Sunday's Message - The Story of My Lilac Bush

Here's the message I offered during the celebration services in the First United Presbyterian Church of Brilliant, Ohio and First United Presbyterian Church of Mingo Junction, Ohio on Sunday, May 2, 2021.

John 15:1-8 [Contemporary English Version]

Jesus said to his disciples:

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts away every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit. But he trims clean every branch that does produce fruit, so that it will produce even more fruit. You are already clean because of what I have said to you.

Stay joined to me, and I will stay joined to you. Just as a branch cannot produce fruit unless it stays joined to the vine, you cannot produce fruit unless you stay joined to me. I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you stay joined to me, and I stay joined to you, then you will produce lots of fruit. But you cannot do anything without me. If you don’t stay joined to me, you will be thrown away. You will be like dry branches that are gathered up and burned in a fire.

Stay joined to me and let my teachings become part of you. Then you can pray for whatever you want, and your prayer will be answered. When you become fruitful disciples of mine, my Father will be honored.

The Story of My Lilac Bush

Well, I think I can say with absolute certainty that we’ve turned the corner and that spring has actually sprung. Now I know, according to the calendar, it happened in March and I think I might have mentioned it in a sermon a few weeks ago, but I believe we actually had some snow on the ground between then and today. But now, the only thing on the ground is a lot of green grass that, of course, will have to be mowed every week until the middle of October. But grass isn’t the only thing that’s growing. From my little office at home, I can see the guy across the street working in his yard. And the father and son who live next door, I’m telling you, since the dad is retired, man, he’s cutting and planting and trimming all the time. It makes me tired just watching him. In fact, his yard is looking so good, I kind of wish I lived on the other side of the street. Let’s just say my passion for yard work has waned as I’ve gotten older.

But you know, that wasn’t the case about thirteen years ago when we first moved into our house in Weirton. I mean, I was pretty gung ho when it came to my yard. For example, our first spring there, I remember putting in a bunch of azaleas and hydrangeas and a few of these little, bitty rose bush roots. But I’ll tell you, of all the stuff I planted, I was most proud of my lilac bush. You see, when we moved in, there was already one in the front. And in the back, you know, off the alley, there was this great, big wooden planter kind of thing, but nothing in it. And so I bought this tiny lilac; it looked more like a stick than a shrub. And I planted it. And I watered it. And over the years, I watched it grow. And every spring, right about this time of year, it would blossom. And I’ll tell you, every time it did, man, I felt a real sense of pride, because even though nearly all the azaleas and the hydrangeas and the rose bushes ended up “joining the choir triumphant,” in other words, they became compost, my lilac flourished.

Until about two and a half years ago. You see, I had a friend over in Weirton who, I think you could say, was a little down on his luck, and so I tried to help him as much as I could. For example, since he didn’t have a car, when he’d go visit his daughter, I’d drive him down to Wheeling so he could catch the bus. And since the bus left pretty early, I’d buy us some breakfast at Biscuit World before we left. And when we got down there, I’d give him a little money so he could get some lunch on the trip. Now, over the years, this was something we’d done maybe a half dozen times. Well, a couple of years ago, he came over to the church, because he wanted to repay me. And since he’d been a landscaper, he offered to do some a yard work around my house. I’m thinking this was sometime around September. Well, since my passion had already waned, this was like putting slop before a pig. I told him that would be great. And so, I picked him up, took up to my house and opened up the garage so he could use whatever tools he needed. Now this was in the morning, and I told him that, when he was finished, he could either walk down the hill or wait until I got home. 

Well, at about 3:30, he called me to tell me that he was done and had walked home and that he was really excited to hear what I thought of his work. And so, somewhere around 7:00 I got home, you know, while it was still light, and I’ve got to tell you, he’d done a magnificent job. All the brushes had been trimmed and the flower bed cleaned and the sidewalk edged. I’m telling you, it looked as good as the yard next-door. There was just one problem. He had really cut back my lilac bush. Now, to be honest, over the years it had gotten a little wild and wooly. But now, not only had the branches been nearly cut off, I’m not sure there was a leaf on it. I’ve got to tell you; I was crushed. Man, I remember just standing there thinking that the only plant that had survived my care was a goner, because without the branches, I thought there was no way it was going to live. Now that’s the story of my lilac, part one.

Of course, if you’re wondering, there’s a reason I told this little tale. You see, what I felt as I saw my lilac bush is pretty close to what I think a lot of Christians feel as they look at the church, and I’m talking about the church in the United States. And you know, when you consider the statistics, I think we have every reason to be as uncertain and even discouraged as I felt looking at my poor lilac. For example, yesterday I was going through some of the statistics, and I’ll tell you, they’re certainly nothing to write home about. I mean, according to an article published last month based on information from Gallop polling, in the thirty-five years I’ve been a minister, the membership in churches, synagogues and mosques has declined from about 70%, the same percentage as when I was born, it’s declined from 70% to around 47%. That’s over 20 points in three and a half decades and almost half of that decline has been in the last five years. And I’ll tell you, if that’s not discouraging enough, although for Baby Boomers like me, our membership is still just under 60%, for Millennials, you know, folks born between 1981 and 1996, their membership is about 35%. Ten years ago, for that generation, it was 50%. Now those are the cold, impartial statistics. But we really don’t need to read a bunch of numbers to know that the American church is in decline. Let’s get real, I think we all can see that most congregations are getting smaller and those of us who are involved are getting older. And even though we’ve gotten pretty good making excuses and identifying exceptions and of course, assigning blame, that really doesn’t change anything, at least it hasn’t in these last five years. The decline is real. 

