Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

Mark 6:1 - 6

My Uncle John was a contrary person.  He had a fourth grade education and owned a farm, which with hard work on his part kept his family going.  He ran the farm the way he’d been taught by his own dad, who in turn ran it like his dad ran his farm; which meant that my uncle was still using technology that no modern farmer would have used.  Uncle John would have fit right in with the Amish people, except for his contrariness.  He loved to argue.  It didn’t matter about what, or which side.  If you had an opinion, he’d gladly express the opposite, and considered the volume of his opinion a gauge of its accuracy.  I once listened with great interest in as very loud argument he was having with another farmer about whether cow manure or chicken manure was better for raising vegetables.  When his opponent, who favored cow  manure, allowed that my uncle did make some good points, my uncle immediately switched sides, destroying the very points that his opponent had agreed upon.  Another wonderful exchange was when Uncle John decided to lecture me on the evils of radiation therapy for cancer because he had known several people who had received radiation and had since passed away, and look at all the destruction that atomic bombs caused?  I made the mistake of trying to use logic, but he just got louder.  

Today we see that some people in Jesus’ time were contrary people as well.  You can almost hear them.  One says, “That was a great sermon!”  Another says, “Life would be better if we did what he suggested!”  A third says, “Wait a minute, why should we listen to him? He’s just a peasant, like us.” and a fourth says, “He’s got a lot of nerve, telling us to change the way we live!” 

And there is a little contrarian in each of us.  It’s because of two things.  One is that none of us really want to change.  The other is that finding fault in someone else, or the world at large, is a lot easier than finding fault in ourselves.  

Our society is sick.  I’m not sure it’s more sick than in the past, or in Jesus’ time; we just play out the sickness in different ways.  But the sickness stems from those two things.  Listen to any politician, left or right; you never hear them criticizing their own tribe, and you always hear them promising to fix the world if everyone will just do what they want them to do.  

One of the British newspapers many years ago asked several philosophers, writers and other important people to write a brief note describing what was wrong with society, and what could be done about it.  GK Chesterton, wrote back “To whom it may concern: I have considered your challenge. You have asked what is wrong with our society. I am, sincerely, GK Chesterton”.     Saint Catherine of Sienna said much the same thing.  As you probably know, she is a doctor of the church.  During her brief life she nagged pope after pope to return to Rome; they were living in Avignon France in those days, having abandoned the Vatican.  It was the time of the black plague, which killed between one third and one half of all western europeans.  The clergy for the most part refused to administer last rites.  Many people figured that they were going to die anyway, so why not go out with a bang? Suicide, alcohol abuse, orgies all took place.  One of Catherine’s contemporaries, Boccaccio, described this time in his book, the Decameron.  So there was a lot wrong with the world.  But Catherine, who wrote scathing letters of criticism to the people who could do something about the world, insisted that she was the problem.  Was this just an exaggeration?  Catherine recognized that the one thing she could change was herself, and she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.  And that’s you, and that’s me.  Because we are fallen beings, we blame others.  But how do we measure up?  I am supposed to do good and avoid evil.  I get that backwards sometimes.  I am supposed to love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, and my neighbor as myself.  I don’t, not really, and you don’t either, I'll bet.  I get distracted in prayer when I try to pray.  I don’t always listen when someone needs me to listen.  I don’t speak up when someone needs an encouraging word, or when gossip happens.  I’m pretty good with sarcasm and cutting remarks; in my old age if you see a smile on my face I’m probably holding back something I might have said twenty years ago.  I've made a little progress.  

Catherine was aware that her sins, and they were little ones, caused pain and suffering in the world.  And mine do and your do, and that’s why I’m the problem.

But the good news is that my good deeds can cause joy, encouragement, happiness, and a general increase in the goodness of the world.  And my good works can have a multiplier effect.  KInd words, a smile, encouragement, compliments, even a hug here and there which is really difficult for me -- all can make someone’s day and change the world.  And we have the opportunity right now to be on the side of the angels.

