Part 6 (1/2)

In the words that Jesus speaks during the water ritual, he responds to this hope: He is the new Moses. He himself is the life-giving rock. Just as in the bread discourse he reveals himself as the true bread that comes from heaven, he shows himself here-just as he had done with the Samaritan woman-as the living water that is the goal of man's deeper thirst, the thirst for life, for ”life in abundance” (Jn 10:10): This life is no longer conditioned by need that must constantly be satisfied, but it springs up from within, from deep inside itself. Jesus also answers the questions as to how one drinks this living water, how one gets to the well and draws from it, by saying, ”He who believes in me...” Faith in Jesus is the way we drink the living water, the way we drink life that is no longer threatened by death.

But now we must listen more carefully to the text. It continues: ”As the Scripture has said, 'Out of his body shall flow rivers of living water'” (Jn 7:38). Out of whose body? Since the earliest times there have been two different answers to this question. The tradition started by Origen, which is a.s.sociated with Alexandria, though the great Latin Fathers Jerome and Augustine also subscribe to it, reads the text thus: ”He who believes...out of his body...” The believer himself becomes a spring, an oasis out of which bubbles up fresh, uncontaminated water, the life-giving power of the Creator Spirit. Alongside this tradition there is another, albeit much less widespread, from Asia Minor, which is closer to John in its origins. It is doc.u.mented by Justin (d. 165), Irenaeus, Hippolytus, Cyprian, and Ephraim of Syria. It punctuates the text differently: ”He who thirsts, let him come to me, and let him who believes in me drink it. As the Scripture says: out of his body rivers will flow.” ”His body” is now applied to Christ: He is the source, the living rock, from which the new water comes.

From the purely linguistic point of view, the first interpretation is more convincing. It has accordingly been adopted by the majority of modern exegetes-along with the great Church Fathers. In terms of the content, though, there is more to be said for the second, ”Asia Minor” interpretation, to which Schnackenburg, for example, subscribes, though it need not be considered to exclude the ”Alexandrian” reading. An important key to the interpretation of this pa.s.sage lies in the phrase ”as the Scripture says.” Jesus attaches great importance to being in continuity with the Scripture, in continuity with G.o.d's history with men. The whole Gospel of John, as well as the Synoptic Gospels and the entirety of the New Testament writings, justify faith in Jesus by showing that all the currents of Scripture come together in him, that he is the focal point in terms of which the overall coherence of Scripture comes to light-everything is waiting for him, everything is moving toward him.

But where does Scripture speak of this living spring? John is obviously not thinking of any one particular pa.s.sage, but precisely of ”the Scripture,” of a vision that runs through its texts. We have just come across one of the princ.i.p.al clues: The story of the water issuing from the rock, a story that became an image of hope in Israel. Ezekiel 47:112 furnishes us with the second major clue, the vision of the new Temple: ”And behold, water was issuing from below the threshold of the Temple toward the east” (Ezek 47:1). A good fifty years later Zechariah returned to this image: ”On that day there shall be a fountain opened for the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem to cleanse them from sin and uncleanness” (Zech 13:1), ”On that day living waters shall flow out from Jerusalem” (Zech 14:8). The final chapter of the Bible reinterprets these images and at the same time manifests their full greatness for the first time: ”Then he showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of G.o.d and of the Lamb” (Rev 22:1).

Our brief consideration of the cleansing of the Temple has already shown us that John sees the risen Lord, his body, as the new Temple, which is awaited not just by the Old Testament, but by all peoples (cf. Jn 2:21). We thus have good reason to hear a reference to the new Temple echoing through Jesus' words about the streams of living waters: Yes, this Temple exists. The promised river of life that decontaminates the briny soil and allows the fullness of life to ripen and bear fruit really does exist. It is He who, in ”loving to the end,” endured the Cross and now lives with a life that can never again be threatened by death. It is the living Christ. Accordingly, Jesus' words during the Feast of Tabernacles not only point forward to the new Jerusalem where G.o.d himself lives and is the fountain of life, but also point immediately ahead to the body of the Crucified, out of which blood and water flow (cf. Jn 19:34). It shows the body of Jesus to be the real Temple, built not of stone nor by human hands; hence-because it signifies the living indwelling of G.o.d in the world-it is, and will remain, the source of life for all ages.

