May 10, 2009

A few years ago in my travels, I found a huge Mexican clay pot in the shape of a great fish.  The moment I saw this magnificent artifact, I knew it belonged with me.  Its terra cotta scales and bulging eyes called to me.  Its gaping mouth cried out, “take me home, take me home.”  Transporting my new possession was a complicated process involving many hands, an entire roll of duct tape and a resulting dubious looking suitcase.  Once in my house, in the perfect corner, it became apparent that the fish pot was actually a planter.  So a large tree was now required.  Obviously, the only tree suitable for a Mexican fish mouth was a palm tree.  So, in the month of February, in North Carolina, I went searching for a tropical tree.  After many false leads, I finally located a shipment of healthy, lush, variegated palms.  If the pot was difficult to maneuver, the tree was a logistical nightmare. 

I called in reinforcements.  My daughter, Whitney, drove with me back to the plant warehouse.  We manhandled the tree onto a rolling pallet, steered it awkwardly to the parking lot, put down a roll of thin, easily ripped plastic, hoisted the plant into the too small trunk.  Panting, resting, we jimmied the tree out of the trunk, put the top down on the car, dragged and sweated and lodged the tree into the back seat.  Carefully, I strapped the plant into its seatbelt.  With the heater going full blast, Whitney took off driving like her mother – as I twisted around in my seat, keeping an eye on the palm.  As we sped along, the wind caught the leaves and all I heard was thwap, thwap, thwap.  So I yelled, “stop, stop, pull over, pull over.”  Whit shouted over the wind and the blowing heater, “What’s wrong with you!  Don’t scream at me when I’m driving.”  “Sorry, but we have to stop.”  Easing off the gas, she coasted off the expressway into a restaurant parking lot.  I climbed over the front seat, took off my coat and gently draped it over the tree.  Then I put my arms up under it, holding its weight off of the tender branches.  “Okay, let’s go,” I hollered over the wind from the back seat.  The story would be more dramatic if I could say at that very moment it started to sleet and soon my hair froze, but when we pulled into the driveway my lips were blue, my teeth were chattering, but I was still dry and the tree was safe and warm.

Again, we hoisted the tree out of the car and dragged it into the house.  We put down a tarp the size of Rhode Island, gently eased the tree out of its perfectly suitable container, lifted it oh so carefully into the fish mouth.  Please note, the fish pot had been meticulously prepared with drainage rocks, aerated soil, plant food and the prescribed amount of moisture.  Once the tree was secure in the pot and filler dirt added and the tarp rolled up, dragged outside, swept clean, folded up, and the car was vaccumed, its top put up, Whit and I sat on the couch and stared at the green and reddish masterpiece.  Indeed it was a beautiful sight.  Four healthy trunks sprouting proudly out of a surprised looking sea creature.  A unique statement was being made right in my living room corner.  For weeks and weeks, I tended the palm tree.  I measured water, I checked the drainage, I added plant food.  I adjusted the lighting, I trimmed away the dry leaf ends.  The tree flourished and all looked well.  All four trunks of the tree stood tall. All branches were full of large, leafy fronds.  To my careful eye, nothing was amiss.

And then…I noticed that the leaves on the smallest trunk, the one in front, started looking droopy.  Their color faded, their ends turned yellow.  I doubled my efforts and diligence.  I checked the water levels and the soil and light.  I pruned the stalks.  I tested the trunk.  I could find no cause for its sickly appearance.  Despite my care, week by week the one shoot became weaker.  I fretted over that stupid plant and I never gave up on it.  Finally, after months of sagging, yellowing and shedding, the trunk fell over and dangled out of the fish’s mouth.  As I went to lift it away, I noticed that the trunk was not attached to the root ball.  That part of the tree had thin hair roots, but it was not anchored to the core, life-giving root.  At the beginning, all looked well.  From the outside, all seemed fine.  But, in its new life in the world of the fish, that part of the tree became detached from its source of life.  Despite my care, despite the watering and fertilizing, the pruning, the worrying and encouraging, the trunk dried up inside.  It became hard and hollow.  Eventually, its poor health became apparent on the outside.  What was going on at its center showed itself to the world.  I didn’t know what was wrong.  I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t see the real problem.  The tree lost its connection with its center.  It wasn’t being fed and nourished and tended to as it required, so it withered and died.  The other trunks, firmly attached to the root, survived.  Even more than that, they grew taller and put out more leaves and many new shoots.  They were more beautiful than the day they arrived.

This dynamic of the flourishing trees and the dying trunk is the reality that Jesus describes to the disciples in this morning’s gospel passage.  In the long conversation at the Last Supper, after the betrayer Judas leaves the house, the great teacher gives the remaining eleven this image.  “I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower.”  Abide in me, live connected to me as I stay connected to you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it stays attached to the vine, neither can you flourish unless you stay connected to me.  I am the vine, the core root, you are the branches. 

Jesus tells his followers, in order to live healthy, fruitful, lush, productive, strong lives, they must remain anchored to their essential life giving source.  That source, that core root, that font of spiritual, ethical and emotional nourishment is the Son of the Father.  Jesus is the vine set down in this earth by the vine grower to feed the world, to give us the sustenance we need to grow, thrive and spread.

If you consider the people who populate your life, you will notice there are folk who seem solid through and through.  They are steady and planted.  They weather the storms of their lives.  When the winds of trouble blow around them, they sway but they don’t break.  When trials and disappointments beat about their door, they endure.  They don’t fall apart never to recover.  They don’t lose hope or kindness.  They resist bitterness and pessimism. 

These people also survive the dry places and droughts of their lives.  When their work becomes tiresome and routine, when adventures pass them by, when dreams and youthful aspirations slip away, they do not become melancholy or apathetic. Instead, they look to the blessings in their lives.  They notice the accomplishments.  They find new outlets, create new goals.  They do not despair, they regroup.  Folk with the ability to live through storms and droughts, those myriad, metaphorical dilemmas we know so well, are people who remain firmly and inextricably connected to their life source.  They draw strength, purpose and direction from their true vine, their central root.

Our experience in the world shows us that deeply contented people, centered people, optimistic, giving people, people at peace with the world, and with themselves are individuals who are connected to their God.  They have an abiding relationship with a greater, higher power.  They have faith.  They have real companionship with their Lord.  They pray and converse, believe and abide with God.  Even in dark times, doubt-filled times, they abide with God.  Our experience in the world shows us that angry, frustrated, weary and despairing people are folk detached and alienated from their core source.  They feel abandoned or disinterested in God.  They try to live to themselves.  They try to draw strength and nourishment from their own endeavors.  They rely on their own power and, like the detached branch in the gospel, they wither.  They do not find rich sustenance.  They do not tap into the abundant life they were created to enjoy.  At first they may appear healthy and strong.  For a long time, a long time, their outward life can mask the weakening internal core.  But, a life lived apart from the sustaining loving, giving root becomes a hollow shell.  In such a life, the innate possibility and potential is never, ever realized.

Jesus said, “I am the vine, and my Father is the vine grower.”  “I am the vine, you are the branches.”  “Those who abide in me and I in them, bear much fruit.”  Unlike that hapless little trunk that got separated from its core in the great fish transfer, we have our power of  self determination.  We can decide.  Will we stay connected?  Will we draw good life from the true vine?  Will we abide with one who came to save us?

May the fruits of our life prove the good choice.  Amen.