all the misfortunes, setbacks and betrayals she was on the receiving end of Jenny Lee was clear that her life was a lot better than it would have been in her native Scotland. This was a land of opportunity and natural abundance, and by hard work and thrift she was able to keep her dignity, and eventually find a modest security.

By and large the people who moved to these Islands in the 19th century did so because there was a powerful incentive to improve their circumstances from a less than wonderful life in the Atlantic Islands. And one of the first things they often commented on was the potential to enjoy an abundance of food in this newfound land of fertile farmland. Gardens were planted on even the most modest sections, and I might add beautiful botanical gardens and tree lined boulevards were established right from the go get, one of the most lasting gifts to us from colonial society. And that is the first note for us to sound on this Harvest Festival Sunday - gratitude to God for finding ourselves in an abundant land in which the natural world gives us what we need for the good life.

Of course, as our colonial forebears set about cooking up a storm from that cornucopia of food that they found themselves in the midst of, they often did so in the rather unimaginative way that they knew from Victorian society. I sometimes wonder in a rather wistful way what might have happened if the French had got to Akaroa first, annexed it, and turned Banks Peninsula into a shining beacon of haute cusine and fine wine production. Would we have missed out on a century of meat and two vege, and got a head start on café society, good coffee, and the present glut of pinot noir and sauvignon blanc?

And that is something to bear in mind as we consider the striking image of Jesus as the true vine and his Father as the vine grower. For much of our history this Scriptural metaphor would have been remote from the experience of most New Zealanders. Am I showing my age when I recall the names of the first tentative offerings of the infant New Zealand wine industry, the deeply revolting cold duck, cresta dore and muller thurgau? I left New Zealand about that stage to train for the ministry, and as I flew back 6 years later, and the Air New Zealand cabin staff poured the latest offerings, I realised that there had been a startling improvement in the home product.

Now that vineyards have spread all over New Zealand, even down here to the southern colder climes, we are in a better position to appreciate why Jesus chose viticulture as a way of talking about the close association that is possible between deeply convinced Christians and their God. If our relationship to Jesus is as branch to vine then we are drawing our nutrients, our water, and our grow signals from him. And if our loving heavenly Father is the vinedresser, vine grower, then our branch life is being skilfully and surgically pruned (ouch!) so that we can produce the finest grapes, which in turn means that we can contribute to a Chateau St Peters, as it were.

It is a somewhat bracing view of the Christian life, though not without an end view of sensuous abundance, but at the heart of the viticulture analogy is an image of intimacy. "Abide in me as I abide in you," says the New Standard Revised Version, and the Jerusalem Bible writes, "Make your home in me, as I make mine in you," while the New English Bible puts it this way, "Dwell in me, as I in you." If we are dwelling, abiding and home making with Jesus then we are very close indeed to God, who has been described as the mystery of the world.

In my living room the television, the DVD player, and the stereo have their power plugs at some distance from the wall socket. To be any use they must be connected up to the multi plug board that leads from the power supply. In a sense Jesus in the incarnation is that vital connecting point that links us up to the source of wisdom, peace, and vitalising energy that is essential to the life that really is life. He is the mediating point and middle ground that enables the derivative reality and the sourcing reality on either side of him to be relationally connected to one another. In this way a two-way traffic of relational energy can flow back and forth. But to put it this way makes it and him sound pretty instrumental and impersonal. My favourite image of intimate abiding with Jesus comes from a later part of John’s gospel in an incident from the last night of his life here when, while at supper, with the twelve reclining on couches around the meal table, the beloved disciple leans back to rest on Jesus’ bosom. The physical closeness, tactile proximity and instinctive trust revealed in this gesture speak louder than words ever could, and is helpful I find to imaginatively dwell on it in prayer.

Yet this intimacy is not the end product of life with God as revealed in Jesus. We are to bear fruit in word and action to show who we have been spending time in the company of. We, of course, cannot give what we have not received. That is the point of developing the habit of daily prayer, regular Bible reading, and feeding on the risen life of Jesus regularly and often in the Eucharist. We get to know him of whom we shall speak and witness to others. We acquire an inner emotional fortitude to endure what is difficult, and to show courage and cheerfulness when invitations to bear our cross come our way.

The New Revised Standard version finishes today’s gospel reading in an intriguing way: Jesus says, "My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples." St Polycarp was one the first generation of the Bishops of the early Church. After long years of faithful service he was arrested in one of the waves of persecution, refused to join in the Emperor cult and renounce his faith, and was transported some distance to his eventual execution. At one of the stop off points he remarked to a local Christian, "I am on the road to becoming a disciple."