A Suffering Vine Makes Fine Wine

 My husband shared that quippy line last week in his homily.  I think he saw it when he was at a winery last year.  It fit with the reading for the day from John 15:5 "I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

Between the sermon and our small group, we explored lots from that verse, including discerning God's will for lives, but as I've pondered it all this week, the idea of the suffering vine has stuck with me.  Because -- and maybe I'm not alone here -- I don't like to suffer. I prefer goodness and happiness and all-is-well, thankyouverymuch.  I'm not interested in pain or sorrow, I don't even watch movies that make me cry (which I will say takes a lot of movies off the table for me, as I cry about practically everything).  I want my life to be smooth, for my husband and kids not to experience heartache or tragedy, or hardship. I'm not a helicopter or lawnmower or snowplow parent, because I know that challenges are good for all of us, but I can't say I welcome real and true hardships for anyone in my family.  A little hiccup now and then is good for a person, but true tribulation?  No thanks.

And yet.  

Years ago I ran across this quote from St. Julian of Norwich:  "He said not, 'Thou shall not be tempested, thou shall not be travailed, though shall not be diseased', but He said 'Thou shall not be overcome'".  I remember jotting it down as soon as I heard it.  We're not promised to be without challenges, but we are promised that we shall not be overcome.  We often feel like we're in the fire of struggle, and it hurts.  But God tells us to remain in Him and the fire won't destroy us.  And even more, the fire will refine us.  Strengthen us.  Cause us to grow.  Help us bear fruit for Him.

I was once at a weeklong Theology of the Body conference, and at the closing worship, a gal sitting in the row with me knelt down low and held her cupped hands above her head.  She was sobbing, and her entire posture and emotion were so moving to me - I can see her vividly even now, many years later.  It was clear she was suffering deeply, and yet she held her hands up to Jesus, offering her suffering up to Him.  Since that day, I have often knelt low beside my bed during times of trial or sorrow, with my hands open above my head, offering my suffering up just as I saw her do.  There is something about the posture of the body that moves the posture of the heart.  Physically offering my struggles up to Christ turns my sinful heart toward Him in a way I can palpably feel.  

We're not told we won't suffer.  But we are told we won't be consumed by our sufferings, and in fact, our sufferings will produce beauty and growth.  Jesus will never leave us - He is the vine and we are the branches - He is literally attached to us.

Offer up your suffering to Jesus.  He'll do something with it.