And you know, for that reason, well, it’s not hard to understand how Christians, how we can be as uncertain and discouraged as I felt as I was looking at my once beautiful lilac bush. I remember, when I was a boy, the minister in the Presbyterian congregation my family attended would say that the church was one generation from extinction. Now that was in the late ‘60s, a time when 70% of Americans had a religious affiliation somewhere. I just wonder what he’d say today. And although I’m far closer to the end of my ministry than the beginning, frankly, I worry about what I’m leaving for my daughter and her children. I’ll tell you, when I read the statistics and see what’s happening, there are times when I worry that what the minister said over 50 years ago might be true. And I’ll tell you something else, I’ve talked to enough church people to know that I’m not alone in feeling that way. In fact, I can sure understand how easy it is to see our condition as terminal and to accept it and to keep doing what we’ve always done until the last person left simply turns off the lights and locks the door. It’s like we’ve entered some kind of ecclesiastical hospice, and brothers and sisters, that’s one sad place to be.

But listen to me, before we just resign ourselves to what the numbers and our senses may tell us is unavoidable and inescapable, I think we need to pause and look at the passage we just read from John, and I’ll tell you why. When we really take seriously these words from Jesus and apply them to our situation and our lives, not only can we avoid some of the uncertainty and discouragement we often experience, I believe we can find two good reasons to feel some real confidence and some genuine hope. And like I said, it’s right here in this passage.

I mean, using the image of the vine and the branches, first, I think we can trust in the quality of the vine, you know, the one in whom we’re connected and from whom we draw our strength. Remember, Jesus said this to his disciples:

I am the true vine...

Stay joined to me, and I will stay joined to you. Just as a branch cannot produce fruit unless it stays joined to the vine, you cannot produce fruit unless you stay joined to me. I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you stay joined to me, and I stay joined to you, then you will produce lots of fruit.

Stay joined to me and let my teachings become part of you. Then you can pray for whatever you want, and your prayer will be answered. When you become fruitful disciples of mine, my Father will be honored. [John 15:1b, 4-5, 7-8, CEV]

You see, regardless of what we might think and regardless of what we might say and regardless of what we might do, the vine, the reality of Jesus Christ never changes. And when we’re joined to him and doing what he’s called us to do in the way he’s called us to do it, man, we’re going to produce fruit. Now I want you to notice that I didn’t say “we might produce fruit” or “we could produce fruit” or “we should produce fruit.” No, we’re going to produce fruit. In fact, using his own words, we’re going to produce lots of fruit. And the reason for that is clear. If we as individuals and as a community, if we’re joined to Jesus Christ and if his teaching have become part of us, then we’ll know exactly what we’ve been called to do. I mean, right after identifying himself as the vine and us as the branches, Jesus said, “I have loved you, just as my Father has loved me. So remain faithful to my love for you. If you obey me, I will keep loving you, just as my Father keeps loving me, because I have obeyed him. I have told you this to make you as completely happy as I am. Now I tell you to love each other, as I have loved you. The greatest way to show love for friends is to die for them. And you are my friends, if you obey me.” [John 15:9-14, CEV] I’ll tell you, there’s no way around it: our job as Christians and as the church is to love one another. And even though the way we might express that love may be different now from the way it was thirty-five years ago, the love and the kindness and the willingness to sacrifice self for the sake our neighbors, man, that hasn’t changed at all. You see, when we trust in the quality of the vine, we have every reason to be confident. And that’s the first thing we can take from this passage.

And second, I believe we can feel genuine hope the minute we trust in the skill of the gardener, in other words, the one who prunes and shapes the plant so that it can be the most productive. Again, just listen to what Jesus said to his disciples: 

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts away every branch of mine that doesn't produce fruit. But he trims clean every branch that does produce fruit, so that it will produce even more fruit. You are already clean because of what I have said to you. [John 15:1b-3, CEV]

I’ll tell you, whether we like it or not, the Father is working to make us as productive as we’re capable of being. In other words, we’re being pruned and trimmed so that we can effectively show and share love to those around us. That’s what the gardener does, and he does it by pruning and trimming. Of course, I can sure understand how the idea that unproductive branches are cut away and detached branches are thrown into the fire, man, this kind of stuff is scary. But what if we viewed this pruning and trimming as dealing with what we do rather than who we are? In other words, instead of seeing God cut away unproductive people and church, suppose he’s leading us to cut away those actions and attitudes that may explain, at least in part, why church membership has seen such a dramatic decline in the last twenty years. You see, maybe the way we communicate and demonstrate our Christian love, well, maybe it needs to be reshaped a little bit. And even though that will mean saying good-bye to some of the things that have been meaningful to us and doing that is both difficult and painful, maybe some of those old forms are stifling our ability to be fruitful, maybe they need to be pruned and trimmed so that new growth can take place. Of course, how that might be done, man, that’s difficult for us to know. And that’s why it’s so important for us to recognize that we have one heck of a gardener. He really knows what’s best. And he’ll show us the way we should move. And he’ll comfort us as we let go of some of the things we’ve valued from the past so that we can be more productive as we head into the future. And that’s why I think we can feel genuine hope when we trust in the skill of the gardener. And that’s the second thing we can take from this passage.

And you know, that’s really what I saw happen with my lilac. You see, my friend really did know what he was doing when he cut back the bush. And clearly, what he left was far stronger and more resilient than I thought. You see, even though it looked awful in October and November and through out the winter, something amazing happened in the spring. All along the stubs he left were these green shoots. And as the summer passed, those shoots grew into little branches. You see, not only did the plant live, it grew into something fair more attractive than it was before, because instead of being this tall, spindly tree-like thing, it’s now a full bush, covered with flowers. And that my friends, is the story of my lilac. And I’ll tell you, I see absolutely no reason why it can’t be the story for our church as well, and it will when we decide to trust the quality of the vine and the skill of the gardener.