Easter 5, Year B

A Sermon from the Church of  

Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach, Florida

Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on April 28, 2024 (Easter 5, Year B)

A couple weeks ago, as I was walking with a few parishioners, we passed a banyan tree. Still being fairly new to Florida, I’ve been rather mesmerized by these magnificent arboreal masterpieces. They’re hard to miss with their sprawling canopies and aerial prop roots that reach down to the earth like thick pieces of interconnected rope. There’s an aura of mystery that surrounds each one, as their intricate exterior root system creates tiny tunnels and alcoves ripe for exploration. Each banyan tree is like a unique, one-of-a-kind sculpture. 

I hadn’t thought much about the horticultural complexity of the banyan tree. Frankly, I’ve never thought about the horticultural complexity of anything. But one of my companions pointed out to me that these roots grow down from the branches, adding strength and allowing the tree to grow ever wider over time. And as I stared at the banyan tree that spurred this conversation, I said out loud, “I can’t wait to use this illustration the next time we get that passage about Jesus being the true vine.” (I’m always desperate for material)

Well, two weeks later, here we are! And I swear, I was shocked to see this reading pop up so soon after our conversation — it only shows up in our lectionary once every three years. Shocked, but delighted. Because now whenever I hear Jesus say, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” all I can see in my mind’s eye is a spectacular banyan tree. I guess this whole Florida thing really is starting to take root. So to speak.

But this particular passage includes one of what are known as Jesus’ “I am” statements. You’re familiar with these: I am the Good Shepherd (we heard that one last week), I am the bread of life, I am the light of the world, I am the way and the truth and the life. These are all metaphorical images through which Jesus invites us to better understand our relationship with him. 

There are actually seven ‘I am’ statements in John’s Gospel and this is the very last one of them: “I am the true vine.” But this one’s unique among all the others because it’s the only one that adds a ‘you’ to the mix. “I am the vine, you are the branches.” So this particular image stands out because it highlights our interconnectivity with Jesus and one another. It is a bold statement of relationship. “I am the vine, you are the branches.”

And we’re reminded that we simply cannot be separated from Jesus. We are intimately connected to him. We are part of him. We belong to him. He is the vine and we are the branches. In other words, we are like the branches of the banyan tree, connected to the vine that is Jesus Christ. We draw strength and life directly from him. We exist only because of our connection to the true vine. Without it, we are nothing. But through it, we live and move and have our being under the great canopy of God’s eternal care.

“I am the vine, you are the branches.” That is exceedingly good news! Because as branches of the true vine, we are ever-connected to the risen Christ. And while we could all use a bit of pruning every now and then — to cut away that which doesn’t serve us or God, and to spur new growth — we are alive in Jesus Christ our savior. We are branches of the the true vine! We’re not cut flowers, but living branches. Now, don’t worry Flower Guild. I’m not throwing cut flowers under the bus. I love seeing the artistry of how they are magically arranged at the altar every Sunday. I love giving Bryna flowers — which, in fairness, is probably news to her. Since I don’t do that nearly enough. 

But as lovely and colorful as flowers may be, as much water as you give them, as many of those little food packets I dump into the vase, they’re going to wither. They’re going to get thrown into a garbage bag and taken away to the town dump. Or wherever the trash goes around here. That doesn’t make them any less special — maybe that’s why they are so special. We know they won’t last and so we enjoy and appreciate them even more. 

But when it comes to our relationship with God, we’re not cut flowers. We’re branches. Forever connected to Jesus, the source of all life and growth, joy and meaning. And that is an amazing thing.

When I was first ordained, I served under a wise rector at Old St. Paul’s in downtown Baltimore. The day after my ordination he sat me down and told me that being a priest, being able to celebrate the eucharist, was like having a superpower that could only be activated in the company of other people. I can’t celebrate the eucharist by myself — I need all of you. Or at the very least, one of you. So there’s a holy interconnectedness to the sacramental life. We need one another in order to fully live out our faith in the world.

And in a similar way, while Jesus is the true vine, he does need us as branches — not for himself, but for us. He invites us to be branches out in the world, to love one another, to tend to one another, to care for one another. As followers of Jesus, as branches of the true vine, we are Jesus’ hands and feet and heart in the world around us. Our role, our responsibility, our commandment is to love one another as he loves us. To show compassion, to manifest mercy, to offer forgiveness, to grant grace. To look for opportunities, like Philip in our lesson from Acts, to share the good news of Jesus’ message of love with a world in desperate need of hope and healing. We are the branches. And that is a high calling indeed. 

“I am the vine, you are the branches.” I really do think Jesus could have said, “I am the banyan tree, you are the aerial prop roots.” But that doesn’t really roll off the tongue. 

Still, the next time you pass a banyan tree, — and they really are all over the place around here — I encourage you to think about Jesus as the true vine. To reflect on the interconnectedness of our lives. To marvel in the mystery and the majesty of God. And to remember that we are Christ’s branches in the world. Which is a good and holy and life-transforming thing.