In Jesus' hometown God had been present in the flesh for 30 years and they didn’t recognize him; and when he worked his wonders and spoke his words to those people he must have loved, they refused to change and “they took offense at him”.  Today let us all recognize that we are the problem, we are why the world is the way it is.  Because we can do something about it if we choose to.   

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

Mark 5:21 - 43

The gospel we just heard is an example of what bible scholars call “intercalation”.  That means there is a story within another story.  Mark really likes this technique, and depending on how you count, there are seven such intercalations in his gospel.  Needless to say, there is controversy about why Mark does this.  There are some clues we can look at.  The woman Jesus heals has had her problem for 12 years;  Mark makes sure to tell us that the little girl is twelve years old.  The woman has spent everything she has trying to overcome her illness; she has no more resources.  We don’t know about the little girl; I think,though, that we would all agree that Jarius has done everything he can think of to make her well, and now she is dying and he has no more resources.  One of the Fathers of the Church said that the bleeding woman represented the Jewish people and the little girl the gentiles; Jesus came to fulfill the promises made to the Jews and bring new life to the gentiles.  One modern theologian thought that Jesus' healing of two women in a row emphasized that women were of equal importance to men as far as Jesus was concerned.  But there are also contrasts; the healing of the woman takes place before the whole crowd; the healing takes place when she touches his garment; and Jesus does not obviously will her healing; it’s sort of passive.  The little girl’s healing takes place away from the crowd; Jesus touches her and speaks to her; he actively heals her.  

But maybe there is still another clue in the name.  Jarius, after all, is one of three people named in the gospels who had a miracle worked for them.  The other two are Lazarus who was raised from the dead, and Bartimeaus, whose blindness was cured.  All the other healing miracles are done on people whose names we never hear.  And Jarius means “God enlightens”.  

Picture Jarius -- middle aged, a prominent person in the village, the guy whose job it is to see that the synagogue is kept up, the rabbi is paid, the Jewish laws are observed.  He’s pretty important.  He has a twelve year old daughter and a wife, we know that.  He’s probably a pretty good guy, all things being equal.  And he believes in Jesus, at least when he’s desperate.  I’ve been there and probably will be there again.  When you are desperate, it’s easier to believe than when everything is going well.  There is a woman.  She is an outcast.  The book of leviticus tells us what to do about someone who has a bleeding problem like she does.  She is unclean.  If she sits on a chair, you can’t sit there.  If she lies on a bed, you can’t use that bed.  And she can’t go into sacred places like the temple or the synagogue.  And she’s broke, adding insult to injury.  And the very act of touching Jesus’ garment is a crime.  

So as Jarius and Jesus are going to Jarius’ house, they are being jostled by curious crowds of the townsfolk.  And strangely, Jesus feels something -- power, a miracle -- going out of him.  And he demands, “who touched me?” And the woman, who has felt herself be healed, comes forward and falls at his feet, and confesses.  And Jesus calls her “daughter” and tells her that her cure will be permanent.  Jartius, meanwhile, must have been jumping up and down, wanting to tell Jesus to get moving, and trying to hold his tongue at the same time.  His daughter was dying, and Jesus wanted to know who touched him?  You can imagine what Jarius felt.  But the woman is a daughter, a part of the family, and Jarius has been ignoring and avoiding her for twelve years.  He’s like the rich man who doesn’t see Lazarus on his doorstep; he is following the rules and never questions them.  After the cure,  Jesus praises the woman's faith and tells her that it is faith that has cured her, and he sends her away in peace.  And about then they learn that the daughter has died.  

