The vine, the true.

Haiku for bearing fruit

Jesus, the true vine.

In the image of the vine

we see fruitfulness.

The vine-grower God

seeks fruit in its abundance:

living laced with love.

Pruning. Harsh image

of being made fruitful. Pain

that leads to bounty.

Find your life in me;

together we will bear fruit,

fulfil God’s purpose.

By yourself you fail.

Take my words deep within you;

You will bear much fruit.

By bearing love’s fruits

you become my disciples,

and glorify God.

If you don’t show love,

pious words count for nothing:

you’re no disciple.

© Ken Rookes 2021

The true vine

Haiku for bearing fruit

I am the true vine.

Rural metaphors abound,

call us to bear fruit.

God the vine-grower,

keen to get a good harvest;

pruning the branches.

Painful metaphor

this pruning stuff. Us branches

were not consulted.

You received my words,

they have made you clean, worthy

to receive my life

Jesus, the true vine;

here is life, discipleship;

the important things.

We would bear good fruit,

creating love, forgiveness;

reshaping the world.

Become one with him,

find true life joined to the vine;

accept the pruning.

Choose to live in me,

he said, together we will ,

bear love’s precious fruit.

© Ken Rookes 2018

The true vine

The true vine, so called,
offers some awkward metaphors
for entering into a fruitful life.
Cleansing and pruning;
not the most comfortable of procedures.
His words did not merely cleanse.
They were intended more to create chaos
than comfort, upheaval rather than ease.
It was all about discipleship, and fruitfulness.
The teacher from Galilee came to seek
fools who would join him in his outrageous quest;
be joined to him.
The vine may be a metaphor
but the discipleship has weight and form.
He works hard
to balance the pruning with the abiding;
the sacrifice and pain
with the friendship and love.
And in the end there are the fruits;
the grapes, and the wine.
Along with the struggle, the tears, the anger
and the hope.
 

 

© Ken Rookes 2015

Blooming

For four years we took pleasure

in the rose bush growing near the front porch

of the white painted house

planted next to the church

in northern Tasmania.

A dark and velvety red,

its perfume was as deep

and as beautiful as its colour.

We tended it with care,

and, though it had been planted

long before our residency,

we took much pride in it, and joy.

We thought of those

who had also experienced its blessing

in years long past, some of whom we knew;

and we enjoyed our connection of delight.

Some years later we walked past that house,

and, being that time of the year,

we paused to look down the driveway

to see if our rose was in bloom.

Yes, there it was,

covered in the small white flowers

of the all-conquering rootstock.

Every three years we read the story

of the true vine,

and of us branches

who have been grafted into the vine;

and I am reminded of the importance

of the pruning, the pain,

and the sap that is spilled

in the process of being made fruitful.

© Ken Rookes 2012