If one looks at history with a keen eye, one can see this river flowing through the ages from Golgotha, from Jesus crucified and risen. One can see that, wherever this river reaches, the earth is decontaminated and fruit-bearing trees grow up; one can see that life, real life, flows from this spring of love that has given itself and continues to give itself.

The application of this pa.s.sage primarily to Christ-as we saw earlier-does not have to exclude a secondary interpretation referring to the believer. A saying from the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas (108) points in a direction compatible with John's Gospel: ”Whoever drinks from my mouth shall become as I am” (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 328). The believer becomes one with Christ and partic.i.p.ates in his fruitfulness. The man who believes and loves with Christ becomes a well that gives life. That, too, is something that is wonderfully ill.u.s.trated in history: The saints are oases around which life sprouts up and something of the lost paradise returns. And ultimately, Christ himself is always the well-spring who pours himself forth in such abundance. p. 328). The believer becomes one with Christ and partic.i.p.ates in his fruitfulness. The man who believes and loves with Christ becomes a well that gives life. That, too, is something that is wonderfully ill.u.s.trated in history: The saints are oases around which life sprouts up and something of the lost paradise returns. And ultimately, Christ himself is always the well-spring who pours himself forth in such abundance.

Vine and Wine Whereas water is a basic element of life for all creatures on earth, wheat bread, wine, and olive oil are gifts typical of Mediterranean culture. The creation Psalm 104 first of all mentions the gra.s.s that G.o.d has appointed for the cattle and then goes on to speak of the gifts G.o.d gives to men through the earth: the bread that man produces from the earth, the wine that gladdens his heart, and finally the oil that makes his face s.h.i.+ne. It then returns to speak of the bread that strengthens man's heart (cf. Ps 104:14f.). Along with water, the three great gifts of the earth subsequently became the basic elements of the Church's sacraments, in which the fruits of creation are transformed into bearers of G.o.d's historical action, into ”signs,” in which he bestows upon us his special closeness.

Each of the three gifts has a special character that sets it apart from the others, so that each one functions as a sign in its own way. Bread, in its simplest form prepared from water and ground wheat-though the element of fire and human work clearly have a part to play-is the basic foodstuff. It belongs to the poor and the rich alike, but especially to the poor. It represents the goodness of creation and of the Creator, even as it stands for the humble simplicity of daily life. Wine, on the other hand, represents feasting. It gives man a taste of the glory of creation. In this sense, it forms part of the rituals of the Sabbath, of Pa.s.sover, of marriage feasts. And it allows us to glimpse something of the definitive feast G.o.d will celebrate with man, the goal of all Israel's expectations: ”On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined” (Is 25:6). Finally, oil gives man strength and beauty; it has the power to heal and nourish. It signifies a higher calling in the anointing of prophets, kings, and priests. of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of marrow, of wine on the lees well refined” (Is 25:6). Finally, oil gives man strength and beauty; it has the power to heal and nourish. It signifies a higher calling in the anointing of prophets, kings, and priests.

As far as I can see, olive oil does not figure in John's Gospel. The precious ”oil of nard” that Mary of Bethany uses to anoint the Lord before he enters upon his Pa.s.sion (cf. Jn 12:3) was thought to be of Oriental origin. In this scene, it appears, first, as a sign of the sacred extravagance of love and, second, as a reference to death and Resurrection. We come across bread in the scene of the multiplication of the loaves, which the Synoptics also doc.u.ment in great detail, and immediately after that in the great eucharistic discourse in John's Gospel. The gift of new wine occupies a central place in the wedding at Cana (cf. Jn 2:112), while in his Farewell Discourses Jesus presents himself to us as the true vine (cf. Jn 15:110).

Let us focus on these two texts. The miracle of Cana seems at first sight to be out of step with the other signs that Jesus performs. What are we supposed to make of the fact that Jesus produces a huge surplus of wine-about 520 liters-for a private party? We need to look more closely to realize that this is not at all about a private luxury, but about something much greater. The first important detail is the timing. ”On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee” (Jn 2:1). It is not quite clear what previous date this ”third day” is related to-which shows all the more plainly that what matters to the Evangelist is precisely the symbolic time reference, which he gives us as a key to understanding the event.

