There is great comfort in Jesus’ parable of the vine and the branches.
Great comfort, but also great challenge. The comfort comes from knowing
how very close we are to Jesus and he to us. And “close” really doesn’t
quite say it. Jesus tells us that we are as much a part of him as the
branches on a vine. We live because of him. St. Paul was in not
exaggerating when he wrote to the Galatians, “I live, now not I, but
Christ lives within me!” There is great mystery here – enough for a
whole lifetime - and great comfort.
The 16th century Spanish
mystic, St. Teresa of Avila, knew this comfort intimately in the
profound union with God that she experienced in prayer. “In order to see
Christ and to take delight in Him,” she once wrote, “we have no need to
go to heaven. We need no wings to go in search of Him but have only to
find a place where we can be alone and look upon Him dwelling within
us.” St. Teresa knew with mystical certitude the meaning of “I am the
vine, you are the branches. Remain in me as I remain in you.” There was
great comfort in that for her, as there should be for us. And great
challenge.
The challenge comes when
we reflect on the way a vine grows. A vine grows only with careful
cultivation and it grows only with pruning. And pruning is painful. St.
Teresa discovered that in the long, agonizing loneliness of her dark
night of the soul when God seemed infinitely distant from her, way
beyond her reach.
Pruning as a
prerequisite for growth is a theme that runs all through the story of
God’s dealings with the human family. Think of Adam and Eve leaving
paradise; of Abraham leaving his homeland and later, being asked to let
go of his own son; think of the chosen people leaving behind their
secure, if subhuman, situation in Egypt and, of course, think of the
Divine Word letting go equality with God in order to become one of us.
And when he did come
among us, Jesus preached a gospel that was good news, but it was also a
gospel of painful pruning: the gospel of the seed that must be planted
in the ground and die before anything can grow, the gospel of leaving
all behind and following, the gospel of “take up your cross and follow
me.”
We know all this, my
friends, but we resist it. I know I do. I am reminded of what a friend
and spiritual mentor of Thomas Merton, the great 20th century Trappist
monk and spiritual writer, told him during a time of particularly
difficult struggle: “Nothing is too hard if it brings you to God,” the
friend told him. Merton remembered these words all his life long, but
how he had to fight to believe them! And so must we – especially in
moments of disillusionment and doubt when hope is hard to hold onto and
darkness eclipses light. And sometimes all Jesus says to us is, “I am
the vine, you are the branches…every branch that bears fruit my Father
prunes to make it bear more fruit.”
“I am the vine, you are
the branches. Remain in me as I remain in you.” The word ‘remain’ is
key. It appeared again and again in that gospel passage – fully eight
times, to be exact. It also appeared two times in the reading from the
Letter of John. It is the key to everything. Our remaining in him and
his remaining in us is our comfort and our strength as we meet whatever
challenges life brings. No wonder Jesus says to us, “apart from me you
can do nothing.” And that means, of course, that with him there is no
limit to what we can do.
I want to
conclude with some words of Saint John Henry Newman, the brilliant 19th
century theologian, literary giant, preacher, and convert to the
Catholic Church. If you know any of Cardinal Newman’s story you know
that his life was a living embodiment of the parable of the vine and the
branches: challenge and comfort were in constant interplay, although
challenge in the form of misunderstanding and suspicion on the part of
the Church he loved often had the upper hand. Nonetheless, Newman was
able to write, “Let us put ourselves into God’s hands and not be
startled though he leads us by a strange way. Let us be sure God will
lead us right, that he will bring us to that which is, not indeed what
we think best, nor what is best for another, but what is best for us.”
My friends, as we go now
to the altar with all our struggles, questions and uncertainties – but
our joys and hopes, too – may we draw comfort, and experience deep union
with Jesus who remains in us, and we in him!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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