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You can call the 21st century, more than any earlier era, the age of uprooting. That applies first of all to the armies of refugees who have no homeland anymore, no definite dwelling place, not even a roof over their head. But in a figurative sense, it applies to almost every person today. Also if we can imagine ourselves safe within the four walls of our house, also if we have enough to feed and clothe ourselves—even then there reigns a collective feeling: we are nowhere really at home anymore. Not in our own home, not in a familiar, safe home port, not even in our own family. That is not only a painful collective feeling of insecurity, but perhaps also a necessary experience. What is our homeland?
The author Franz Kafka said it already at the beginning of the 20th century, when the first signs of uprooting became visible: “One has to go far to find the homeland that one has left.”
The only thing to do is to get moving. And if that does not happen literally, then in any case figuratively. The only lasting security we can find in our restless world comes from Him who calls us to leave behind everything that was ever familiar: home, wife, parents, brothers, or children… (Luke 18:29) To follow His call uprooted, homeless, free from all that fetters us:
“Rise, let us go hence!”
-Rev. Bastiaan Baan
“I am the true vine and my Father is the vine-dresser. Every branch of mine that bears no fruit He takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit He makes pure, that it may bear more fruit. You have already been purified by the power of the word which I have spoken to you. Abide in me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it is given life by the vine, neither can you unless you stay united with me. I am the vine, you are the branches. He that remains united with me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. If a man does not remain united with my being, he withers like a branch that is cut off – such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire and burned.
If you abide in me and my words live on in you, pray for that which you also will, and it shall come about for you. By this my Father is revealed, that you bear much fruit and become ever more my disciples. (John 15: 1-8)
The evangelist John is known for his exquisite, concise vocabulary. In seeming monotony, well-known themes come back again and again in similar expressions. How often does the word “abide” sound in the parable of the vine! Time and again we hear the appeal: “Abide in me – and I in you.” Sometimes it is a plea, then again a promise for the far future.
On second thought, when you read and read again, when you take these words to heart, it turns out that such key words sound in a perfect composition throughout the Gospel of John. They bear you as on eagle’s wings up out of everyday existence.
How do you do that—abide in His love in a world where we have lost the ground under our feet and where people doubt everything?
Not without reason does the call to abide in Him sound when Christ speaks about bread and wine, about His body and His blood. Here it is the branch that can bear no fruit on its own, if it does not remain on the vine. Earlier in the Gospel it is expressed still more drastically: “Whoever truly eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.” (John 6:56) Again, how do you do that, remain in Him?
Something of that comes to realization when we eat and drink at the altar. As earthly and disillusioned as it sounds, in the communion Christ is incorporated. We can then literally and bodily experience: Christ is in us. But when we have eaten and drunk Him, something is still lacking. At the Last Supper this was voiced with the words: “Do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19) He says:
I have given myself to you.
Reflect on what you have received.
Contemplate who it is that you have received.
Bring this thought to life for as long as it takes for the thought to think itself in you and
to accompany you in silence on your path through life.
Then, when you willingly and knowingly walk with me, I shall change you.
Then I abide in you and you in me.
–Rev. Bastiaan Baan, April 26, 2026
The entry into Jerusalem and the commotion it causes is an eloquent example of the saying: children, drunks, and fools speak the truth.
The crowd that welcomes Jesus is drunk with elation and mad with ecstasy. On this day even the children sound the echo of this praise in the temple: “Hosanna!” – to the annoyance of the chief priests. This call is a mystery word. Hoshe Na, a supplication from Jewish liturgy, means something like “Save now! Help now!” To whom is this call for help addressed? On the one hand, to the son of David, the human being Jesus of Nazareth. But also to the highest heavens (Matthew 21:9): “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Who is who in this enigmatic praise? Who is he? And who is the Lord?
Long ago one knew of the Son of Man, Jesus, who was to be the bearer of the Son of God, Christ. In a frenzy of rapture, the people reveal who He really is: “Blessed is Jesus, who gives a home to the highest Lord, Christ.”
The word of the highest heavens (Greek en hupsistois) has sounded in the gospel before, namely at the birth of Jesus. Then it was the angels who proclaimed that out of the highest heaven God’s Son had descended to the earth: “Revealed be God in the highest heaven (en hupsistois).”
But now it is a crowd of people who, unknowingly, proclaim the truth. For in the darkest days that are following, in the denial, derision, scourging, crowning with thorns, and crucifixion, the highest heaven comes to earth.
-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, March 29, 2026

