The Vinedresser

In my mind’s eye, I can still see the fields.  Drive where you might; look where you might; but you would find no fields as beautiful to the eye as those belonging to Mr. Gaylon O. Knapp, my maternal grandfather.

Grandpa was more than a farmer who raised crops.  He practiced husbandry, caring for the land that would grow the crops as much as he cared for the crops.  Whether one walked through his corn or bean fields, knelt to feel the freshly opened cotton, or marveled at the golden waves of grain, one knew that one who cared for the land was at work in those fields.

Grandpa and Wendell Berry would have liked each other; though Grandpa would have chided Wendell for his penchant for horse-drawn implements.  Yet, Grandpa did have his limits.  Tractors and their implements needed to fit the size of the land; and a farmer’s land needed never to exceed his ability to care for it.  He never bought into the bigger-is-better mentality, nor did he believe in expansion for expansion’s sake.  A man should have what he needs and need only what he has; and he should care for it in such a manner as both to leave it to those who would follow and to leave it better than he had found it.

When I read the story of the Vine, the branches, and the Vinedresser, I think about Grandpa.  Don’t misunderstand me.  Even in my cherished memory of Grandpa, I don’t mean to equate him with God, but I do mean to say that the image of the God as the Vinedresser rings true for me in part because of the manner in which Grandpa cared for the land. 

So, what frightens others brings me hope.  Some read the story of the Vine, branches, and Vinedresser, focusing only on the news that the Vinedresser takes away non-fruit bearing branches.  I’m focused on something far more amazing.  The Vinedresser cares so much for the Vine and the branches that he continually prunes the branches that they may bear more fruit. 

I’m not worried about being lopped off.  My self-assurance does not rest on my own sense of goodness.  It rests on my trust that the Vinedresser loves me . . . loves you . . . and has but one desire: namely, to so care for both Vine and branches that together they may produce the fruit of the kingdom.

Grandpa might be surprised to know that he gave his grandson an image of God that was kinder than the one he often encountered at church.  On the other hand, maybe he would not be. 

The story of the Vine, the branches, and the Vinedresser is not a story of judgment.  It is a story of hope.  In the Vine . . . in Christ . . . there is life.

May we abide in the Vine.  If we do, part of the fruit we bear will be the image of kinder and more loving God than many around us know.