We have some trees in our front yard that Daniel pruned many months ago. After he took to them with the pruning shears, the trees were barely recognizable. Even our children were shocked at their nakedness. It was glaringly obvious that no sign of life was coming from those trees anytime soon.
“I think this will work,” he said.
For him, “working” meant that the trees would come back stronger—full of beauty and greenery. He’s a budding landscaper, so he knew that this could only happen through cutting out every sign of fruitfulness from the tree. I’ve been staring at those bare trees for a long time, and in God’s providence, those trees bore the signs of their pruning at the same time I was wondering if I would bear the signs of mine. Together we walked through the barrenness the shears had brought us, only I had the capacity to wonder for the both of us if we would ever be fruitful again.
I don’t know when I started seeing those white flowers bud, but suddenly those trees are no longer sad reminders of their former state. They have new flowers—new life. In their fruitfulness, I find hope that maybe I will bud alongside them, seeing my barrenness turn to life again.
I spent all of last year studying and teaching the Gospel of John, and I still can’t get John’s Gospel out of my head. (I may have even cried when our final bible study met, if that’s any sign of how much I loved studying the book). It dogs my days in a good way, reminding me who Jesus is and compelling me to continue to trust him today, tomorrow, and the next day. But as I watched those pruned trees all summer, John 15 echoed sweet comfort in my ear.
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. If anyone does not abide in me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. – John 15:1-8
There is a lot packed in these verses, but the takeaway from them is that pruning is a normal part of being in the vine—Jesus—and that by being in the vine you will bear fruit. This is a helpful truth for believers, especially those who are undergoing pruning in their lives. Pruning and bearing fruit are evidences of being God’s child. But just like the trees in my front yard show me, sometimes the evidence of being God’s child is pruning, and pruning looks like fruitlessness, not fruitfulness. So how do you distinguish between fruitlessness and just evidences of pruning?
Jesus knows we are going to wonder about that, so he gives us the answer in verse 5. We abide in him. We depend on him. We stay connected to him, the only one who can truly makes us bear fruit. The pruned branches are still connected to the life giving vine, even if they looked useless and pared down. The vine is still doing its work in their life. The same us true for us. Even when there are no buds on the trees of our spiritual life, the vine is nourishing us deep in our roots (Ps. 1).
The real test is that we not give up in the lean days, weeks, months, or even years. Like the tree in Psalm 1 that yields its fruit in season, so will we if we abide and trust that the true vine will not fail us. We will blossom and bear fruit if we trust the vinedresser and his good purposes for us, his needy branches.
This levels the playing field for us. We are either fruitful because we are not in a season of pruning, or we are pruned and waiting on the vine to do its work in our life. Either way, we are not the one who makes growth. Only the vine can do that. Either way, we are still being nourished by the vine—always.
So no matter where you are in the process, you can trust the vine—the true, good, wise, and all-sufficient Savior who will not have any fruitless branches. It will come. We just have to wait. I just have to wait. Maybe you have to wait too.
The trees outside my living room window are now green. The brown branches fade to the background as the fruit of the pruning begins to spring forth. Life comes from the once bare trees. And that gives me hope. The metaphor isn’t lost on me, a still bare, pruned branch. I am connected to the true vine, and he always completes the work he starts (Phil. 4:13).