May I ask you something? What are you connected to right now? What gives your life meaning, direction, and strength when the days are long or the future feels uncertain? That’s not just a rhetorical question—it’s the very question Jesus answers in our passage today.
Good morning. I greet you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I want to say what a privilege it is to stand before you today. I am humbled by the trust that has been extended to me, and I am eager to walk this path of faith alongside you. As we begin this new chapter together, I find it fitting that we don’t begin with strategies or schedules, but with Scripture. Not with what we want to do, but with who Christ is.
In John 15, Jesus speaks to His disciples on the night before His crucifixion. They are gathered in the upper room, having just shared the Passover meal. Judas has left to betray Him. The air is thick with tension and sorrow, and the shadow of the cross looms near. Jesus knows exactly what is coming—Gethsemane, arrest, trial, denial, the cross. And He knows what this will mean for His disciples: fear, scattering, confusion. They will feel unmoored and unsure.
And so, in this final intimate conversation, Jesus doesn’t offer a list of action items. He doesn’t map out a strategic plan. Instead, He offers them a picture. Something they could carry in their minds and hearts. Something rooted in the land and language they knew well: "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener."
In ancient Israel, vineyards were everywhere. They were symbols of blessing, fruitfulness, and faithfulness. The vine was often used in Scripture as a metaphor for God’s people. But Jesus reclaims the image. He doesn’t say, "You are the vine." He says, "I am the true vine." He is establishing Himself as the source of life, the center of God’s redemptive plan. And He invites them, and us, not to manage our circumstances, but to remain in Him.
That’s where we begin. Not with me, not with you, but with Him. Because unless we start there, we’ll end up nowhere.
Jesus makes a bold and defining statement: "I am the true vine." This is the last of His seven "I am" statements in the Gospel of John, and it carries the weight of all the others. "I am the bread of life. I am the light of the world. I am the resurrection and the life." And now, "I am the true vine."
Why a vine? Why not a tree or a river or a rock? Because the vine was a familiar symbol to His audience. In the Old Testament, Israel was often referred to as God’s vine. Psalm 80 speaks of God bringing a vine out of Egypt and planting it. Isaiah 5 talks about a vineyard that produced wild grapes. Again and again, the vine represented God’s people. But here, Jesus makes a radical shift. He says, "I am the true vine." Not the nation. Not the law. Not your heritage or your title. Me.
He is saying, "Everything you need, everything you've longed for, finds its fulfillment in Me."
It’s a reminder that life—real life, spiritual life—doesn’t come from belonging to a group or having a religious background. It comes from a Person. Jesus Christ. The true vine.
And so, we must ask: What are we connected to? What are we drawing life from? Success? Reputation? Even ministry itself? If our roots are in anything other than Christ, the fruit will fail.
This brings us to the natural next question: if Christ is the vine, what is our role? What do we do with this truth? Jesus answers it clearly—"Remain in me." Let’s look at what it means to abide.
Eight times in this passage, Jesus uses the word "abide" or "remain." "Remain in me, as I also remain in you." This is not a casual visit. It’s not about checking in with Jesus when it’s convenient. This is about dwelling. Living. Staying put.
In our culture, we move fast. We like speed, results, metrics. But Jesus invites us to slow down. To remain. To stay rooted. To build a life of constant communion with Him.
And this is not passive. It’s not sitting around waiting for something to happen. Abiding is active dependence. It’s ongoing trust. It’s waking up each day and saying, "Lord, apart from you, I can do nothing."
That’s not poetic exaggeration. That’s truth. Jesus says it plainly: "Apart from me, you can do nothing." Not a little. He didn’t say, "you won’t do it as well." He said, ”Nothing”. And until we believe that, we will keep trying to manufacture fruit on our own.
We can plant programs and water ministries and fertilize structures—but if the root isn’t in Christ, the fruit will not last.
Abiding looks like prayer. Scripture. Worship. Fellowship. Obedience. And yes, even pruning.
And that brings us to something we might prefer to avoid: pruning. Let’s explore why it’s necessary—and how it fits into God’s plan for growth.
Jesus says, "My Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful."