Jarius has put his faith in Jesus; he’s risked ridicule, perhaps, from the other elders in the local synagogue who don’t have much use for this wandering preacher;  And to Jarius, all seems lost, because of that woman who interrupted Jesus.  But Jesus tells him, “don’t be afraid, have faith”.  And they proceed on, being ridiculed.  But in that moment, Jarius deepens his own faith.  Remember, Jesus is known as a healer.  No one expects him to raise someone from the dead.  But Jarius and Jesus pass through the mockers, and enter the house, hidden from the crowd outside.  And Mark records words that Jesus himself said, not a translation, but the very words, because some eye witness, probably Peter, heard him say them.  And the girl gets up and walks, totally cured; and Jesus tells the parents to give her something to eat.  

 So however else we look at this gospel story, we can see it as a story about Jarius, who learns that God loves the woman who is an outcast, contaminated, unclean -- whom Jesus calls “daughter” -- as much as Jarius loves his own daughter.  And Jarius learns that faith has made her whole, and he himself is called to deepen his own faith.  And finally, Jarius learns that Jesus can raise the dead, and while you and I have no problem in believing this because we’ve been listening to these stories all our lives, the people of his time would have seen this act as something only God could accomplish.  

And the story is there for us as well.  God enlightens Jarius, may he also enlighten you and I.  

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

Mark 4:35 - 41

I must have been about four or five when my parents took my sister and I to a cabin on Swan Lake in Montana.  We had the use of an old rowboat and Dad took us out on the lake a couple of times.  The last time the sky became dark and the wind started picking up and waves were lashing the boat.  I didn’t get too concerned until I saw dad straining to row the boat back to shore and telling us to hang on to the boat railing.  You could tell he was truly frightened.  When you grow up in Montana, as I later learned, you learn that you shouldn’t be out on a Mountain lake during a storm and every year there was some report of someone who had drowned in such a storm.  Of course in those days we didn’t have to have life jackets on or in the boat, so maybe things aren’t as bad now.

I suspect it must have been much the same in Jesus’ time; it’s a peculiarity of lakes that are surrounded by barriers to wind whether in the hill country of Galilee or the mountains of  Montana.  And our disciples, being skilled at operating their fishing boats, were also experienced enough to know they were in trouble.

“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” they call out.  That’s an accusation, you know, not a question.  After all, it was Jesus who told them to launch out onto the lake, and they had put all their trust in him.  And their world was coming apart.  Has that ever happened to you?  It’s happened to me, and I suspect most of us who have lived in this world for a while.  Lord, do you not care that my loved one is dying?  Lord, do you not care that I have been diagnosed with cancer?  Lord, do you not care that I’ve lost my job?  And I pray, and try to live a good life, and really make an effort to live the way you’ve taught us to live.  And despite this, you seem not to care that my life has been turned upside down.  

That’s one of the several reasons atheists give for not believing in God.  If God is totally good, totally powerful, knows everything, why does he let bad things happen to good people?  Why do prayers go unanswered?  Why do innocent children suffer?  Our world gives little evidence for a benevolent, loving, all powerful God.

Jesus wakes up, stands in the boat and tells the storm to quiet down.  He uses the same statement that he used when he told the demons to be silent about who he was -- “Be muzzled” is the Greek phrase, or we might say, “Shut your mouth”.  Our translation has Jesus saying “Quiet, be still!”.  The original readers of the gospel would see the Lord using the same exact phrase whether dealing with demons or with nature itself.  

And Jesus turns to his apostles and says, “Why are you terrified?  Do you not yet have faith?”  Saint Maximillian Kolbe had faith.  IN Auschwitz he told to Nazi guard to take him rather than the man who had been randomly selected to be put to death by starvation.  Kolbe said, “Take me instead of him.  I’m a Catholic priest”.  His faith was so strong that he was free and did not fear those who can kill the body, but never touch the soul.  And according to witnesses, Kolbe spent his last days ministering to those who were dying with him.  And Jesus asks us, “Why are you terrified?”  He is not criticizing us, it’s a genuine question.  In the gospel for this morning, Jesus told his apostles, “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink...Look at the birds in the sky who do not sow or reap … and your heavenly father feeds them … Are you not worth more than they? … And learn from the wild flowers … even Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these…”.  

