So last semester I bought a nicely flowering plant during the autumn season. I thought the cute little orange flowers would bring some life into our otherwise musty dorm room. After a few days of accentuating the room, the flowers started to wither. What was I doing wrong? Were the living conditions of our room in that much of squalor? I tried watering the plant; I placed the plant by the window (but not too close for fear of freezing its fragile green leaves); I even used my desk lamp to provide extra tender loving care for my beloved plant. No, I did not name the thing if that was what you were thinking. Anyways, the flowers eventually withered and fell off. My efforts to nurture the plant were for none and what was left was a shrubby tuft of leaves. I failed; I acknowledged defeat and stopped watering the plant.
Nonetheless, after a month or so of neglect, my roommate notices the shriveled, yellowing plant on the television. Some leaves were dried out; others were on the verge of falling off. “Sam, you got to water that thing. It’s still alive.” Then it struck me. Even though the flowers had come off, the plant was still a living organism which required tender loving care. Maybe the flowers were supposed to fall off. After all, plants in the wild have seasons of flowering and seasons of hibernation. Then it hit me again. How often do we only care about something if it serves our means and purposes, but once they are no longer useful to us, we consider them garbage? I only cared about the plant with its beautiful flowers. I was willing to love and care for the plant in order to exploit the beauty of the wonderful orange blossoms. However, once they were gone, I left the plant withering on the television.
Not only do I view and treat others this way, I realized that so many times we treat ourselves in a very similar way. We tell ourselves, “I’m not growing or God is not working because I cannot see the flowers.” Well, wake up and smell the roses,
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John 15:2 (ESV)
Every branch of mine that does not bear fruit he takes away*, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.
*The Greek says "αἴρω" which means:
1. to raise up, elevate, lift up.
2. to take upon one’s self and carry what has been raised up, to bear.
3. to bear away what has been raised, carry off.
I heard from Hans that αἴρω would make better sense to mean "to raise up" because in the context of gardening, sometimes a gardener would elevate and support the unfruitful branches of a vine above the ground so as to promote fruit-bearing.
So in fact, "Every branch [that belongs to Christ] that does not bear fruit he raises up...that it may bear more fruit."
Anyway, I was really encouraged when I heard about this slight mistranslation since it cleared up some of the questions I had about whether we can be cut off from Christ, etc. Otherwise, if the Father "cuts off" every branch that does not bear fruit, as the NIV translates it, you would be better to just chop the dying plant down rather than to keep nourishing it. =P
Cool story Sam!
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