“He takes away every branch in me that does not bear fruit, and everyone that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit… Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit… By this is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”
2. Meditatio
Usually Spring here at The Glenn is associated more with blossoms than fruit, with promises more than fulfillments. Yet thanks to one of my son-in-laws I have unexpectedly found myself already eating cucumbers from a patio vine before summer has properly arrived.
I had given him the seeds almost absentmindedly, and he, with the cheerful recklessness of hopeful gardeners and fathers, started them indoors. Later he handed one back to me, and I placed it beneath a grow light in my office, intending merely to keep it alive until the weather became trustworthy enough for planting outdoors.
But the little vine ignored my timetable.
While I was busy thinking about future harvests, it quietly began bearing fruit in the artificial sunlight beside my desk. And so now, while grading papers and preparing lessons, I find myself slicing cucumbers onto salads as if Eden itself had crept into my office unnoticed.
There is something wonderfully comic about this. A cucumber plant under fluorescent lights ought to feel tragic or unnatural. Instead it feels sacramental. It reminds me that fruitfulness often appears in the least romantic places imaginable.
I think this is what Christ means when He speaks of remaining in Him. The branch does not understand the chemistry of sap or sunlight. It simply clings. The vine does the hidden work.
I have spent much of my life imagining discipleship as achievement rather than attachment. I wanted visible accomplishments, dramatic sanctity, spiritual fireworks. Yet perhaps the Father is more interested in quiet cucumbers growing faithfully where they are planted.
And perhaps pruning comes before fruit because God must first cut away my addiction to appearances. Fruit is not produced for admiration but for nourishment. More importantly, it carries seed. The fruit disappears so that future life may emerge.
So too perhaps my life is not meant to be impressive, but fruitful enough that something holy continues growing long after I am gone.
3. Oratio
Lord Jesus Christ, true Vine of the Father, keep me from becoming a branch that merely looks alive while inwardly drying into respectable dead wood.
Prune from me the vanity that wishes to appear fruitful without surrendering to growth. Cut away the fear that resists Your knife. Remove the distractions that drain my soul into trivial things.
Teach me the hidden holiness of remaining.
When prayer feels dull, let me remain. When work feels repetitive, let me remain. When fruit seems invisible, let me remain.
Let my life become less like plastic flowers arranged for display and more like fruit quietly ripening in secret.
And if someday another soul should find nourishment because I once remained attached to You, then let all glory belong to the Gardener and not the branch.
G. K. Chesterton would likely have delighted in the absurd dignity Christ gives to ordinary growth. The modern world praises speed, spectacle, and efficiency. Yet God appears entirely content to work like a vine.
Indeed, Christianity may be the only religion in which weakness becomes a form of agriculture. The saints are not machines of moral perfection. They are branches stubbornly refusing to detach themselves from the Vine.
The world tells me to “find myself,” but Christ tells me to lose myself into something living enough to bear fruit through me. A branch detached in the name of independence does not become free. It becomes firewood.
And there is something gloriously hopeful in the fact that God judges fruit rather than foliage. Leaves are easy. One may produce endless religious leaves: opinions, arguments, appearances, committees, announcements, and spiritual performances rustling loudly in the wind.
Perhaps that is why the holiest souls often seem less interested in being admired than in quietly nourishing whoever God places near them. They understand that the purpose of remaining in Christ is not self-improvement but supernatural fertility.
The branch exists so the life of the Vine may continue entering the world.
5. Actio — In Light of Laudato Si’ and Synodality
True wisdom, as the fruit of self-examination, dialogue and generous encounter between persons, is not acquired by a mere accumulation of data which eventually leads to overload and confusion, a sort of mental pollution.
Although this volume is addressed primarily to families, it concerns all of us. The effects of the recent pandemic have shown how deeply the world and the vital role of the family are interconnected, underscoring the need for an approach rooted in integral ecology that is in accordance with the teachings of Laudato Si’. Moreover, we cannot remain indifferent to the devastating and ongoing scenes of destruction, bombings, killings, the use of landmines, abductions and hunger in so many countries. Each of these represents a unique and tragic story of human rights violations and of divided, grieving and impoverished families. Nevertheless, the family remains the place of care, welcome and sharing, a source of resilience, comfort and enduring relationships.
In Laudato Si’, Pope Francis reminds us that creation is not merely scenery but communion. Fruit does not exist for itself. It nourishes others while scattering seeds for generations unseen.
Action:
Today I will try to live less like an isolated branch and more like part of a living vineyard. I will practice one quiet act of fruitfulness: encouraging someone, tending creation gratefully, listening patiently, or performing hidden work without demanding recognition.
Synodality means learning that the vineyard belongs to God, not to any one branch.
James Mtume (born James Forman; January 3, 1946 – January 9, 2022) was an American jazz, funk, and R&B musician, songwriter, producer, and activist. Best known for leading the band Mtume and creating the 1983 classic “Juicy Fruit,” he helped shape the sound of 1970s and 1980s Black popular music through his “sophistifunk” blend of jazz sophistication and electronic R&B grooves.
The world sings of fruit as sweetness to consume, but Christ speaks of fruit as life willing to be broken open so seeds may endure.
Strange Fruit is a 2002 documentary film directed by Joel Katz that examines the origins and enduring legacy of the anti-lynching protest song made famous by Billie Holiday. The film explores how the song became a cultural symbol of racial violence, artistic resistance, and social change in the United States.
A haunting reminder that what hangs from the branches of human history reveals whether we have cultivated mercy or violence, life or death.
8. Poetic Verse
A cucumber ripened quietly beneath fluorescent office light, while I waited for some grander sign.
The Vine needs no applause. It only asks the branch to remain.
Lord, prune me until even my smallest fruit contains seeds of eternity.