Faith for Jesus is another term for trust in God’s providence, trust that God will see to it that things will turn out in keeping with his plan, even if it takes the  next life to do it.  And if you are someone of little faith, you trust a little, but not enough.  And when you have little faith, when something happens your tendency is to withdraw into yourself, trusting nothing.  On the other hand, faith is associated with inner peace knowing that you are loved by God, and that God’s plan will be fulfilled.  

The apostles feared for their lives when the storm came up, and they lost their fear when Jesus calmed the storm.  But before, during and after the storm, there was one certainty -- Jesus was in the boat, Jesus was with them.  

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal spoke about throwing herself into God like a drop of water falling into the ocean.  She was happily married with four children when her husband died in a hunting accident, killed by a friend.  Saint Jane went into deep depression, but gradually worked her way out of this with the help of Saint Frances de Sales, her bishop.  She even forgave her husband’s killer.  She eventually founded the Visitation Sisters.  She wrote extensively on “abandonment to divine providence”, learning to trust God in all things.

The answer to atheism is not that God is real, because God is more real than you and I; The answer to atheism is recognizing that whatever the circumstances of life, Jesus is there in our boat.  

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle B

March 4:26 - 34

Blessed Charles De Foucald was 58 years old when he was martyred in Algeria. He had founded a congregation, and a few men had come to join him and gone away again; at his death he was the only member. Blessed Charles was orphaned at 6 and raised by an uncle; he inherited a significant sum from his grandfather and led a wild life. He joined the french cavalry where he was known for his pranks. He resigned from the Calvary and traveled through Morocco, pretending to be a Jew, and out of this experience he wrote an important paper on the culture of the Berber people. When he was about 30 he began practicing his religion again and at 32 joined the Cistercians. This didn’t last too long and he decided to become an hermit in Algeria. He was ordained a priest, and wrote documents on spirituality and a Berber - French dictionary. He was unsuccessful in converting any of the Berbers he lived among, and the order he dreamed of founding never happened.

But back in France, people began to study his writings and a few people wanted to imitate his life of poverty and prayer. Over time his writings have inspired nine religious congregations, including the “little brothers of Jesus” and the “little sisters of Jesus”. There are also eleven associations of lay and religious who try to base their lives on Charle’s spirituality. Charles spiritual descendents can be found all over the world.

Jesus gives us two parables today. On the surface they don’t seem very similar. Mark tells us that he didn’t explain the parables to the crowds, but he did to the disciples. Unfortunately we don’t have those explanations written down.

But Jesus is talking about the Kingdom of God. We all think we know what that means, but I suspect if we took a poll we would have some people thinking this means heaven, others that this describes a far-off future where everything is the way God wants it to be; and still others might see it as a synonym for the Church. And yet, none of these holds up well when we look at Jesus’ many descriptions through his parables. Perhaps a key is in another statement he makes -- the Kingdom of God is within you; and in another palace, he tells a lawyer “You are not far from the kingdom of Heaven”. The kingdom of God is something in each of us, something like a seed, something that we have very little to do with. Jesus sews the seed in us, and somehow, it will grow and bear fruit, and accomplish its purpose, apart from anything we can do to help it or hurt it. In another part of the Gospels Jesus tells his apostles that it was necessary that he had been betrayed by Judas, but woe to Judas who did the betraying. God’s purpose can’t be stopped.

There are times when I feel pretty useless. It’s probably a part of getting older. My kids used to ask me for advice. No longer -- they are all giving advice to their kids. I find I can’t do as much in a day as I used to and I know this is likely to get worse. I am having more and more of those moments when I am speaking and a particular word will not pop up in my brain -- it’s on the tip of my tongue, as they say. And that will probably get worse.

And one day, I, like Blessed Charles, will come to the end of my life and wonder whether it meant anything? Because I’m sure Blessed Charles must have been discouraged when he looked around and asked what his life had accomplished.

