FRUITFUL LIVING

John 15: 1-8

One of the most observant writers that I have read is the author Annie Dillard. In her autobiography, AN AMERICAN CHILDHOOD, she described every detail of her observations in life. For example she says about her father: “When our mother met Frank Doak, he was twenty-seven: witty, boyish, bookish, unsnobbish, a good dancer. He had grown up an only child in Pittsburgh, attended Shady Side Academy, and Washington and Jefferson College in Pennsylvania where he studied history. He was a lapsed Presbyterian and a believing Republican. “Books make the man” read the blue bookplate in all of his books.” So that was her father. But listen to her account of her mother: “The skin on mother’s face was smooth, fair, and tender; it took impressions readily. She napped on her side on the couch. Her face skin pooled on the low side; … how flexible was it? I pushed at a puddle of it by her nose. She stirred and opened her eyes. She reminded me not to touch her face while she was sleeping….[But] I never lost a wondering awe at the transformation of an everyday, tender, nap-creased mother into an exalted and dazzling beauty who chatted with me as she dressed. Her blue eyes shone and caught the light, and so did the platinum waves in her hair and the pearls at her ears and throat. She was wearing a black dress….The black skin bodice and the simple necklace set off its human fineness.” [AN AMERICAN CHILDHOOD, Harper & Row, 1987, pp. 6, 21, 22]

For better or for worse, we are products of our mothers. Often the tone of our skin, the wave or lack of wave in our hair, our neurotic habits and our good ones, (like looking both ways before crossing a street, and brushing our teeth before bed) are often imbedded habits because our mothers put them there.

Last week we were reminded that Jesus spoke in metaphorical and not literal ways. He told his disciples: “I am the vine, you are the branches; cut off from me you can do nothing.” It was a reminder for disciples to go back often to their source of life, of lessons, and of love. Often during Lent church groups will sing the Taize chorus: “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.” In response I can imagine Jesus joining with mothers across the world as he says: “Remember me when you grow up! I have not taught you these lessons for nothing.” As we consider Jesus’ metaphor on this Mother’ Day, we find a family analogy. When you were born, it is likely that the first face you saw when your tiny eyes began to focus was that of your mother. From our mother’s face we learned to read exhaustion and exhilaration, earnestness and easiness, sternness and silliness. From our mothers we received our first food. The vine and branches analogy becomes biological when we think of the safety and warmth of our mother’s womb and the life-giving nourishment that came unceasingly from her umbilical cord to us. As we are born, we transferred from umbilical cord to breast or to bottle, and the world that seemed so bright and loud at birth started to feel safe and warm again, snuggled in our mother’s arms. Our needs were met before we were able to voice them: from wet or dirty diapers, to a cheek pressed to a forehead checking for a fever- our mothers, (and sometimes fathers,) had to figure out the sources of discomfort that made us cry.

As our own children were growing up, Mary Ann and I took turns carrying them around in the handy front sack or the back pack we got. We pushed them in strollers, sang to them, and helped them get on and off of swing sets. When it came to costumes, clothes, cakes, or schedules, their mom was the best. Of course there came the blessed and sorrowful day when first one child and then the next announced to their mother those five words of independence: “I can do it myself.” Our hearts sank and soared- sank as they needed our help-less, and soared because they needed our help less! That was our goal as parents, right- “to produce thoughtful citizens of the world and faithful followers of Jesus?” Would they still stay connected with us when they were grown, and if so, in what ways?

“I am the vine, you are the branches,” Jesus told his disciples. “Cut off from me you can do nothing.” Was there no growing up for those followers? Were they destined to stay in his midst forever? Those haunting words were part of John’s Gospel known as Jesus’ final instructions. As if mom or dad were going on a trip, or in the most gripping of cases, they knew that they were dying, Jesus was telling those who would be left behind words to comfort and instruct them: I am going for a reason: to prepare a place for you. But don’t worry, I WILL come back- I promise- and get you and next time you can come WITH me! Here is a modified translation of John 15, today’s text: “Don’t ever forget what I taught you and who I am to you! You NEED me! All the words I have said and the examples I have set: make sure they are not wasted! If you remember them, they’ll come back to you as you age and you’ll find yourself believing them and telling them to others.” Like a good mother, Jesus was preparing his followers for life in the world, and in his case, life after he was gone.

For better or for worse, from neuroses to blessings, from good habits to bad habits, insightful people have learned from their mothers. Those who were adopted have mothers with a special drive to build and keep that connection with them. And connection is what Jesus’ words are all about. As the children noted what happened to a plant cut of f from its root, so our connections with parents, grandparents, and special mentors guide our feet when we are young and our choices when we are grown. “Train up children in the way they are to go” the Bible tells us, “and when they grow up, they will not depart from it.” They may get transplanted to another home, or room, or state, or country; and growing up may mean, physically, spiritually, emotionally, or all three; but you, good mothers and fathers, are seed planters; you, good teachers and mentors, are planting seeds too. As our children got Dixie cups with a seed in them on Easter, and they are now hugely outgrowing their cup and are ready for transplant, children grow right before our eyes. But they would not be who they are without tender care when they were new and weak. As branches need pruning, so corrections and disappointments make people grow from babies on milk to adults on solid food. Children, like a vine, do not grow best untended. They need water, guidance, pruning, and good soil.

Jesus said: “I am the vine, you are the branches. Cut off from me you can do nothing.” Staying connected with Him in prayer and mission nurtured Christianity when it was a baby in its mother’s arms; it gave guidance as it took root in Jerusalem, Galilee, and Asia Minor. And it is the glue that all lifelong Christians need if we hope to always be his hands, feet, and voice on Earth. Our world stays connected with Facebook, IMs, text messages, Twitter, long distance, notepaper and even conversation. But no connection is more important, yet more neglected by so many, than taking time to be with Him.

At the beginning of the conference at Montreat that Mary Ann and I just attended, part of the mission for the week was to meet new people, connect with old friends, listen to new ideas and have time to really worship God and renew our spirits. Mary Ann went to the recreation workshops and I took study leave and joined them for meals and worship. As we gathered the first day, all were asked to take a clay pot, to put a small sapling in it of our choice, and to put construction paper leaves on our tree to remind us of why we had come together. Without thinking but an instant, I labeled my pot “Make Your Garden Grow!” and wrote the words, “Pray, Play, Worship, Live, and Love” on the outside of the pot. From the branches I hung leaves that I labeled “Friends, Laughter, Re-Create, Work, and Worship” that guided my expectations for the week. Here we were, away from the rat race, in the arms of God in one of the Presbyterian Holy Lands, to reconnect with our Creator and to re-create. So our conference would be different from other conferences, right? Have you recently gone to a conference? What happens at the breaks? People can’t wait to pull out their laptops at Wi-Fi hot spots or go outside to make cell phone calls. But we were at Montreat; to connect with God, or even with our inner child! So at breaks what did participants do? They rushed to hot spots with their laptops or to hang out windows or stand in the rain where precious cell phone towers sent faint signals. They got the vine analogy about being staying connected with others. But Jesus hoped he might get at least some equal time.

For me it took some markers, some sand, a branch, and a clay pot to help me remember who I am on this earth and who I am to the one above. May Jesus’ simple analogy of a vine be just such a teachable moment for you as well: today, your job is simple: call your mother, or recall her if she is gone, and talk with God in prayer. Connections matter.

Jeffrey Sumner May 10, 2009