In the Old Testament, the third day is the time for theophany, as, for example, in the central account of the meeting between G.o.d and Israel on Sinai: ”On the morning of the third day there were thunders and lightnings.... The LORD descended upon it in fire”(Ex 19:1618). At the same time what we have here is a prefiguring of history's final and decisive theophany: the Resurrection of Christ on the third day, when G.o.d's former encounters with man become his definitive irruption upon earth, when the earth is torn open once and for all and drawn into G.o.d's own life. What John is hinting at here, then, is that at Cana G.o.d first reveals himself in a way that carries forward the events of the Old Testament, all of which have the character of a promise and are now straining toward their definitive fulfillment. The exegetes have reckoned up the number of the preceding days in John's Gospel that are taken up with the calling of the disciples (e.g., Barrett, descended upon it in fire”(Ex 19:1618). At the same time what we have here is a prefiguring of history's final and decisive theophany: the Resurrection of Christ on the third day, when G.o.d's former encounters with man become his definitive irruption upon earth, when the earth is torn open once and for all and drawn into G.o.d's own life. What John is hinting at here, then, is that at Cana G.o.d first reveals himself in a way that carries forward the events of the Old Testament, all of which have the character of a promise and are now straining toward their definitive fulfillment. The exegetes have reckoned up the number of the preceding days in John's Gospel that are taken up with the calling of the disciples (e.g., Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 190). The conclusion is that this ”third day” would be the sixth or seventh day since Jesus began calling the disciples. If it were the seventh day, then it would be, so to speak, the day of G.o.d's feast for humanity, an antic.i.p.ation of the definitive Sabbath as described, for example, in the prophecy of Isaiah cited above. p. 190). The conclusion is that this ”third day” would be the sixth or seventh day since Jesus began calling the disciples. If it were the seventh day, then it would be, so to speak, the day of G.o.d's feast for humanity, an antic.i.p.ation of the definitive Sabbath as described, for example, in the prophecy of Isaiah cited above.

There is another basic element of the narrative linked to this timing. Jesus says to Mary that his hour has not yet come. On an immediate level, this means that he does not simply act and decide by his own lights, but always in harmony with the Father's will and always in terms of the Father's plan. More particularly, the ”hour” designates his ”glorification,” which brings together his Cross, his Resurrection, and his presence throughout the world in word and sacrament. Jesus' hour, the hour of his ”glory,” begins at the moment of the Cross, and its historical setting is the moment when the Pa.s.sover lambs are slaughtered-it is just then that Jesus, the true lamb, pours out his blood. His hour comes from G.o.d, but it is solidly situated in a precise historical context tied to a liturgical date-and just so it is the beginning of the new liturgy in ”spirit and truth.” When at this juncture Jesus speaks to Mary of his hour, he is connecting the present moment with the mystery of the Cross interpreted as his glorification. This hour is not yet come; that was the first thing that had to be said. And yet Jesus has the power to antic.i.p.ate this ”hour” in a mysterious sign. This stamps the miracle of Cana as an antic.i.p.ation of the hour, tying the two together intrinsically.

How could we forget that this thrilling mystery of the antic.i.p.ated hour continues to occur again and again? Just as at his mother's request Jesus gives a sign that antic.i.p.ates his hour, and at the same time directs our gaze toward it, so too he does the same thing ever anew in the Eucharist. Here, in response to the Church's prayer, the Lord antic.i.p.ates his return; he comes already now; he celebrates the marriage feast with us here and now. In so doing, he lifts us out of our own time toward the coming ”hour.”

We thus begin to understand the event of Cana. The sign of G.o.d is overflowing generosity. We see it in the multiplication of the loaves; we see it again and again-most of all, though, at the center of salvation history, in the fact that he lavishly spends himself for the lowly creature, man. This abundant giving is his ”glory.” The superabundance of Cana is therefore a sign that G.o.d's feast with humanity, his self-giving for men, has begun. The framework of the event, the wedding, thus becomes an image that points beyond itself to the messianic hour: The hour of G.o.d's marriage feast with his people has begun in the coming of Jesus. The promise of the last days enters into the Now.

This links the story of Cana with Saint Mark's account of the question posed to Jesus by the disciples of John the Baptist and the Pharisees: Why don't your disciples fast? Jesus answers: ”Can the wedding guests fast so long as the bridegroom is among them?” (Mk 2:18f.). Jesus identifies himself here as the ”bridegroom” of G.o.d's promised marriage with his people and, by doing so, he mysteriously places his own existence, himself, within the mystery of G.o.d. In him, in an unexpected way, G.o.d and man become one, become a ”marriage,” though this marriage-as Jesus subsequently points out-pa.s.ses through the Cross, through the ”taking away” of the bridegroom.

