Reimagining John Chapter 15: A Third Revelation From Symbol to Source

 

This passage in John has opened itself to me in stages. My first understanding was shaped by evangelical orthodoxy, where Jesus as the vine meant we, as branches, must “bear fruit” through obedience, morality, and conversion. It was always framed in terms of performance and worthiness. The Father, as the vinegrower, became someone who either rewarded or cut off, and abiding meant aligning behavior with doctrine. That interpretation held me for years, but in time, it began to feel narrow, transactional, and fear-driven, as if divine love were conditional and fruitfulness a quota to be met.

Later came a second revelation, rooted in seeing Jesus’ words in their historical and Jewish context. I began to understand that he was speaking directly into Israel’s self-understanding, especially as shaped by Isaiah chapter five — the “song of the vineyard.” Israel believed itself to be God’s vine, yet Isaiah’s prophecy accused them of failing to produce the good fruit of justice and mercy. Against this backdrop, Jesus’ declaration, “I am the true vine,” reframed covenant identity entirely. He embodied what Israel was meant to be: the faithful vine, the fruitful Israel. Branches grafted into him transcended ethnicity, lineage, and national boastfulness. I saw then that his words cut deep into the collective pride of his people, centering himself as the way in which God’s purpose for Israel was fulfilled.

But now, this third revelation has come, and it shifts everything again. It’s no longer about institutional religion, nor about national identity, nor even about measuring fruitfulness in moral or behavioral terms. What I see now is that Jesus is pointing to something far more profound — the mystery of consciousness itself. When he says, “I am the true vine,” I hear him speaking as the Christ, the eternal Logos, the living current of divine life flowing through all creation. The vine is the Source, the ground of Being, and we are its branches, expressions of an unbroken unity with the Father. To “abide in me” is not to join a religion or recite a creed. It is to awaken to what has always been true: our life, our essence, our being flows from the same eternal root.

In this light, the Father as vinegrower is not a judge cutting off the unworthy but the ineffable All — shaping, refining, pruning away illusions that keep us from knowing who we really are. The branch that “withers” is not a condemned soul; it’s the false identity, the ego-self that believes itself separate from God and others. And I should make this clear: when I speak of the ego, I don’t mean the eternal soul, the “I-Am-I” that William Walker Atkinson described. The ego is the constructed self, the bundle of identifications, fears, and stories we mistake for who we are. The true Self — the I-Am-I — is eternal, an unbroken child of the Father, forever flowing in and from the Source.

This changes everything about the “fruit” Jesus speaks of. Bearing fruit is no longer about laboring under religious duty. It is the natural outflow of awakening to our oneness with the Vine. When we live from this awareness, love flows because love is what we are. Joy arises because joy is our nature. “Ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you” is no longer about manipulating divine power; it is about alignment. When the branch is fully abiding in the vine, the will of the branch and the will of the Source are one, and creation responds because we desire in harmony with divine purpose.

Even his commandment to “love one another” opens up in a new way. It is not an external demand but an inner unveiling. To awaken to the Christ within is to awaken to the Christ in others. To love another as he has loved us is to see through the illusion of separateness and recognize the same divine life flowing through all. “Laying down one’s life” becomes less about physical death and more about transcending the ego’s grip — surrendering the false self so that the eternal Self can shine unobstructed.

And when he warns that the “world” will hate this, I no longer hear condemnation of humanity. The “world” is not people; it is the collective ego, the unconscious systems built on fear, power, and control — the egregores that resist awakening because awakening threatens their survival. To “not belong to the world” is to rise above the stories of separation and rest in the deeper reality of unity. That resistance isn’t evidence of divine rejection; it’s the growing pains of consciousness shedding its illusions.

Finally, the promise of the Advocate, the Spirit of truth, moves beyond sectarian boundaries. This Spirit is not confined to one tradition or one people. It is the universal outpouring of divine remembrance, the whisper within calling us back to what has always been true: we are not separate, not abandoned, not lost. The Spirit testifies within us, awakening our memory of the eternal Vine. Our testimony, too, becomes less about defending doctrines and more about embodying the reality we’ve awakened to. We bear witness by being transformed, by becoming conduits of the same love that flows from the Source through Christ into us and through us into the world.

So now, when I read these words, I don’t hear a warning, a command, or a boundary. I hear an invitation — to awaken, to abide, to remember. The Vine is the Christ-consciousness, the eternal Logos, and we are branches of that same life. The Father’s pruning is the gentle dissolving of illusions. The fruit is love, joy, peace, and all that flows naturally from union with the Source. The fire is not destruction but transformation. The “world” is not our enemy but the sleep from which we are waking. And the Spirit is the breath of remembrance moving through all creation, drawing us back into knowing what has always been: we are, and have always been, children of the Father, eternal, rooted in divine Love.

This, for me, is the heart of it now. It is not about striving, fearing, or performing. It is about resting in the truth of who we are and letting the fruit of love flow.