Thoughts After Ten Years in the Public Square ~ Part 1

In the sixteenth verse of the fifteenth chapter of the book of John, Christ said to His disciples, You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain. What does it mean to go? What does it mean to bear fruit? And how does this fruit of going, remain? Should I start with why should I go? Perhaps go describes a process of continuation and progression, from infancy to maturity? If that is, then sanctification is the driving force behind it. If that also is, then the will of the Father is the hand behind it all. 

In the sixteenth verse of the fifteenth chapter of the book of John, the Master lays a foundational truth: 'You did not choose Me, but I chose you.' Here is the end of all boasting. Our place in the vineyard is not a matter of our own wisdom or selection, but of His sovereign appointment. He has chosen us, and He has appointed us that we should go.

Jonathan, a son of mine in the faith. Takes his first stand for Christ.

But what is this 'going'? Is it merely a change of geography, or is it a movement of the soul? We must ask: What does it mean to go? Perhaps this 'going' describes a process of continuation and progression—the steady, inevitable march of the spirit from the infancy of faith toward the full stature of maturity. If this is so, then sanctification is the singular driving force behind every step. We do not 'go' by our own strength; we are propelled by the inward work of grace that picks us up from where we are, but refuses to let us remain as we were.

Fruit is the natural and inevitable language of a good tree; it is the visible evidence of the beautiful work of the tree's Caretaker. We must remember that the fruit is not for the tree’s own consumption, nor for its own glory; it is that which pleases the Owner of the Vineyard. It is His sovereign will that every branch should be laden, and not merely with a single harvest, but with fruit that bears still more fruit. The life within the branch is a life intended for multiplication, a relentless progression of the Father’s planting.

Yet, this abundance requires the sharp edge of the pruning tool. Pruning is a work of precision and, often, a process of profound pain. But in the economy of the kingdom, whether the tree feels the sting of the shears is of no consequence; the necessity of the harvest outweighs the comfort of the wood. The Husbandman cuts away the dead, the wandering, and the redundant, not to diminish the tree, but to direct its strength.

There is a final, glorious distinction to be made: Natural fruit rots. It is subject to the decay of time and the corruption of the earth. But spiritual fruit remains forever, because the Husbandman who tends it remains forever. That which is birthed of the Spirit and matured through the pruning of the Father partakes of His own eternal glory. We are not growing a crop for a single season, but a harvest for eternity. The fruit of the chosen is not a work of the branch’s own making, nor is it a harvest that belongs to the earth. It is a testimony—a living, enduring witness to the unfathomable skill of the Hand that first called the elements into being. This is the same Hand that planted the seed in the quiet soil of the heart, and the same Hand that watered it with the dews of His grace.

Our growth is never a solitary endeavor. He who planted is He who tended to it through the long seasons of its stretching upward, watching over every leaf and every fragile bud. And when the strength of the tree began to wander into vanity, it was His Hand that held the shears, cutting away with a holy and painful precision that which would hinder the harvest.

Finally, we find the end of the 'going': it is the harvest for Himself. We are not sent into the world to build a monument to our own name, but to bear a fruit that the Father may reach out and take for His own pleasure. The 'remaining' of the fruit is secured by the 'permanence' of the Harvester. Every drop of sweetness, every weight of the branch, and every sting of the blade is directed toward that final moment when the Husbandman gathers the fruit of His own labor and finds it to be 'very good.'

Understand this now: Dead men do not reproduce. It is a biological and spiritual impossibility for the grave to give birth. Only life begets life. Therefore, it is equally impossible for the person in whom the Triune God has made His dwelling place to remain barren. Where the living God resides, there must be a stirring; where the Author of life breathes, there must be fruit. What Christ authors, He is faithful to finish; what He plants with His own hand, He prunes with His own holy precision to make it yet more fruitful.

We see then the true nature of the 'going' and the 'remaining.' It is one changed life, bearing more changed lives, a sacred lineage of future generations who know and fear God. This is the 'remaining fruit'—not a monument of stone, but a succession of souls. This was the will of the Father in the beginning, and we find here the only reason that the clock of the universe continues to strike. Time continues only for this: that the name of God might be made known throughout the vastness of creation through the lives He has made alive for His own glory.

We are not merely preaching a message; we are the instruments of a life divine that reproduces itself until the earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. The Husbandman is not finished, and so the world remains, and we preach Christ still.