There remain two aspects of the Cana story for us to ponder if we wish in some sense to explore its Christological depth-the self-revelation of Jesus and his ”glory” that we encounter in the narrative. Water, set aside for the purpose of ritual purification, is turned into wine, into a sign and a gift of nuptial joy. This brings to light something of the fulfillment of the Law that is accomplished in Jesus' being and doing.

The Law is not denied, it is not thrust aside. Rather, its inner expectation is brought to fulfillment. Ritual purification in the end is just ritual, a gesture of hope. It remains ”water,” just as everything man does on his own remains ”water” before G.o.d. Ritual purification is in the end never sufficient to make man capable of G.o.d, to make him really ”pure” for G.o.d. Water becomes wine. Man's own efforts now encounter the gift of G.o.d, who gives himself and thereby creates the feast of joy that can only be inst.i.tuted by the presence of G.o.d and his gift.

The historical study of comparative religion likes to claim the myth of Dionysus as a pre-Christian parallel to the story of Cana. Dionysus was the G.o.d who was supposed to have discovered the vine and also to have changed water into wine-a mythical event that was also celebrated liturgically. The great Jewish theologian Philo of Alexandria (ca. 13 B.C.A.D B.C.A.D. 45/50) gave this story a demythologizing reinterpretation: The true giver of wine, Philo says, is the divine Logos; he is the one who gives us the joy, the sweetness, and the cheerfulness of true wine. Philo then goes on to anchor his Logos theology onto a figure from salvation history, onto Melchisedek, who offered bread and wine. In Melchisedek it is the Logos who is acting and giving us the gifts that are essential for human living. By the same token, the Logos appears as the priest of a cosmic liturgy (Barrett, Gospel, Gospel, p. 188). p. 188).

Whether John had such a background in mind is doubtful, to say the least. But since Jesus himself in interpreting his mission referred to Psalm 110, which features the priesthood of Melchisedek (cf. Mk 12:3537); since the Letter to the Hebrews, which is theologically akin to the Gospel of John, explicitly develops a theology of Melchisedek; since John presents Jesus as the Logos of G.o.d and as G.o.d himself; since, finally, the Lord gave bread and wine as the bearers of the New Covenant, it is certainly not forbidden to think in terms of such connections and so to see s.h.i.+ning through the Cana story the mystery of the Logos and of his cosmic liturgy, which fundamentally transforms the myth of Dionysus, and yet also brings it to its hidden truth.

While the Cana story deals with the fruit fruit of the vine and the rich symbolism that goes with it, in chapter 15-in the context of the Farewell Discourses-John takes up once more the ancient traditional image of the vine itself, and brings to fulfillment the vision that is presented there. In order to understand this discourse of Jesus, it is necessary to consider at least of the vine and the rich symbolism that goes with it, in chapter 15-in the context of the Farewell Discourses-John takes up once more the ancient traditional image of the vine itself, and brings to fulfillment the vision that is presented there. In order to understand this discourse of Jesus, it is necessary to consider at least one one foundational Old Testament text based on the vine motif and to ponder briefly a related parable in the Synoptics that takes up and refas.h.i.+ons the Old Testament text. foundational Old Testament text based on the vine motif and to ponder briefly a related parable in the Synoptics that takes up and refas.h.i.+ons the Old Testament text.

Isaiah 5:17 presents us with a song about a vineyard. The Prophet probably sang it in the context of the Feast of Tabernacles, in the context of the cheerful atmosphere characteristic of this eight-day feast (cf. Deut 16:14). It is easy to imagine many different sorts of performances going on in the areas between the booths built of leaves and branches, and the Prophet himself mingling with the celebrating people and announcing a love song about his friend and his vineyard.

Everyone knew that ”vineyard” was an image for a bride (cf. Song 2:15, 7:12f.), so they were expecting some entertainment suited to the festive atmosphere. And the song does start off on a good note: The friend had a vineyard on rich soil, planted choice grapes on it, and did everything he could to make them flourish. But then the mood suddenly changes: The vineyard is a disappointment, and instead of choice fruit, it produces nothing but inedible sour grapes, small and hard. The audience understands what that means: The bride was unfaithful, disappointing the trust and hope, disappointing the love that the friend had expected. How will the story continue? The friend hands over his vineyard to be plundered-he repudiates the bride, leaving her in the dishonor for which she has no one but herself to blame.