But that’s what these two parables are about. You and I don’t really accomplish anything. If anything comes from our having lived our lives, it’s because God planted the seed and sees to it that the seed grows into the kind of plant he wants. And all we can do is live our lives and continue to move in the direction God seems to want for us. Cooperating with God’s grace simply means getting up every morning, turning to God and saying “Speak, your servant is listening” and then going about the tasks of the day, doing them as well as we can. Saint Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei, said that for each of us, our sanctification won’t be because of some great work we accomplish -- or that God accomplishes through us, which is a different thing. Our sanctification will be through the work we do. We become holy by making the work holy, and we make the world holy by doing the work as well as we can. And maybe God will use us to build a vast enterprise; or maybe we will become an object lesson about how not to do something. But our holiness is under our control; God’s purpose for us is under His. They are separate things.

So imitate Mary, our mother, who never wrote a word, never founded a religious order, never preached a sermon, never built anything that lasted -- but did everything she had to do as well as she could. And through her God brought forth Jesus and His Church.

Trinity Sunday 2021

Matthew 28:16 - 20

I’ve always been interested in other religions. I think that’s because my grandmother was. She had many friends who were of different faiths -- one was a Jehovah’s Witness and would constantly bombard her with tracts about that religion and why other religions were wrong, especially Catholicism. In retrospect I admire the fact that she could maintain a friendship with someone like that and yet never seem to be shaken in her own faith. But I digress. In medical school I had a friend who was kind of a mainstream Jew, but like me, was interested in what other people believed. He talked me into attending a Quaker meeting one time, which basically consisted of people sitting in silence waiting for the Holy Spirit to speak through them. The few times the Spirit did so, he didn’t seem to have anything earth-shaking to say. But one time my friend invited me to a lecture by an Hassidic rabbi who was quite famous in Jewish circles. Now Hasidism is really different from mainstream Judaism. Hasidim seek to be united with God in a mystical way. So I was curious and went to the lecture.

The old rabbi came out and told a few stories from the Talmud. I don’t remember them, but they were humorous and we laughed. And then he began singing, a simple repetitive song, and invited us to join in. As we gathered steam and became more familiar with the melody and rhythm, he came down off the stage and started dancing, and got other people to dance behind him, like a conga line. Soon the audience of about 100 Stanford students were all dancing and chanting and I could sense a little bit of the ecstasy that some people must experience in this kind of activity. It was energizing; it seemed like all barriers between us dancers had come down as we all shed our inhibitions and entered into that simple unifying dance.

Today we celebrate a doctrine, the doctrine that there is only one God, and God is three persons equal in every respect except relationship. And most of us don’t pay much attention to this doctrine. Back in the eleventh century some bishops proposed that a universal feast be declared to honor the Holy Trinity. The pope at that time, it is said, responded that we honor the Holy Trinity every Sunday, but if we had a special feast heresy would be spread from every pulpit as preachers tried to explain the Trinity. Despite this warning, it became a universal feast in the thirteenth century, and sure enough, anytime we try to explain the Trinity, we come dangerously close to heresy. John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist church, said that all Christians had to believe in the Trinity, but trying to explain how three could be one, or one could be three was a waste of time.

But it is an important teaching about God. It tells us that God is in a sense a community of persons, united in love. A singular God like Allah has no reason to create, or for that matter, to save. Allah is perfect and complete in himself. But our God is never at rest, and being love itself, is always seeking to draw in other beings to love, even creating them for that purpose. The vision of the Eastern Church fathers was that the persons of the Trinity were in a sort of eternal dance, as they moved in and out of each other, and like the Hasidic dance I described and participated in, they do something similar, continually inviting all those they have created who are capable of love to enter into this dance. Saint Athanasuis even described this process as “Theosis” =-- becoming God.

