John 15:1-15 We Remember Them
The verses we’ve heard from John’s Gospel this morning are part of what we know as the ‘Farewell’ discourse of Jesus, as he speaks to the closest of his friends about his impending departure from them. Jesus, as he speaks to his friends, seeks to offer them comfort and encouragement to prepare them for the traumatic event that is to come, when he will be taken from them by their enemies, tortured, scorned, scarred and killed. And yet, in the midst of all this harrowing news and the anxiety of his disciples, Jesus speaks of LOVE. The over-riding, all-embracing, power of LOVE.
I find these words of Jesus, as they are remembered by John, at once comforting AND deeply disturbing. They seem to have the capacity to speak into any time and situation, and their message is a particularly poignant one for today – Remembrance Sunday. Let’s look at these words of Jesus and the images he uses, to see what they have to say to us, this Remembrance Sunday.
The verses open with a picture of God as a vine-grower. A vine-grower who is ever-vigilant and sharp-sighted, continually looking for all the branches of the vine that bear no fruit, which he effectively cuts away. These branches only sap the plant of energy which could be used by those branches that show signs of bearing a crop. Yet, the disturbing thing is, that even the branches that do bear fruit, he prunes back so that even more fruit may come in the future.
I don’t know if you have ever seen a vineyard. In my travels in the Burgundy region of France (famous for its wines) I have seen vineyards where the vines have been cut right back to the ‘trunk’. They look like dead pieces of driftwood sticking out of the dry earth, from which it seems impossible that anything green and fruitful can ever grow again.
Yet, from the words of Jesus we understand that, no matter how harsh and remorseless the pruning of the vine might be, and no matter how impossible it might appear that anything might grow from the dead-looking stumps that remain, the vine is alive and full of potential, since it is firmly rooted in the warm earth. It simply rests, and is not dead. The vine represents Christ Jesus, and the branches represent all people who have welcomed the Word of God in faith. And the highest, ultimate expression of that faith in Christ Jesus, is LOVE. A life of faith that has apparently been sacrificed for the sake of love, and which appears to be dead.
This image of the vine, and Jesus’ words about the highest expression of love, bear striking similarity to the sentiments expressed on behalf of those who lost their lives in conflict and war – particularly as they are remembered on this, the Sunday (closest to / of) the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, when (in the UK) we remember our war-dead. The picture of those heavily pruned vines, the old gnarled stumps of wood, sticking out of desolate fields, are potent reminders of the stark, desolate landscapes that were the battle-fields where so many died – and where so many continue to die today. In their highest expression of love (duty) for friends, family, security and country, they laid down their lives. And for this, we remember them.
The wider context of these words of Jesus, as they speak to us this Remembrance Sunday, is significant too. Remember, Jesus speaks to his friends to prepare them for the trauma of separation. The trauma of death and bereavement. As Jesus tells them he is going to confront the darker face of humanity, so the disciples anticipate the sorrow, the pain, of losing a loved-one, in the most brutal of circumstances. Jesus faces a death that will test the faith, and the love, and the strength, of his closest companions: a trauma from which they will never fully recover.
For those who went to serve in the armed services in conflict, and for those that waited for them at home, death, sorrow and bereavement was New Testament such a certainty. Always there was HOPE: hope of a return home to be re-united with loved-ones; a return to better times and a better world. Yet many, many did die, and many more suffered the greatest depths of grief which tested them to the limits of their endurance – their faith, their capacity to love. They – some of you present here today – suffered – and continue to suffer – as the disciples shared in their pain of separation for the loss of a loved-one. One who could never be replaced. Those who we remember today.
We REMEMBER today, this Remembrance Sunday.
‘Remember’ means to re-member, re-unite, to bring back together, to re-unite (in our memories). Today we bring back the past, or more accurately, the PEOPLE of the past, whom we miss and for who we grieve; those who lost their lives in war. We ‘re-unite’ ourselves with them, acknowledging our sense of loss and our sorrow, yet in a spirit of deep gratitude and, yes, in the spirit of love. NO ONE HAS GREATER LOVE THAN THIS, TO LAY DOWN THEIR LIFE FOR THEIR FRIENDS. As Jesus showed the ultimate expression of love for all people in the giving-up of his life, so the many people who laid-down their lives for their loved-ones – for everyone – expresses the depth of their love. It is in the spirit of LOVE that we are re-united, ‘re-membered’, with them. Memories of war and conflict and death, and the emotional scars left by bereavement, can easily fester like a wound that won’t heal, and result in a hatred towards those we once called ‘enemy’. ‘Re-membering’ and living in a spirit of such hatred is not what Jesus tells us to strive for. Rather he tells us, even in the midst of darkness and death, ABIDE IN MY LOVE. IF YOU KEEP MY COMMANDMENTS, YOU WILL ABIDE IN MY LOVE… THIS IS MY COMMANDMENT, THAT YOU LOVE ONE ANOTHER AS I HAVE LOVED YOU. As difficult as it certainly is sometimes, there is no room for hatred in ‘re-membering’.
This word, ‘remembrance’ is found in its fullest power in the institution of the Lord’s Supper, as it is ‘remembered’ by Paul. Jesus instructs his closest companions to share in the broken bread and the poured-out wine and to re-member him. The fruit of the vine is used to symbolise the blood of Jesus in his death, the broken bread is used to symbolise the broken body of Jesus. In the words he uses at that Last Supper, Jesus refers to his own torture, pain, suffering and death. In ‘remembrance’, Jesus seeks to offer solace and comfort to those he leaves behind – his followers, his friends, who will grieve for him.
Yet through the institution of the Eucharist (which means ‘thanksgiving’), Jesus offers those present the assurance that death will not have the final word: life will come out death, and it is love that enables the seed to germinate and grow from the darkness of the earth. Jesus instructs his followers to re-member him as often as they share together in the bread and wine of Thanksgiving, to reunite with him in the spirit of love and friendship in community. Through the elements of bread and wine, they will all be together again in thanksgiving for the newness of life that Jesus brings, made possible through his death. Like the disciples of Jesus, the countless people who lost loved-ones fighting in war and conflict also share in the brokenness of death. Yet in faith and in love, they also share in the new life that was made possible through death.
Today we give thanks for the many lives laid-down in love for friends, and family, and country, and we remember them in love. We acknowledge the life we now have would not be possible if it were not for their sacrifice. We return to the image of the vine, pruned back to the bare, apparently dead gnarled trunk. We return to the desolate fields from which it seems impossible that new life will ever come, and which offers little or no hope for the future. The image of the vine and the vineyard that actually represents the resting of the full potential, and the full harvest of fruit yet to come.
So, we remember those who lost their lives in the battle-fields of yesterday – and through to our present day, and we picture the stark, barren wastes of the killing-fields. Like those seen by a doctor in his field-hospital in Ypres during WW1. one morning he looked out to see a blanket of red poppies covering the land as far as he could see. He recalled the Greek legend that said that the poppy was created by the Greek god of sleep. The poppy for this doctor – as for millions of people in the UK today – came to symbolise the ‘rest’ of those fallen in battle.
AND WE REMEMBER THEM, with love and thanksgiving. Amen
