2026.10.25 | Pruning with Purpose

Pruning with Purpose
Podando con propósito
John 15:1–5

Preached by 
Rev. Dr. Marvin Lance Wiser

Eden United Church of Christ  
Cherryland, CA 
25 Oct 2026

Good morning, Church. I’d like to give a big shoutout to Sam, Jeffra, and Lorena, your UCC conference delegates who joined your Eden Church pastors last week in the work of the wider church. We worshiped and workshopped, passed a budget as well as important resolutions. Let’s give them a round of applause! 

Last Sunday over lunch with a church family, we briefly discussed the Netflix adaptation of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. There is a word at the heart of the work around which much circles. And I think that it’s important for this season. The word as Steinbeck calls it is timshel.

In the novel, Lee—the wise domestic servant of the Trask family—wrestles with a single verse in Genesis 4:7. God has just warned Cain that sin is crouching at the door. Some translations render what follows as a promise: you will rule over it. Others render it as a command: you shall rule over it. But Lee comes to believe the Hebrew means something else entirely: timshel—"thou mayest."

Timshel—actually, timšol-bô, a qal simple active yiqtol imperfect conjucation, second person masculine singular of the root word mashal with a pronominal suffix refering to the antecedent “sin.” I know that was TMI. But since ancient Hebrew’s tense is less about time, it can be interpreted as you must or may rule over, subdue, or master.  Not necessarily "you will," as the grammar also allows for "you must" or even “you may.”

This is the direction the Babylonian Talmud took in interpreting Gen. 4:7, "And if you wish, you shall rule over it."

Thou mayest. That interpretation changes everything. It means Cain is not trapped. It means that every generation after him—every family, every person, and I'd suggest every congregation — has a choice. We inherit patterns of jealousy and resentment, of brokenness and fear. But we are not condemned to repeat them. Recall Pastor Ashley's sermon last week that spoke not only to the breaking of these cycles, but of forging forgiveness and release.

Today, Jesus offers us a complementary image, that also works for our Salinas and Sonoma valleys. "I am the true vine," he says, "and my Father is the vinegrower." The vinegrower removes the branches that bear no fruit. But then comes the surprising part: the branches that do bear fruit, he prunes, so that they can bear even more.

My daughter Tali was very concerned when she was younger when I took to pruning our beautiful bougainvillea for winter. We cut it back quite a bit, but then it became a wonderful reading nook for the next season, and expanded its beauty into new purpose and belonging. The purpose of pruning is not a smaller vine. It is a more fruitful one.

John's Gospel and Steinbeck are telling us something together. We do not get to choose everything we've inherited. But we can discern what we will continue to cultivate.

One of the most haunting things about East of Eden is how the story of Cain and Abel keeps repeating. A father favors one son over another. Brothers struggle with jealousy and rejection. Children carry wounds their parents never healed. Generation after generation, the same story plays out—until someone asks whether the cycle can be broken.

Churches are a lot like families in this way. We inherit gifts—traditions worth treasuring, faith handed down, relationships that have held us together. But we also inherit structures, and assumptions that may have served us well once and now quietly constrain our flourishing. Like seriously, we’re creatures of habit. Do you find yourself sitting in the same pew on Sundays or a bit out of place if worship or coffee hour happens differently?

So here is the question before Eden Church, 161 years into our ministry: What have we inherited that we want to preserve? And what patterns, habits, practices, or assumptions might we need to release so that the generations after us can flourish? How can we become an even clearer manifestation of Jesus’ Gospel message in Cherryland?

Jesús nos ofrece este mensaje: «Yo soy la vid verdadera», dice, «y mi Padre es el viñador». El viñador retira las ramas que no dan fruto. Pero, sorprendentemente, incluso las ramas que dan fruto son podadas, para que puedan dar aún más.

Cuando mi hija Tali era más pequeña, se preocupaba cada vez que yo podaba nuestra hermosa buganvilla antes del invierno. Pero, cada primavera, la planta volvía a crecer con más fuerza, llegando a convertirse, con el tiempo, en un maravilloso rincón para la lectura. El propósito de la poda no es reducir la planta, sino hacerla más fructífera.

No podemos elegir todo lo que heredamos, pero sí podemos elegir qué cultivar. A lo largo de la historia, la historia de Caín y Abel se repite de generación en generación: favoritismo, celos, rechazo y heridas que pasan de padres a hijos. Hasta que alguien se pregunta si es posible romper ese ciclo.

