Tales of the Vine by Wayne Jacobsen

Introduction - Come to the Vineyard

This is my favorite time of year in the vineyard the waning days of winter.

It is still only mid-February, but in the short winters of California's San Joaquin Valley, spring is just around the corner. The ever-lengthening days are already clawing at winter's grip, and it will soon succumb.

It's just after 5:30 in the afternoon, and the long yellow rays of the setting sun have surrendered to violet-tinted shades of pink. Though it was in the 70's earlier today, the evening chill comes quickly. I zip up my coat against the light breeze, pulling the collar up around my neck and thrusting my hands into its pockets.

Lights from distant farmhouses have already begun to twinkle against the subdued landscape, and out of the diaphanous shroud of evening ground fog that obscures the horizon, rows of grapevines curve over the hills and completely surround me.

The vines are all neatly trimmed, their branches gently twisting around the wire strung from the posts that stand as sentinels beside each vine. The labor of winter brings surrealistic order to the vineyard. Should anything in God's creation be so tightly clipped and neatly arranged?

The vineyard is at rest, waiting patiently the glory of springtime and another season of fruitfulness. I guess that's why I like this time of year so. At the moment just before twilight, the wispy fog and the neatly-trimmed rows combine to grant me that marvelous gift of secluded peace. Except for the softened whine of a few cars far away, the only sound I hear is the crunching of dirt clods underfoot.

Only a few months ago the air was filled with dust, voices and churning of tractor engines that mark the frenzied drive of harvest to get the raisins in before the first rain. A few weeks from now those same things will fill the air as the process of fruitfulness starts all over again.

But now it is quiet. And though a glance from a distant farmhouse might lead someone to believe that I am alone, it is not so. I have come here at this time to walk and talk with the Father.

This has been my cherished prayer closet since I was a young boy. It is a sanctuary of greater reverence than I've known in any cathedral built by human hands. No place on earth more quickly draws me to him, because it is here that we first met, and here we have met so often. This is where I learned to walk with God to hear his voice and surrender my life to his pleasure.

This is my father's vineyard a 35-acre ranch in the heart of California's Central Valley. My father is a second-generation grape farmer and has for almost all of his 65 years lived within a mile of this very spot. The farthest he ever traveled, interestingly enough, left him in another vineyard in northeastern France where he was wounded in battle just before New Year's Day, 1945.

After the war he purchased the farm next to the one on which he was raised. This vineyard became his tool not only to provide for his family but more importantly to also teach his four sons about God and his ways. I've learned more about God in this vineyard than in all my years of Bible training and study.

I learned from the lessons Dad taught us, lessons he always backed with the obedience of his own life. I learned about the cycles of the seasons, of God's faithfulness, of overcoming adversity, and of surrendering to his will. Most of Dad's lessons came straight from God's Word, but many others came from his personal observations and encouragement.

I also learned from my own budding relationship with God. In my long walks, usually at dawn or dusk, I read his Word and learned to speak to God, telling him my deepest secrets. Eventually I began to hear him respond simple stirrings, gentle insight, deep convictions the voice of God superimposed over my own thoughts. I could know what was on his heart in the same way I was letting him know what was on mine.

In these rows I also preached my first sermon, at 10 years of age, just over by that muscat vine. Do you see where the branches split to form a natural vee? I propped my Bible between them, and it fell open to Ezekiel 34. I read the words and preached to my dog Penny and the other muscat vines nearby.

It was a child's game to be sure, but something incredible happened that summer morning. The Word became alive in my heart, more so than at any time previous when I had sat down to read it. The words that flowed from my lips, the passion from my heart, were not the doings of a ten-year-old. As I came to realize that, I grew frightened.

What had I touched? It was a presence undeniably distinct from my own. I felt wonderful and foolish all at the same time. I realized how loudly I had spoken, and though how silly I must have looked acting as a preacher in this row of vines. I looked about to make sure no one had seen me, tucked my Bible inside my shirt, and wandered back to our farmhouse.

But I couldn't deny that something special had happened, that I had connected with the presence of God in a way I had not before. I had no designs at the time to be a pastor, being far more enthralled with the airplanes that sailed over my head, hoping one day to pilot them. It was just a game that had unexpectedly taken on a life all its own. I didn't realize it then, but looking back I know that was the day my life was indelibly stamped with an affection for God's Word.

The vineyard has always been my special place, and it is no wonder to me that when Jesus wanted to reveal the secrets of the kingdom to his followers he made rich use of farming illustrations generally, and vineyards most specifically. No other image offers such a rich source of instruction, encouragement, and challenge.

The passages of Scripture that deal with vines and grapes are among my favorite in all of God's Word. I have not only studied them but lived them, and they have changed my life. The vineyard of my childhood is not so very different from those which Jesus walked through with his disciples. I can almost see him leaning up against the sturdy trunk of an old vine the wicked tenants of his Father's vineyard.

One evening in particular, as Jesus faced the longest night of his life, he wanted to convey to his followers where to find the rich spring of personal fulfillment and the keys to living fruitful lives. Where did he take them? To a vineyard his Father's vineyard.

Fulfillment and fruitfulness. No themes recur more frequently in the vineyard than these, and who among us is not stirred to our deepest desires by their mere mention? Who doesn't want joy and inner peace deep enough to take us through any circumstance, and a sense of success that comes from knowing our lives have made a difference?

For too many people , however, these qualities remain an elusive dream. Though pursued with fervor they are rarely reached.

Many things in this world promise fullness, and though they may provide a moment of happiness or satisfaction, none of them offers the enduring joy and peace we seek so ardently. And who can be sure they are fruitful, especially in things spiritual? Many of us are not even sure what it means, and most of us can honestly admit we don't think we've found it. We might think we're the only ones to feel that way, but we are not. Even those Christians who try to convince others that they have found the secrets of fulfillment and fruitfulness often prove by their own personal stress, immorality or spiritual emptiness that they are not.

This is especially tragic because Jesus didn't want his followers confused or groping for either one. That's why he took them to a vineyard and invited them to take their places in it.

I have long since left the ranch and moved to the city's edge. My days are filled less with vineyards and more with computers, automobiles and other machinery of our technological society. But somehow these never quite measure up to the lessons that come from the heart of God's own creation. We are organisms not machines, and even our spiritual growth patterns have more in common with the four grape vines I have growing today in my backyard than the computer on which I type.

Before we are completely urbanized, it would serve us well to take a look back to our agrarian roots. Scripture makes such vivid use of the images of plant growth and fruitfulness to teach us about our own spiritual life. Here, with less clutter lying between us and God's creation we can learn the rich lessons he taught about his spiritual vineyard.

Previous trips to my father's vineyard for study and reflection have been alone. Now I invite you to go with me, not to his vineyard, but to a far greater vineyard that belongs to God himself.

Let's go to the vineyard together, you and I. Let's walk the rows with the Father of the vineyard and watch his vines grow and bear fruit. We'll even get to stop, pull back the leaves and be able to see the marvelous fruit he is producing. Listen as he teaches us the lessons of the vineyard and show us the secret of finding the fullness of joy and fruitfulness that he has promised to every believer.

Including you!

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