Jesus, in his divine communication, presents God to us through the reflection of the most basic forms of creatures: He is the vine, and I, as a believer, am a branch; we are part of the same plant, sharing the same life, rooted in the same sap.
And then the marvelous down-to-earth metaphor of the farmer God, a vinedresser fragrant with sun and earth, who cares for me and employs all his intelligence so that I bear much fruit; who does not wield the scepter from the height of the throne but the shovel to prepare the terrain, and looks at the world leaning over me, to care for the height of the bud, of the shoot, and with beautiful eyes of hope, the bunch of developing grapes.
Jesus is not the remote being in heaven observing quietly; he entered the center of the vineyard, got his hands dirty with love, met each of us at our level, and became the source of eternal life.
This vine and its branches give us a glimpse of what eternal constant creation and love look like. It’s not a pontificating God but more similar to what Pope Francis called the revolution of tenderness; Jesus disarmed us not by judgment but by tenderness and care.
At the sunset of earthly life, the ultimate question, and supreme truth of existence, will not be about rules but will point all its sweetest light to the fruit; did you leave more life or less life behind?