Sermon: "The True Vine in the Age of Authenticity," May 2, 2021
Preacher: The Rev. Ryan Slifka
Scripture: John 15:1-8
Over the past few weeks I’ve become obsessed with a podcast, an internet radio show, called “New Time Religion.”[i] In this show a professor and Minister, both American Christians, apply the insights of a Canadian philosopher to the North American religious landscape. As a result, my kids think I am the most boring person on earth. Kidding aside (or maybe not) that Canadian philosopher is Montreal’s own Charles Taylor. Taylor is best known for his giant tome of a book called A Secular Age,[ii] where he tries to give a description for how we in the west went from an enchanted, religiously-immersed reality to a disenchanted, non-religious, secular one. I highly recommend both of them. To nerds like me, anyway.
As part of living in a secular age, Taylor says that it means we also live in the “age of authenticity.” Whereas previous generations more or less had their lives predefined for them—our job, our place in society were predetermined, by our class, our gender, our religion etc. etc.--we are now encouraged to be our own people. To discover our passions, determine our own careers, find love—or not. Have children—or not. To discover who we truly are, rather than having someone choose this for us. Being true to ourselves as opposed to whatever self-others may want us to be true to.
On one hand, this can be incredibly freeing. Working class people can work their way up the social ladder instead of being relegated to the bottom. Women can be doctors, lawyers, and yes—ministers. Children don’t have to live up to sometimes stifling parental expectations. Gay and lesbian people can stop hiding who they are and who they love. And even church—folks are connected to church now because they wanna be, not out of some obligation. It’s been freeing in so many ways.
But it also has its shadow side. First, it can be exhausting to be constantly building a life from scratch. On the other hand, self-definition can only go so far. Perhaps we’re defined by a meaningful job, but what happens when we’re bad at it, or when it comes to an end? When retirement or a pandemic that erases it from existence? Maybe we define ourselves by our politics, only to discover that we’re always angry or worried. Or maybe we don’t actually have the means, drive, or opportunities to create the person we’ve always wanted to be in the first place. That’s probably the biggest challenge—that who we want to be, is never who we actually become. It never actually bears fruit.
As freeing as the age of authenticity may be, our drive for authenticity can become an endless journey that never arrives, and all we’re left with is hunger, disappointment, lost opportunities, withering on the vine. If we don’t attain what we’ve wanted to do, what then? If we’re not happy and passionate like we’re supposed to be, what’s next? Who are we? When none of our self-definition plays out the way it’s supposed to?
As usual, we have a two-thousand-year-plus tradition to bring to bear on these questions. In today’s text from John’s gospel, we have a bit of a different approach to the question of who we are as our deepest, authentic selves.
You see, this text comes at the tail end of what’s called Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse.” Up to this point the people around Jesus have defined themselves as the followers of this popular, upstart rabbi, ready to take on the world. But over the next few days everything’s gonna be blown apart. Jesus and co. are gathered in the upper room. It’s where the last supper occurs. This is a pretty scary, tense and intense time, with Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, torture and execution in view, right up in their faces. They don’t know what’s next, if they’re gonna be rounded up with him—which, some of ‘em will be. They don’t know if they’re gonna spend the rest of their lives on the lamb. This is a time of intense anxiety, incredible worry, suffering and fear for the future. Who are they gonna be when Jesus is gone?
Seeing as how Jesus is a first century Jewish peasant speaking to other first century Jewish peasants, he lifts some imagery right from the farm.
“I am the true vine,” Jesus says. “I am the true vine and my Father is the vine-grower. Abide in me as I abide in you. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from the vine, the branches can do nothing.”
Here Jesus images God as this cosmic farmer, caring for the crop of human creation. Jesus is a good vine, the healthy fine that carries the stuff of life to us, his branches. With this imagery of interconnectedness, Jesus is trying to help his disciples understand how connected to him and how connected to each other they already are by his presence among them. Jesus is the dependable conduit to the living God.
When everything about their lives is about to implode, Jesus doesn’t give them a new job description. He doesn’t link them back with their families. He reminds them of who they are. Not an identity imposed on them by the world in any way. Not an identity they have to create, either. But one that is a gift. One that is given to them. One that’s constant with the ups and downs, the joys and even the extremities of human life. One that will endure the stresses and anxieties. One that will bear fruit no matter the circumstance.
Notice Jesus doesn’t say, “You need to become a part of the vine. You need to graft yourselves onto the vine. You need to believe yourselves into becoming a part of me.” No, it's a reality already. Even when he talks about the branches getting pruned, he makes a point of saying that they’ve already been pruned or cleansed, as our translation puts it, by the Word he was constantly teaching them. They had already been pruned by hearing his gospel word of love and mercy and grace. Like branches wrapped tightly around a healthy vine, they are now rooted in eternity. When everything else is gone, they are still children of the living God. By his incarnation, in Jesus becoming flesh, dying and rising for them, the very life of God has been intertwined with their own. When everything else falls away, they still are still bound to God in Christ.
We live in a secular age. An age which is also an age of authenticity. As I said, this is good in so many ways in the freedom it affords to break out of oppressive boxes. One where we are encouraged to forge our own paths.
At the same time, it’s ultimately not enough. As much as we want to do and be whatever we want, we’ll never actually make it there. The soil of our own selves simply isn’t deep enough. We can’t create a vine strong enough to sustain us through life’s inevitable disappointments.
But the good news is that there is always a true and authentic self waiting to be discovered. It’s not one that’s imposed on us by culture, or society, or tradition. But it’s one given to us by God in the gift of his Son, Jesus, the true vine. From even before we’re conceived, to the moment our lives are pruned by death. Nothing we’ve gotta do, or create. It’s a given. If only we’re able to abide, to rest in this fact.
They, we, you, are connected to God, to the source of life, to Jesus himself, like a branch is connected to a vine, like a baby is connected to her mother. Just as a mother surrounds an unborn child, so does God surround us. Just as the vine’s sap surges outward to its branches, consistently providing the nutrients for growth and for flourishing, so does God do so for us. I am the vine, you are the branches, Jesus says. This is who you are. This is your authentic self. Regardless of your job, or your lack thereof. Your success, or lack thereof. The discovery of your personal passion, or lack thereof.
In spite of your very failure to create a true and authentic life, you’ve already been given one. One that will bear fruit, if you let it. When we’re freed from the need to create our lives from scratch, we’ll find ourselves with more energy and life to share with our neighbors.
I am the vine, Jesus says, and you are my branches. So settle in. Abide in me, Jesus says. Make your home in me. Remain in me. Draw your life from me. Realize you are surrounded by me. This is your truth, not because of how good or how worthy you are, but because of how good and how worthy God is. I am the vine, you are the branches. No need to invent this reality. It’s already growing in you. It is who and whose you are.
Amen.
[i] https://www.newtimereligion.org/
[ii] See Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007).