Introduction: The Farmer’s Memory
Liewe gemeente / Dear congregation.
We gather today in Beacon Bay, KuGompo, not far from the
sea. We are city people now—some of us work in offices, in schools, in the
harbour, in healthcare. But if we are honest, many of us still have red soil
under our fingernails, at least in our memories.
Perhaps your family came from the farms of the Eastern Cape,
or the Free State, or even from the old German settlements near Stutterheim or
Berlin. You remember your Opa talking about the harvest. You remember the smell
of a Winther rain on dry land. You remember the anxiety of a farmer—watching
the sky, watching the markets, watching the government.
And today, in April 2026, that anxiety is back. The economy
feels like a drought. Politics feels like a broken fence. Ethics—what is right
and wrong—seems to have shifted like the sand dunes. Many of us feel like a
tree planted in a concrete yard, struggling to breathe.
Into that anxious heart, Jesus speaks one word in John 15.
Not “Panic.” Not “Hurry.” The word is: Bly in My / Bleibt in mir – Abide.
1. The True Vine in a World of False Vines (v. 1)
Jesus says: “I am the true vine.”
Why “true”? Because we are surrounded by false vines. We try
to attach our lives to other things for security.
Some of us try to attach to the vine of the economy.
We check the rand, the interest rates, the retirement fund. But this economy is
like a trellis of straw—one political shock, one load-shedding crisis, and it
bends.
Some of us try to attach to the vine of political
power. We hope that a new party, a new coalition, a new strong leader will
fix things. But politicians are like rotten poles—they cannot hold the weight
of our ultimate hope.
Some of us try to attach to the vine of our own
morality. “At least I am a decent person, a churchgoer, a good citizen.”
But that branch produces only the fruit of self-righteousness, which is bitter.
Jesus says: Stop grafting yourself onto broken
things. I am the true Vine. My roots go down into the death of the cross and
the resurrection. My sap is the Holy Spirit. I am not shaken by the budget
speech or the news headlines.
And to our Xhosa sisters and brothers here, we hear
you: UYesu ungumdiliya wokwenene. He is the real thing.
2. The Pruning That Hurts But Helps (v. 2-3)
Now, your farming roots are essential here. Jesus says the
Father is the vinedresser. And every branch that bears fruit, He prunes.
Pruning is not punishment. A farmer does not cut the vine
because he is angry. He cuts because he wants more fruit, not
just leaves.
Some of you are feeling the pruning shears right now. Maybe
a job you counted on was cut away. Maybe a relationship you trusted has been
cut. Maybe your health, or your child’s future, or your sense of security in
this country—cut.
And you look at the cut and ask: “Why, Lord? Why
this? Why now?”
The vinedresser cuts the branch to stop it from wasting
energy on things that will not last. He wants fruit that remains.
You are anxious about the economy? He prunes your dependence
on money, so you learn to depend on Him.
You are anxious about politics? He prunes your illusion that any earthly
government will bring the kingdom.
You are anxious about the moral chaos? He prunes your need to have all the
answers, so you cling to the One who is the Answer.
Then comes verse 3, which is a great Lutheran word: “You
are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.”
The Greek word for “clean” is the same as “pruned.” You are
not dirty. You are not rejected. You are in the Master’s workshop. The cuts are
not cruelty; they are craftsmanship.
Martin Luther would say: Simul justus et peccator –
at the same time righteous and a sinner. But here, Jesus says: You are already clean.
Not because of your farming skills. Not because of your German efficiency or
Afrikaner resilience. Because of His word.
3. The Secret to Losing Anxiety (v. 4-5)
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear
fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you
abide in me.”
Here is the heart of the matter. We are trying to bear fruit
for God without staying connected to God.
We try to be good parents in this crazy world through sheer
willpower.
We try to be honest workers in a corrupt system through gritted teeth.
We try to keep our faith when the news is bad through mental discipline.
And we are exhausted. Anxious. Because a branch trying to
produce grapes by itself is not a miracle—it is a dead stick.
You want to stop being anxious about the economy? Stop
looking at the economy. Look at the Vine. Every morning, before you check your
phone, before you check the news, take five minutes. Say: “Here I am,
Lord. I am just a dry stick. If anything good happens today, it’s Your sap, not
my strength.”
That is what abide means. In
Afrikaans: bly in My. In
German: bleibt in mir. In isiXhosa: hlalani kum.
It means to rest, to remain, to dwell.
For us Lutherans, this is not a mystical feeling. It is a
daily returning to the Word and the Sacrament. You abide when you hear the
Gospel preached. You abide when you kneel at this altar and receive the true
Vine’s body and blood in the bread and wine.
4. The Fruit That Matters in East London, 2026 (v. 6-8)
What is the fruit? Not success. Not a perfect government.
Not a full bank account. The fruit is the character of Jesus and the mission of
Jesus.
In East London, 2026, the fruit looks like this:
- A
congregation that does not panic when the rand drops, because we have a
treasure that moths and rust cannot destroy.
- Afrikaner
and German and Xhosa members who actually share groceries with each
other—not because of a diversity program, but because we are branches of
the same Vine.
- A
young person who refuses to lie on a CV or take a bribe, even if it costs
them a promotion, because the Vine produces integrity.
- An
elder who prays for the president and the opposition—not curses
either—because the sap of grace is flowing.
- A
church that does not retreat into a laager of fear, but reaches out to the
unemployed neighbour, the immigrant, the single mother, because the Vine’s
fruit is mercy.
Verse 7: “If you abide in me, and my words abide in
you, ask whatever you wish, and it shall be done for you.”
This is not a blank cheque. This is alignment. When you
abide, your wishes change. You stop asking for escape. You start asking for the
Vine’s glory to be seen in your suburb, in your workplace, in your family.
Conclusion: Winter Is Coming, But the Root Is Alive
We have farming roots. We know that after April comes the
cold of May and June. The economy may get worse. Politics may stay confusing.
Ethics may get darker.
But the branch that abides never faces winter alone. The sap
does not stop flowing just because the wind is cold.
You have two choices this week.
Anxiety: Looking at the broken trellis of the
world and trying to hold yourself up.
Abiding: Saying, “I am too weak to hold myself.
So I will stay stuck to Jesus.”
Soon, we will come to the Table. The fruit of the vine—the
wine—is His blood, shed for you. But it is also the sap of His life, given to
you.
Come not as successful farmers with full barns. Come as
tired branches in a windy city. Touch the Vine. Do not let go.
And watch what God grows in the middle of this anxious
April.
Amen. Let us pray.
Lord Jesus, true Vine of our souls. We have tried to grow on
our own, and we have withered. Forgive us. Prune what needs pruning, even when
it hurts. And let Your sap flow through us—Afrikaner, German, Xhosa—until we
bear fruit that remains. We are anxious, but we choose to abide. In Your name,
who lives with the Father and the Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
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