It suddenly becomes clear that the vineyard, the bride, is Israel-it is the very people who are present. G.o.d gave them the way of justice in the Torah, he loved them, he did everything for them, and they have answered him with unjust action and a regime of injustice. The love song has become a threat of judgment. It finishes with a gloomy prospect-that of G.o.d's abandonment of Israel, with no sign at this stage of any further promise. Isaiah points to the situation that the Psalmist later describes in a lament before G.o.d in deep anguish at its having come to pa.s.s: ”Thou didst bring a vine out of Egypt; thou didst drive out the nations and plant it. Thou didst clear the ground for it.... Why then hast thou broken down its walls, so that all who pa.s.s along the way plunder its fruit?” (Ps 80:913). In the Psalm, lament leads into pet.i.tion: ”Have regard for this vine, the stock which thy right hand planted.... Restore us, O LORD G.o.d of hosts! let thy face s.h.i.+ne, that we may be saved!” (Ps 80:1620). G.o.d of hosts! let thy face s.h.i.+ne, that we may be saved!” (Ps 80:1620).

Despite everything that had happened to Israel since the Exile, it found itself again in essentially the same situation at the time when Jesus lived and spoke to the heart of his people. In a late parable, told on the eve of his Pa.s.sion, he takes up the song of Isaiah in a modified form (cf. Mk 12:112). His discourse no longer uses the vine as the image of Israel, however. Rather, Israel is now represented by the tenants of a vineyard whose owner has gone on a journey and from a far country demands the fruits owed him. The history of G.o.d's constantly renewed struggle for and with Israel is depicted in a succession of ”servants” who come at the owner's behest to collect the rent, the agreed-on portion of the fruits, from the tenants. The history of the Prophets, their sufferings, and the futility of their efforts appear through the narrative, which tells that the servants are manhandled, even killed.

Finally, the owner makes a last-ditch effort: He sends his ”beloved son,” who, being the heir, can also enforce the owner's claim to the rent in court and for that reason is ent.i.tled to hope for respect. Just the opposite happens. The tenants kill the son, precisely because he is the heir; his death, they think, will pave the way for them to take possession of the vineyard once and for all. Jesus continues the parable thus: ”What will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants, and give the vineyard to others” (Mk 12:9).

At this point, as in Isaiah's song, the parable that seemed to be just a story about the past crosses over into the situation of the audience. History suddenly enters the present. The audience knows he is saying to them: Just as the Prophets were abused and killed, so now you want to kill me: I'm talking about you you and about and about me me (cf. verse 12). (cf. verse 12).

The modern interpretation ends at this point. It thus relegates the parable to the past again; the parable, it seems, speaks only of what happened back then, of the rejection of Jesus' message by his contemporaries, of his death on the Cross. But the Lord always speaks in the present and with an eye to the future. He is also speaking with us and about us. If we open our eyes, isn't what is said in the parable actually a description of our present world? Isn't this precisely the logic of the modern age, of our age? Let us declare that G.o.d is dead, then we ourselves will be G.o.d. At last we no longer belong to anyone else; rather, we are simply the owners of ourselves and of the world. At last we can do what we please. We get rid of G.o.d; there is no measuring rod above us; we ourselves are our only measure. The ”vineyard” belongs to us. What happens to man and the world next? We are already beginning to see it....

Let us return to the text of the parable. When Isaiah arrived at this point, there was no promise in sight; in the Psalm, just as the threat was being fulfilled, suffering turned to prayer. This, again and again, is the situation of Israel, of the Church, and of humanity. Again and again we find ourselves in the darkness of trial and have no recourse but to call upon G.o.d: Raise us up again! But Jesus' words contain a promise-the beginning of an answer to the prayer: ”take care of this vineyard.” The Kingdom is handed over to other servants-this statement is both a threat of judgment and a promise. It means that the Lord stands by his vineyard, without being bound to its present servants. This threat-promise applies not only to the ruling cla.s.ses, about whom and with whom Jesus is speaking. It continues to apply among the new People of G.o.d as well-not, of course, to the whole Church, but repeatedly to the particular churches, as the Risen Lord's words to the Church at Ephesus show: ”Repent and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place” (Rev 2:5).

The threat and promise that the vineyard will be handed over to other servants is followed, though, by a promise of a much more fundamental nature. The Lord cites Psalm 118:22f: ”The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” The death of the son is not the last word. He is killed, but he does not remain in death, he does not remain ”rejected.” He becomes a new beginning. Jesus gives his audience to understand that he himself will be the Son who is killed; he foretells his Cross and Resurrection and prophesies that upon him, when he has been killed and has risen, G.o.d will erect a new building, a new Temple in the world.

