Thinking About Vines and Fruit

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about vines and tree trunks and vineyards and orchards. I’ve been taking pictures of our old grape vine that is more than 45 years old now, and the sturdy trellis we built when it was planted to hold the branches that would tendril up to the sunshine.  The vines are now putting out leaves and sprouting new branches.  Come July and August these branches will hold their heavy clusters of purple grapes for making jellies and jams.

I’m watching our old orchard blossom, too.  Pink cherry blossoms, white apple buds, and clusters of pear blossoms make the orchard a fantasy of color.  Some of these trees are decades old; a few are just on their second season.  Some of the trunks and branches can be climbed by our agile grandchildren; some are still spindly but firmly rooted.  Even the newest fruit trees will be full of fruit, come late summer. 

And I’m thinking that the branches and tendrils aren’t much concerned about the fruit that’s coming.  The pruning of dead branches was done last fall, so opening leaves and clusters of blossoms are driven by the strong flow of sap coursing through them to do what strong branches do:  produce fruit.  All they need to do is stay connected.

And I’m thinking about us, about me.  And about the scriptures about fruit-bearing.   These verses don’t seem to imply that we can produce more and better fruit by grunting hard to get more faith or to be sure we are looking more “Christian”.  I don’t think the fruit is our problem.  I am coming to think that the branches are clueless about the fruit that falls off the other end of the twig—that just maybe their only concern is staying firmly attached to the source of the sweet sap that makes them so alive and sends them skyward to soak up the sun.

I am coming to realize that the only way we branches know anything about the fruit we’re producing is when someone surprisingly comes up to us, maybe seasons later, and says,
“Your patience kept me from giving up on myself when I was so discouraged.”  “Who me? Patient?” we are likely to reply.  Who knew?

Or maybe someone has said, “You are the kindest friend I’ve ever had.  When I was so frustrated with life, you were so gentle and kind.”

Or perhaps you received a note that said: “If meekness is gentle strength, you were the epitome of meekness when I so needed someone gentle to lean on.”  Or maybe when the day was gray, and you were longing for the sun, someone called to say “You bring me such joy. You can make a party out of most anything!  I love that!  You bring me such joy!”

So today I just want to stay connected to the trunk, plugged into the vine. Today I just think it’s enough to be in love with Jesus and the life He brings, to be totally aware of His sweet presence and bask in the knowing that I am His child. What drops off into the yard of my life is really not my problem. The fruit will take care of itself. If the fruit nourishes someone hungry, I will just be glad. Surprised, maybe, but thankful.

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Let It Go! Hold It Close!

My friend Ann Smith, a wise and insightful mentor, once gave me this observation from her years of working with people:

MOST PEOPLE GET INTO TROUBLE BECAUSE THEY HANG ON TO WHAT THEY SHOULD LET GO OF AND LET GO OF WHAT THEY SHOULD HANG ON TO.

Now, as I look back on our experience with artists, students, friends, and audiences from all walks of life, I have found this statement to be true.  And in my own life I would have to admit that my failures and successes, my growth spurts and set-backs can be traced to my own choices of what to hang on to and what to let go of.

Great wisdom of the ages should not be disregarded lightly.  The book of Proverbs is full of warnings and encouragements focused on what to hang on to and what to let go of.  And Jesus was wisdom, walking—so much so that many biblical scholars suggest that we could substitute the name of Jesus for the word “wisdom” as we read through the Proverbs. In the gospels we see Him living out the “cling to” and “relinquish” tension with every breath.

The great saints, the prophets, and many deep seekers who have gone to the desert or the seashore to step back from the politic of life and current skewed public opinion to gain perspective, have given us stories and poetry, songs and principles for living in the hopes we, who have come after them, could steer a clearer course and avoid some of the “shipwrecks” they had in trying to find their way.

I love the children’s movie FROZEN.  Nearly every three-year-old in American (and, I would venture, their parents and grandparents, too!) can sing every word of the theme song, “Let It Go!”  If anyone had brought us the lyrics to this song, suggesting it would be perfect for a kids’ movie, we would have undoubtedly rejected it for being too complicated and profound for a child.  But never underestimate the mind of a child.  The kids “get” this song!

“Let it go! Let it go!” the children sing, spinning around with their hands in the air just like the ice princess.  And, indeed, even children are experiencing in our culture the discovery that there are hurtful things, things out of their control, that they must “let go” of if they want to survive and move on unencumbered.

I guess I am hoping for a sequel hit that says, “Hold it close!  Hold it close! Never let this treasure go!”  Because as important as it is to let go of grudges, pain, betrayals, hurtful memories, damaging habits, and untrue beliefs, there are some things we must hold on to.

For a short list, the words of Paul is a good place to start:

Finally, whatever is true,
Whatever is noble,
Whatever is right,
Whatever is pure,
Whatever is lovely,
Whatever is admirable--
If anything is excellent or praise worthy—think about such things.   (Phil.4:8-9)

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Dwarfed by Majesty

There is a certain thing that can happen in a one-night concert in an auditorium or arena, and Bill and I have been sharing such evenings with beautiful people all over the world for more than fifty years.  We have seen many a cold sports center or city auditorium turned into a cathedral by the presence of the Lord.

But there is something quite different that can happen when a group of seekers travel together on a ship for a whole week, bumping into each other over breakfast, experiencing a salmon bake in the pine woods by a cold spring-fed stream, or being reduced to silence by the intimidation of a glacier.  Or how about smelling the pristine waters where blue icebergs float by just a few feet away carrying a family of seals?

Some of my most memorable conversations have “just happened” in a little Russian Orthodox church in Sitka or while standing at the ship’s rail listening to the once-in-a-lifetime sound of a glacier “calving.” 

I have to admit that Alaska is my favorite trip.  Maybe that is because I grew up in Michigan where there were logging villages in the Upper Peninsula and cold rivers where the Coho salmon climbed the “ladders” to fight their way upstream.  I guess that may have been where I learned to love people who are willing to swim upstream against the current of common opinion.  I love the hardiness of people toughened and tempered by weather and sometimes the struggle to conquer the elements and survive.

This summer, cruising the intercoastal waterway in Alaska, I especially loved being surprised by a waterfall as the ship sailed round a bend of an emerald green mountain,  or seeing a pod of orcas playing like children in the icy waters.  Most of all I loved both the solitude and community—the quiet moments by myself to listen to the “still small voice,” as well as the accidental chance to  have coffee with old friends I’d never met.

For whatever reason, there is a certain thing that happens when the Family of God gets away from the plastic pressures of dulling routine to sail to a place where we are once more reminded what God had in mind when he created the beautiful, unspoiled wilderness and gave it to us to enjoy and preserve.  Fill that ship with music celebrating the wonders of not only God’s creation, but the marvel of a God who walks with us (or in this case, sails with us) through the oceans of our lives, and something so memorable happens that it continues to inform years of landlocked days back home.

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