John 15:1–5
I learned that when an orchid sheds its flowers, it is entering a dormant period. During this time the orchid’s roots are its primary focus, so pruning the spike, or the stem on which the flowers grow, is helpful. It is important to make sure the orchid has ideal amounts of water and light, airflow and proper temperature. (In case you couldn’t tell, orchids are picky.) So I grabbed my kitchen shears, snipped off the withering stem, put my fussy little friend in a clear vase with a carefully measured dose of water and returned her to her spot in the window.
And now … I wait.
It doesn’t seem like much is happening in this dormant season—the beauty of the flowers has gone; all outward signs of growth have ebbed. And yet, in that unseemly, tangled mass of spindly roots, work is being done. Real work. Vital work. There is still life in her, deep down where it matters most: in the roots.
Scripture is replete with gardening metaphors: It speaks of the Kingdom of God as a vineyard (Matthew 20), a sower scattering seed or a mustard plant with branches large enough for birds to nest in (Mark 4). It likens the Word of God to seed, and the condition of the hearer’s heart to soil (Luke 8). Jesus called Himself the true vine, His Father the vinedresser, and us the branches (John 15). In fact, the Bible is bookended by two gardens: Eden, and the garden in the midst of the New Jerusalem where the river of the water of life flows from God’s throne through the middle of the street, and the tree of life grows along its banks yielding its fruit for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:1–2).
It should not surprise us then when we find ourselves—like garden plants—in different spiritual seasons: times of fruitfulness and times of drought; times of planting and times of pruning; times of growth and times of rest. But oftentimes the Christian is unprepared for those dry, painful, quiet seasons. We’ve heard about them (from other people). We know they happen (to other people). But when it happens to us, when our spiritual desires wane and things like reading God’s Word, praying, and going to church become a chore and not a joy, when the flesh seems to prevail and we come face to face with the ugliness within, when we doubt God’s promises for us because we feel more like the old man than the new, we are derailed. Caught off guard. Thrown for a loop. Maybe we even begin to question whether or not we were ever truly saved at all.
Why?
I believe it is because, due to our fallen nature, we are hardwired to judge the surety of our salvation by the state of our sanctification. We lose our bearings with respect to justification—the once-for-all declaration of our righteous standing before God through faith in Christ. We are no longer certain God loves and accepts us because we fail to attain some spiritual benchmark that we mistakenly believe puts us in the clear. If we’re honest, we can see this “not enough” mindset play itself out in our lives every single day. I haven’t read my Bible enough. I haven’t prayed enough. I haven’t been patient enough, loving enough, generous enough, pure enough… The list goes on. And so, in order to disentangle us from the weeds of works-based salvation, the Vinedresser of our souls lovingly and wisely brings us into a season of spiritual dormancy.
God’s Word falls flat on our hearts, if we can even bring ourselves to read it at all. When we manage to utter a few feeble cries to the Lord, our prayers seem to ricochet off of an iron sky. We leave church feeling heavy and joyless rather than refreshed and unburdened. What were once life-giving activities become unappealing, and the world’s temptations take on new and frightening strength. The flesh rises up, and the flame of the Spirit flickers weakly against the darkness within. But here, beloved, is right where God wants you. The Bible tells us time and again it is those empty, broken vessels who have despaired wholly of themselves whom God delights to fill:
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18).”
“For thus says the One who is high and lifted up,
who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy:
‘I dwell in the high and holy place,
and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit,
to revive the spirit of the lowly,
and to revive the heart of the contrite (Isaiah 57:15).’”
“But this is the one to whom I will look:
he who is humble and contrite in spirit
and trembles at my word (Isaiah 66:2).”
To such poor, pitiful creatures God stoops down, gently lifts their weary heads and whispers, Do not fear, child. You are mine, and nothing—no sin, no storm, no suffering, no stumbling—is going to pluck you from My hand. It is in these moments of utter despair and brutal honesty, where we have been cut down and reduced to little more than a bare branch, that we are being primed for new and fresh growth. Listen to Martin Luther’s words about self-despair in The Bondage of the Will:
“God has assuredly promised his grace to the humble, that is, to those who lament and despair of themselves. But no man can be thoroughly humbled until he knows that his salvation is utterly beyond his own powers, devices, endeavors, will, and works, and depends entirely on the choice, will, and work of another, namely, of God alone.”
Dry seasons drive us downward into the dirt. They compel us to repent not only of our sin, but also of our sanctimony as we watch last season’s fruit wither against the harsh wind of selfish motives or rot from the inside with the worm of pride. Spiritual droughts force us deep into the roots of our faith--the Root—without which we have no hope of bearing fruit. They remind us of the one thing and the one Person which our foolish hearts are so apt to forget: Jesus and His gospel. Listen to Jesus’ words to the disciples on the eve of His betrayal, arrest, torture and crucifixion:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing (John 15:1–5).”
Oftentimes we read a passage like this and come away with interpretations like, You’d better bear fruit, or else… Are you really abiding in Jesus? Sure, you’re bearing fruit, but not as much as that person over there. Better try harder! But all of these miss the mark completely of what Jesus was trying to say. Remember, these are some of His last moments with the disciples. Jesus is preparing them for life after His death, resurrection and ascension, and the picture He paints is one of faith. Look, really look at what He’s saying:
I am the source of your life, and when you are in Me, My Father is taking care of you. My Father tends to your soul and helps you to bear fruit. Don’t worry, you are already clean because you have believed My gospel. All you have to do is rest in that good word, rest in Me and what I have done for you. Consider the grapevine; do the branches that fall off produce grapes on their own? No, they must be connected to the vine. You also must shun your self effort and rest in Me, rest in My work, My righteousness—this is the only way to bear fruit. Do this, and your life will overflow with good fruit nourished by the root of the gospel, for without Me you can’t do anything.
This, friends, is what the apostle Paul means when he says, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek. For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith for faith, as it is written, ‘The righteous shall live by faith.’” Both Jesus and Paul are reminding us why we are alive and how we live—it’s not through the fruit we bear, but through the root. In other words, we are alive and we go on living not by works but by faith. That is why Jesus tells us over and over to abide, to stay, to rest in Him, because His gospel is both our power and our righteousness. He tells us we can do nothing on our own because that is our exact inclination: to do it on our own.
It’s not easy to believe we are clean like Jesus says we are, especially when we find ourselves in a dry season, a season of waiting in which our spiritual growth slows to a crawl, our branches are bare and we feel like nothing more than a mass of dirty, ugly roots. But this is when we must believe the gospel the most, with audacious confidence, defying our subjective feelings and digging down deep into the blessed, life-giving foundation of our faith, for it is there that the real, vital work of the Christian life occurs. We must look to Jesus Christ all the more, trusting, believing, enamoring ourselves with Him and His gospel and reminding ourselves of His tender care and fierce love for sinners such as us, and as we bask in the Son, drinking freely of His love and grace through those sturdy gospel roots, we cannot help but grow.