The image of the vine is abandoned and replaced by the image of G.o.d's living building. The Cross is not an end, but a new beginning. The song of the vineyard does not end with the killing of the son. It opens the prospect that G.o.d will do something new. The affinity with John 2, which speaks of the destruction of the Temple and its reconstruction, is impossible to overlook. G.o.d does not fail; we may be unfaithful, but he is always faithful (cf. 2 Tim 2:13). He finds new and greater ways for his love. The indirect Christology of the early parables is transcended here into a fully open Christological statement.

The parable of the vine in Jesus' Farewell Discourses continues the whole history of biblical thought and language on the subject of the vine and discloses its ultimate depth. ”I am the true vine,” the Lord says (Jn 15:1). The word true true is the first important thing to notice about this saying. Barrett makes the excellent observation that ”fragments of meaning, obscurely hinted at by other vines, are gathered up and made explicit by him. He is the is the first important thing to notice about this saying. Barrett makes the excellent observation that ”fragments of meaning, obscurely hinted at by other vines, are gathered up and made explicit by him. He is the true true vine” ( vine” (Gospel, p. 473). But the really important thing about this saying is the opening: ”I am.” The Son identifies himself with the vine; he himself has become the vine. He has let himself be planted in the earth. He has entered into the vine: The mystery of the Incarnation, which John spoke of in the prologue to his Gospel, is taken up again here in a surprising new way. The vine is no longer merely a creature that G.o.d looks upon with love, but that he can still uproot and reject. In the Son, he himself has become the vine; he has forever identified himself, his very being, with the vine. p. 473). But the really important thing about this saying is the opening: ”I am.” The Son identifies himself with the vine; he himself has become the vine. He has let himself be planted in the earth. He has entered into the vine: The mystery of the Incarnation, which John spoke of in the prologue to his Gospel, is taken up again here in a surprising new way. The vine is no longer merely a creature that G.o.d looks upon with love, but that he can still uproot and reject. In the Son, he himself has become the vine; he has forever identified himself, his very being, with the vine.

This vine can never again be uprooted or handed over to be plundered. It belongs once and for all to G.o.d; through the Son G.o.d himself lives in it. The promise has become irrevocable, the unity indestructible. G.o.d has taken this great new step within history, and this const.i.tutes the deepest content of the parable. Incarnation, death, and Resurrection come to be seen in their full breadth: ”For the Son of G.o.d, Jesus Christ, whom we preached among you...was not Yes and No; but in him it is always Yes. For all the promises of G.o.d find their Yes in him” (2 Cor 1:19f.), as Saint Paul puts it.

The idea that through Christ the vine has become the Son himself is a new one, and yet the ground for it has been prepared in biblical tradition. Psalm 80:18 closely a.s.sociates the ”Son of Man” with the vine. Conversely: Although the Son has now himself become the vine, this is precisely his method for remaining one with his own, with all the scattered children of G.o.d whom he has come to gather (cf. Jn 11:52). The vine is a Christological t.i.tle that as such embodies a whole ecclesiology. The vine signifies Jesus' inseparable oneness with his own, who through him and with him are all ”vine,” and whose calling is to ”remain” in the vine. John does not make use of the Pauline image of the ”Body of Christ.” But the parable of the vine expresses substantially the same idea: the fact that Jesus is inseparable from his own, and that they are one with him and in him. In this sense, the discourse about the vine indicates the irrevocability of the gift G.o.d has given, never to take it back again. In becoming incarnate, G.o.d has bound himself. At the same time, though, the discourse speaks of the demands that this gift places upon us in ever new ways.

The vine, we said, can no longer be uprooted or handed over to be plundered. It does, however, constantly need purification. Purification, fruit, remaining, commandment, love, unity-these are the key words for this drama of being in and with the Son in the vine that the Lord's words place before our soul. Purification-the Church and the individual need constant purification. Processes of purification, which are as necessary as they are painful, run through the whole of history, the whole life of those who have dedicated themselves to Christ. The mystery of death and resurrection is ever present in these purifications. When man and his inst.i.tutions climb too high, they need to be cut back; what has become too big must be brought back to the simplicity and poverty of the Lord himself. It is only by undergoing such processes of dying away that fruitfulness endures and renews itself.