Las iglesias son como las familias. Heredamos hermosas tradiciones, la fe y las relaciones. Pero también heredamos hábitos y estructuras que, si bien en su momento fueron útiles, hoy limitan nuestro crecimiento. ¡Y es que somos criaturas de costumbres! ¿Cuántos de ustedes se sientan en el mismo banco cada domingo, o se sienten un poco inquietos cuando cambia la dinámica del culto o la hora del café?

Así pues, tras 161 años de ministerio en Edén, ¿qué debemos preservar y qué tal vez necesitemos soltar para que las futuras generaciones puedan florecer? ¿Qué podríamos podar para convertirnos en una expresión aún más plena del amor de Cristo en Cherryland?

I've been reading Eden's 150th anniversary history and timeline, and reading it through the lens of John 15. What strikes me is this: Eden has survived and flourished not simply by preserving what earlier generations built, but by repeatedly finding the courage to change—what we were doing, how we were organized, even how we understood our calling.

Consider the years from the mid-1940s to 1960. Under Dick Norberg, and carried along by the spirit of that era, Eden's membership grew from around 200 to more than 1,000. We became one of the most prominent churches in this community, with a waitlist for church school. And then, within just a few years—as the United States sent its first troops to Vietnam—membership was back in the 200s. It was hard to accept that change. 

That isn't a story of failure. It's a reminder that seasons change, and the vine must be tended for the season it is in, not the one it remembers. 

Or consider the beginning of this millennium. Supported by the Oliver family legacy gift, Eden set out on an ambitious campus renovation: a renovated sanctuary, a new Oliver Hall, moving Pioneer Chapel, air conditioning, a new music room. It was a beautiful vision.

But by late 2004, construction costs had climbed so dramatically that the full vision was no longer realistic. The congregation faced a decision. Keep chasing the entire plan and risk exhausting everything we had? Or let go of some beloved hopes?

The New Millennium Committee went back to the architects and developed a more modest plan that put first things first. That was pruning. And without it, we would not have been able to serve this community the way we have ever since. And even today, while some rooms are used 6 or 7 days a week, others, like the music and art rooms are only used one day a week. 

Podar no siempre consiste en eliminar algo negativo. A veces, implica dejar ir algo que en su momento fue bueno—incluso muy bueno—para hacer espacio a un nuevo crecimiento.

Ese es el sorprendente mensaje de Juan 15. El viñador poda las ramas que ya dan fruto, para que puedan dar aún más. Y Jesús nos recuerda: «Permanezcan en mí, como yo permanezco en ustedes». Nuestra capacidad de dar fruto no proviene de lo que logramos por nuestra cuenta, sino de permanecer arraigados en el amor de Dios y en comunidad.

Esta es una buena noticia para una iglesia que discierne su futuro. Nosotros no somos el viñador, responsable de todo; tampoco somos la vid, la fuente de nuestra propia vida. Somos las ramas, llamadas a permanecer arraigadas en el amor de Cristo y a dar un fruto que perdure.

Nuestro pasado nos moldea, pero no tiene por qué determinar nuestro futuro. Podemos elegir qué conservar, qué soltar y qué cultivar. Incluso las cosas buenas pueden necesitar ser podadas, confiando en que Dios sigue haciendo surgir algo nuevo entre nosotros.

Here is what I want us to hear clearly: pruning isn't always about cutting away something bad. Sometimes it means releasing something that was once good—even very good—but is now drawing energy from what God is calling us to grow. 

That is exactly what John 15:2 tells us. The vinegrower prunes the branches already bearing fruit. Pruning is not merely the removal of failure. It is the careful tending of something healthy so that it can become more fruitful.

Now, I need to name one important difference between Steinbeck and Jesus. Steinbeck emphasizes moral choice—our power to choose. John's Gospel emphasizes abiding. "Abide in me as I abide in you," Jesus says. "Apart from me you can do nothing."

The power to bear fruit does not come from our own self-sufficiency. It comes from remaining connected to the source of life. That is God—and with the community where we are rooted. 

That is good news for a congregation in discernment. We are not the vinegrower—we do not carry the weight of deciding everything alone. And we are not the vine—we are not the source of our own life. We are the branches. Our calling is to remain rooted in Christ's love, and from that love, to bear fruit that lasts.

So, yes: Thou mayest. Our past shapes us, but it need not determine our future. We may choose what we carry forward. We may release what no longer serves our shared calling. We may lovingly prune even those things that have borne good fruit, trusting that God is not finished growing something new among us. Amen.