A homily for the Fifth Sunday of Easter (Cycle B)
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower.” John 15:1
A theologian once observed that the Catholic church will need to become a church of mystics or it will disappear.
Is that true? And if so, what does it mean for ourselves, and the church?Let's begin with that word: mystical. It can intimidate us. It suggests spiritual
athletes living in the desert on a diet of rainwater and locusts while contemplating God. That's not really what it means, though. The Catholic mystical tradition simply means a deep and intimate union with God, and we are all called to that.
We find the origin of our mystical tradition in the apostle we heard from twice today: St. John. John was called the Beloved of the Lord, the one who rested his head on Christ's chest at the last supper. That's a mystical image right there: the head of the disciple, resting near the heart of the Lord. In his letters and his Gospel John offers that sense of intimacy with Jesus, which he summarizes in a single sentence: He who abides in love abides in God, and God in him.
We abide in love by following the twofold commandment of loving the Lord our God, and loving our neighbor. That means loving the Lord personally, and loving him in community. The way we do this, as Catholics, is through the Church. We call the Church the mystical body of Christ. Christ is the head of the body, and we are all its various members. It's mystical because it's intimately tied to Christ: it is Christ in the world.
The image of the vine and the branches in today's gospel provides a powerful way of seeing this. The symbol of the vine is found throughout the Old Testament, where it usually stands for the people of God—Israel. In the Psalms, we read that God brought a vine out of Egypt, prepared the ground for it, and planted it. We read how that vine took deep root and filled the land. That's a reference to the exodus, and the growth of the people of God under his loving care.
Later in the story of salvation, when the Israelites turn their back on God, the vine becomes an image of their failure. In Isaiah, for example, the Lord looks for it to produce grapes, but it produces only wild grapes.
In today's Gospel, Jesus says, “I am the true vine." First of all, I am is one of the phrases that got Jesus in trouble with his fellow Jews, because it's a statement of his divinity. I Am Who Am is how God identifies himself to Moses.
But this image of the vine is a very particular image of the church. The vine was God's chosen people in the Old Testament, but we become part of it, Jesus says, by hearing his word and responding to it. We are grafted onto that vine. When a graft takes, it becomes part of the vine. It becomes part of its life, and continues to grow. Only then can it produce fruit.
This is Christ's call to intimate union with him: "Remain in me, as I remain in you." Only if we remain close to Christ can we remain part of the vine. We can't bear fruit on our own. We have to be connected to Christ, and to Christ's people. We do not save ourselves. We are not saved alone. We are saved in communion with God, and with the people of God.
Jesus isn’t fooling around in today's Gospel. "This is my commandment: love one another as I love you." It's this love for each other that keeps us grafted onto the vine. We see that in today's second reading as well, when John tells us that those who keep his commandments remain in him, and he in them. What are the commandments? Love of God, love of neighbor. That gives us a twofold understanding of the vine image. The vine is Christ and we are grafted onto it by our love for him. The vine is also the Church, and we remain part of it by loving others.
This image of the vine suggests a living, growing organism. St. Paul will expand on this idea by comparing it to the human body, in which all the different parts contribute to the whole. That mystical body of Christ is the Church, and through the church the graces of Christ flow to God's people. Not only does the church offer grace through the seven sacraments, but the church itself is a sacrament, in that it conveys grace. It's a sign of God's love. It is the vine and the branches made visible and active in the world. It is the way we grow close to God.
And that brings me back to the idea that we must become a church of mystics. In a real sense, we already are. The word "mystical" comes from a Greek word, but it was translated into Latin with a word that's more familiar to you: sacramentum. A sacrament is an encounter with God. But we're called to an ever-deepening intimacy, and if we're going to thrive we have to seek it out. We have to enter into the life of the Christ both on our own and through the church. We need to grow closer to him through prayer, spiritual reading, and works of mercy, but also by increasing our participation in the life of the church and the reception of the sacraments.
This has become more urgent because our world has changed. We are living in a culture that is post-Christian. That means our vine is planted in alien soil, and it will struggle to bear fruit unless we are actively seeking intimacy with God.
When I was growing up in North Jersey my family were gardeners and my uncle was a farmer, and when we planted we had a pretty good yield without a lot of extra work. When we moved down here, we tried gardening a few times using the same methods and we got bupkus. It was a more hostile soil. It needed different methods and more attention. It needed more work.
So yes, if we are to thrive as the people of God, I think we do need to be a church of mystics. As a great writer once said, “Mysticism keeps men sane.” If you allow that one part of your life to embrace mystery, all the rest will become clear.
Fortunately, the church is here to provide that encounter with Christ in her liturgy and sacraments, and she has a rich tradition of prayers, devotions, and spiritual wisdom. There's something that speaks to everyone, and allows Christ to speak to them.
It's all designed to draw us closer to God, because without that divine intimacy, we can do nothing. But with it, we can produce a harvest of fruit that endures.
Pax vobiscum.