by Tory Baucum

(Psalm 80, Isaiah 5 and John 15)

I saw him tendril tucked, tending the vine
Ripening the slow fruit of sacrament. The
Vine reached back as far as Cain and Noah,
Men of the field, blood red in shame and guilt.
Yet the vine grew and God loved the vine.
Whoever he loves he prunes. And the cut hurts.

Winding forward the vine was transplanted by treacherous
Hands. It leafed in foreign soil, a tangled mess until
Moses retrieved the vine. Others replanted and pruned it.
But the vine merely leafed in the good soil and the bright
Rays of the sun. And God still hoped for his vine to
     Bear fruit.

More and better gardeners were sent. The vine was soil
Immersed and sun baptized in goodness. And despite
The care and skill of the gardeners the vine still bore no fruit.
And God wondered what to do with His vine. Should he plant
Another more hearty? Should he graft in a healthier stock?
Only God the Gardener knew what the vine required.

So God grafted himself into the leafy vine. And the cut hurt.
God’s own life poured into the vine. There was no
Change of sun, soil or seasons. Only now God was both
The gardener and the vine. The life of the vinedresser flowed
In the vine. And the vine bore fruit. And this fruit is the life
Of the world. And whoever drinks the fruit of this vine will
     never die.