Now let’s be honest. Nobody likes pruning. It hurts. It feels like loss. We would rather add than subtract. But God, in His wisdom, knows what needs to go.
Sometimes that’s a habit. Sometimes it’s a relationship. Sometimes it’s a way of thinking. Sometimes it’s even a ministry we’ve clung to for too long.
But pruning is not punishment. It’s preparation. Let me say that again: Pruning is not punishment, it’s preparation. The gardener is never closer to the branch than when he has the shears in hand. And His purpose is always more fruit.
If you’ve been through a hard season—and I know many churches have—know this: pruning is not the end. It’s the beginning of growth.
Now, having understood pruning, we turn to the result Jesus promises when we remain connected and allow God to do His work in us: the bearing of fruit.
Jesus doesn’t just call us to abide. He promises a result: "If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit."
That’s a guarantee. He didn’t say "might." or "if you try really hard." But "you will."
And what is this fruit? Galatians tells us: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. That’s the character of Christ formed in us.
But fruit also includes influence. Witness. Acts of service. Compassion. Evangelism. Generosity. It’s what spills out of us when we are filled with Him.
And the world doesn’t need more noise. It needs fruit. It needs churches that are not obsessed with being relevant but committed to being faithful.
This is the kind of church I long for us to be. Not flashy, but fruitful. Not busy, but abiding. Not building our kingdom, but seeking His.
This vision of fruitfulness isn’t abstract. It’s personal. Let me tell you a story that illustrates the beauty of staying rooted.
Let me share something personal. Back where I’m from in Indiana, we had this old apple tree that stood near the edge of our property. It wasn’t much to look at. The bark was rough, gray, and cracked with age. The branches were uneven, some twisted in odd directions from years of wind and weather. There were seasons where you would’ve thought it had given up for good. No blossoms in the spring, no color in the leaves. But then autumn would come, and sure enough—apples. And not just any apples. These were the kind that snapped when you bit into them. Sweet, crisp, full of flavor. My Uncle Ralph used to say, “That tree’s nothing special above the ground—but you should see what’s going on underneath.” Its roots went deep. Past the dry soil. Past the clay. Deep enough to find what it needed, year after year. It didn’t bloom the earliest, and it never won a prize at the fair. But it was faithful. Steady. Fruitful. It didn’t try to impress. It just stayed rooted. And I think that’s what we’re called to be—not impressive, but abiding. Not showy, but steady. Let the roots go deep. The fruit will come.
And what fuels that rooted life? Love. Let’s turn now to the kind of love Jesus calls us to live out in obedience.
Jesus ties all of this together with love. "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love."
Love and obedience are not enemies. In the Scriptures, they are dance partners. Obedience is not how we earn His love. It’s how we abide in it.
And the command He gives is clear: "Love one another as I have loved you." This is not sentimental. This is sacrificial. This is cross-shaped.
You know, in a church family, love will be tested. We will disappoint each other. Misunderstand each other. But if we are abiding in Christ, we will forgive quickly, speak truth in love, and bear each other's burdens.
A church that abides is a church that loves.
And why do we love? Because we’ve been chosen. Jesus reminds us of our calling and purpose in one of the most powerful statements in the passage.
One of the most humbling verses in this passage is verse 16: "You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last."
We are not here today by accident. God has called us. You. Me. This church. For such a time as this.
You are chosen. Not because you’re impressive. Not because you’ve got it all together. But because God delights in using ordinary people for eternal purposes.
That includes those of you who feel unseen. Who feel like you have nothing to offer. Listen: The same Christ who called fishermen and tax collectors has called you.
And if we abide in Him, He will bear fruit through us. Fruit that lasts.
So, where do we go from here? As we close, let’s reflect on how we begin this journey together, rooted in Christ.
So here we are. A new beginning. A new season. A new chapter in the story God is writing.
Let’s begin not with busyness, but with abiding. Not with fear, but with faith. Not with human plans, but with divine dependence.
Let us be a church rooted in Christ. Deep in prayer. Hungry for His Word. Eager to love. Ready to serve. And humble enough to say, "Lord, apart from You, we can do nothing."
But with Him?
We will bear much fruit.
Amen.
