VOICE OF THE LOGOS: REFLECTION/HOMILY FOR WEDNESDAY OF THE FIFTH WEEK OF EASTER, YEAR 1

Imagine walking into a vibrant parish community. The choir sings beautifully, the liturgy flows with precision, inspiring homily, offering collections and numerous thanksgivings, many line up to receive the Eucharist, uniforms are tidy, the parishioners are massive in number, and the calendar is full of activities. But then, when you look deeper, you notice something missing. People don’t “speak” to each other after Mass. Meetings end in quarrels. There’s gossip behind the scenes, envy among leaders, and competition for visibility rather than service. The question arises: where are the fruits? Not the fruits of busy schedules or numbers, but the fruit of lives changed, hearts reconciled, peace cultivated, and joy sustained. This is where the liturgical readings of today hit us squarely. The issue is not activity, but authenticity. And the Greek word “καρπός” (karpós), meaning “fruit,” stands as the mirror before us. Not just any fruit, but the kind that proves we are connected to Christ, the true vine.

Beginning with the first reading (from Acts 15:1-6), we encounter a community in turmoil; that is, we are taken into the tension of the early Church. Some Jewish Christians from Judea were teaching that Gentile converts must be circumcised according to the custom of Moses to be saved. This was not a mere ritual debate. It was a deep ecclesial crisis about identity and salvation. Who is truly part of the People of God? What makes someone “in”? The Sitz im Leben, or life-setting, of this passage is a Church on the edge of cultural transition. The old boundaries of the Law are colliding with the radical openness of the Gospel. Paul and Barnabas had seen the fruits among the Gentiles: conversions, the reception of the Spirit, signs and wonders. Yet some still wanted to measure belonging by external marks. And that is where “καρπός” (fruit) silently hovers over the debate. What does it mean to be a fruitful Christian? Does fidelity to Christ require conformity to all the customs of the old covenant? At stake is the identity of the Church. Here, Paul and Barnabas are not defending laxity, but insisting that the true test of belonging to Christ is not ritual observance, but visible fruit: transformed lives, genuine conversions, and the presence of the Holy Spirit among Gentile believers. In short, it is possible to be very religious and yet fruitless, to uphold traditions and yet resist grace. That is the controversy: when human structures begin to define faith more than the action of the living God. The Church’s credibility, even today, depends not on its forms, but on its fruitfulness. Are we a Church of signs, or a Church of substance?

The responsorial Psalm 122 presents another layer of the same theme. The Psalmist rejoices at the invitation to enter the house of the Lord. “Our feet are standing within your gates, Jerusalem!” Here, fruit takes the form of communion. Jerusalem is not only a city; it is a spiritual reality, the symbol of unity, worship, and justice. The tribes go up to give thanks to the Lord, where the thrones of judgment are set. This is not mere nostalgia for a holy place. The “Sitz im Leben” of this Psalm reflects a pilgrim people celebrating the center of covenant life. And the fruit is visible in the harmony of tribes gathering as one. In this context, “καρπός” is seen in relationships, in justice, in faithful worship. In our parishes today, we build programs, form committees, create social media pages, and decorate sanctuaries, but if our worship does not translate into justice, if our gatherings do not restore broken relationships, then we are in Jerusalem physically but outside its spirit. A church that produces noise but not reconciliation is no better than a vine with leaves but no grapes.

The Gospel from (John 15:1-8) brings the theme to its climax. Jesus speaks in the upper room, in the final moments before his Passion. The “Sitz im Leben” is intimate, serious, and deeply theological. He says, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser… Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit.” The Greek verb used repeatedly is μένω (menō), meaning to remain, to abide. The fruit (καρπός) depends entirely on this abiding. No connection, no fruit. No relationship, no life. The scandal of our time is that many claim Christ without communion. There is noise without depth, ministry without prayer, appearance without interior life. Jesus warns that branches that do not bear fruit are cut off and thrown into the fire. This is not divine cruelty. It is a reflection of spiritual reality. Without remaining in Him, even the most active Catholic becomes dry wood. And the key word is “much” fruit, not mere leaves. He adds that the Father prunes every fruitful branch to bear even more fruit. Pruning the branches can leave a plant looking bare, as healthy-looking parts are cut away. It is often a painful experience for the plant. It disrupts the natural appearance, creating a temporary sense of damage or setback. Yet, this controlled cutting directs energy to the roots and branches, triggering stronger, fuller growth. In other words, suffering, correction, and self-denial are part of fruitfulness. Avoid them, and we stay leafy but unproductive. Accept them, and we grow.

Dear friends in Christ, this reflection calls each parish, community, and individual to evaluate not how full their parishioners and schedules are, but how full their life is with visible fruit. Do people encounter peace, patience, kindness, humility, and love through our presence? If not, we are branches hanging without connection. We must ask: am I abiding in Christ daily through prayer, Scripture, Sacraments, and obedience, or am I just fulfilling religious obligations for appearance? At the community level, fruitfulness means fostering environments where reconciliation is possible, where the poor are seen and heard, where truth is spoken with charity, and where leadership flows from service, not ambition. A ministry that does not bear these fruits is not fruitful, even if it’s popular with many followers.

Secondly, we must also learn to discern fruit over flash. Just because someone prays loudly or quotes Scripture fluently doesn’t mean they are abiding in the Vine. What matters is their character, their endurance in suffering, and their love in hidden things. Pastors and leaders must learn to prune what is leafy but not fruitful. That could mean rethinking our focus, redistributing responsibilities, or calling people back to the source. Parishioners, too, must stop idolizing appearance and start seeking substance. Do you see fruit in your confessions? In your family life? In how you treat the difficult people in your church or home? The presence of fruit is not measured by applause, but by lasting change.

Thirdly, as Christians, we must submit ourselves to be pruned. Pruning often feels like loss; that is, cutting away what we’ve grown attached to, even if it no longer gives life. It forces us to confront our limits, surrender control, and accept seasons of silence and obscurity. Yet in that very discomfort, God is preparing deeper roots and more enduring fruit.

Therefore, we are called to re-examine our metrics. The world measures success in numbers, size, popularity, and visibility. But God measures in “καρπός”: in hidden transformation, in persistent faith, in silent obedience. A dying nun in a cloister may bear more fruit for the Church than a viral preacher. A mother raising her children in the faith may be building more for eternity than a theologian publishing essays. The point is not to devalue any vocation, but to reorient our focus. Thus, not everything that looks religious is fruitful, and not everything that is fruitful looks religious. The Spirit cannot be boxed into traditions or titles. We must learn again to recognize the work of God by its fruit, not by our preferences. And if the fruits are missing, maybe it’s not the system that needs reform. Maybe we need to reconnect to the Vine.

At the end of life, the question will not be: how much did you do? It will be: how much did you remain? How deeply were you rooted? How much fruit did you allow the Vine to bear through you? This is the word of the Lord for a Church that is often tempted to do more rather than abide more. It is a wake-up call for every heart that is active but unrooted. And it is a hope-filled invitation: if you remain in Him, the fruit will come.