Many years ago there was a fringe group of Catholics whose purpose was to pressure the Pope into declaring Mary as a fourth person in the Trinity. Of course that would mean we’d have to call it a Quaternity, which doesn’t really roll off the tongue, or maybe the Holy Foursome, which sounds like something from golf. Most people didn’t pay much attention to the group, but I think they had a point, maybe the same one Athanasius was trying to make. God wants us to be part of himself. God created us so that we would be complete when God lived in us. God wants you and I in the heart of the trinity, and the Father created us, the Son gives us the means to do this, and the Holy Spirit constantly pushes and prods us with his gifts. Mary, and indeed all the blessed ones in heaven, are already part of the Trinity.

In our gospel Jesus tells us to make disciples of all nations. Just as God is constantly inviting us to join the dance of the Trinity, we are to invite others, so that Love will flow through all of us for all eternity, so that in the end, there will be only love, as Saint Paul said.

On this Trinity Sunday, let us think about whom we might invite into the dance which someone else invited us?

Sixth Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 15:9 - 17

I wonder if sometimes we miss the point about what Jesus is telling us.  Today he makes it very clear that just as he keeps his father’s commandments and remains in his love, so we are to keep his commandment if we are to remain in his love.  And his commandment is simple:  Love one another as I love you.  

In another part of the gospels Jesus tells the crowds that each person is called to love his neighbor as himself, and he tells the story of the Good Samaritan to illustrate what that means.  But I think there is a difference between loving each other as Jesus loves his disciples, and loving one’s neighbor as oneself.  

If I am a healthy human being, I love myself.  I see that I’m well fed, get enough rest, take care of my health -- in other words, I try to optimize my life.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.  We are chock full of instincts that work to that end.  So Jesus tells the crowds, love your neighbor that way.  See to it your neighbors are given what they need to be fully alive, to at least have the opportunity to become what God wants for them.  And while it’s true that the Good Samaritan used his resources directly to help the half-dead stranger he met on the road, you love your neighbor as yourself in other ways as well -- donating to charity, working for justice -- and in a way this sort of activity is a force multiplier -- you can do more by pooling your resources with others, and that is loving your neighbor; and if you won’t rest until your neighbor has all the good things that you do, then that is loving your neighbor as yourself.  You are the measure of when you’ve loved enough.  

But in today’s gospel Jesus is telling his friends, his disciples, something slightly different.  They are to love each other as he has loved them.  And that is loving them enough to lay down his life for them.  And he’s not telling them to go out and do that for the stranger by the side of the road; he’s telling them to be prepared to do that for each other, for the members of the little community that he’s formed -- a gathered community.  The fishermen, the tax collector, the revolutionary, the guy who takes care of the group’s money -- I don’t know what each of the apostles did for a living other than that, but legend has it that Thomas was a carpenter, like Jesus; and Bartholomew may have been a scribe.  And I suspect if they hadn’t  been gathered by Jesus, except for the fishermen they probably would have had nothing to do with each other.  

We are a gathered community, in much the same way the apostles were.  We have been gathered together by Jesus, into this parish family.  And I think Jesus calls us to love each other in a deeper, more self-giving way than we are called to love people who aren’t part of this community.  That’s where supernatural love gets involved.  Because human beings like to hang around people like themselves; we are most comfortable in that situation.  And if we had to lay down our life we’d do it for a child, a parent, a spouse, maybe a best friend, but for the person who sits four pews over on Sunday that we’ve nodded at during the sign of peace?  Not so much.  And yet I think that’s what Jesus is calling us to do.  It’s the way the first Christians lived.  They held everything in common; when one was imprisoned the others would visit, even at the risk of their lives.  When one became sick, others would tend to that person, even risking catching whatever horrible disease was killing her. If someone lost a spouse, they were there for them.  And they would willingly go to their deaths rather than betray their fellow Christians; some of the early martyrs were tortured to give up the names of their fellow believers, but resisted unto death.  

That’s the kind of love we believe exists in the Trinity-  where God is pure love.  The Father empties himself out, holding back nothing, to generate the Son.  The Son gives himself up for the Father out of love; and the love between them is the Holy Spirit, love without limit.  

But Jesus wanted that kind of love between his followers for a very practical reason as well; it was what spread the kingdom that he began in the world.  And it did; the pagans looked and saw how these Christians loved each other, and many of them wanted a community like that for themselves and the Church exploded in terms of growth.  Jesus saves us through the church he founded, and our parish is the local embodiment of his universal church.  

It’s not easy to love each other as Jesus loved us and gave up his life for us.  It’s not easy to love people who under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have much to do with.  But face it, our Catholic church is not growing, it’s shrinking.  But imagine how it would be if our neighbors in Longmeadow looked at our parish and said, “See how those Christians love each other!”  That is the real challenge.  We did not choose Jesus, he chose us and appoints us to go and bear fruit that will last, and that will come about when we love each other enough to give up our lives if it came to that.  

Fifth Sunday of Easter, cycle B

John 15:1 - 8

We have a Japanese Maple tree in our back yard.  It has leaves that are sort of dark orange in color; it’s bent over in a very untreelike shape, and it seems to thrive, because every year my wife, who has learned not to trust me near her favorite plants, tells me that I should trim this tree -- and I mean, really trim it.  So I do.  I get rid of most of the branches until it looks dead.  And here it is spring, and the tree is thriving, sending out new branches, bursting with more leaves.  And I know I’ll have to trim it in the fall, as always.  Pruning the maple tree is one image that comes to mind when I read this passage.  Another comes to mind as well.  Recently my wife and I visited Sedona, Arizona, where we once again saw the chapel of the Holy Cross built into the beautiful landscape.  The crucifix is unique; Jesus is hanging from a tree with branches that seem to grow out of him.  

The image Jesus presents us in this familiar passage of the vine and the branches is radical.  We think of ourselves as members of our church; we could be members of other communities as well, and many of those who used to be members of Saint Mary’s have gone elsewhere for various reasons, just as we have people in our parish who would normally be in other parishes.  That’s kind of an American thing -- we like to keep our options open, we belong to organizations at arms-length, even our church. But Jesus is talking about a different kind of belonging; an organic unity.  Jesus is identifying himself with the church to which we belong; and when the Father trims away fruitless branches, and cleans up the fruitful ones, these are painful actions on Jesus’ own body.  You can’t escape the vine grower’s trimming knife whether you are fruitful or not; if you are fruitful, he’ll want more fruit from you.  Just check with any random saint.  

Jesus is speaking to us when he says “remain in me”.  That’s probably not the best translation of the Greek word.  It used to be translated as “abide” but we don’t use that word much anymore. Some other meanings include “dwell”, “stay”, “endure”, and “continue”.  I think the last two words are probably better. They imply that we are connected to Jesus, and we need to actively deepen that connection, not be neutral about it. 

I am reading an interesting book by Daniel Taylor, called “The skeptical believer”.  He traces his own faith journey; he grew up in a fundamentalist church, eventually became disenchanted with what he saw as real contradictions between what he was being taught in church and what he was learning in college; and he dropped out for a while.  He began going to a more mainstream denomination after he met his wife, but he talks about his “inner atheist” which was always doubting, always questioning.  He plunged more deeply into reading scripture and the writings of the fathers of the Church and concluded that a lot of very religious people were like him -- they had an inner voice that questioned everything, and that held them back from commitment.  He then decided that the thing was not to worry about what he couldn’t prove, as long as it was reasonable; and to see himself as part of a story that was unfolding.  In other words, he chooses to be part of the story, or world-view, that Jesus had.  He says that if he is wrong, he’ll never know, but if he is right, the reward is infinite.  I think Jesus is daring his disciples to be like that -- to draw closer and closer to him, to learn more and more about him, to deliberately go out and bear fruit, and invite the Father to prune you so that you can bear even more.

What in your life is keeping you from bearing fruit?  What is keeping you from committing totally to the vision that Jesus gave his followers?  There isn’t much time; the vine grower is deciding whether to cut off this branch or trim it back so it can bear more fruit.