John 15:4-5
4 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.
5 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.
Imagine a guy named Kevin is standing before a worktable on which is mounded a huge pile of clay. The worktable is in a large studio space filled with many other people also standing at worktables loaded with piles of clay. At one end of the studio space God stands, though no one can see His face through the blinding radiance blasting outward from Him. In a voice unlike any ever heard, God says, "Each of you, reveal my Son." And then, Jesus appears, standing next to God the Father, smiling beatifically at everyone. Immediately, everyone gets down to business, pushing, pounding, carving and smoothing their mounds of clay, each working as hard as they're able to make their best version of Jesus.4 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.
5 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.
It takes a very long time - decades, in fact - for the image of Jesus to take shape in the mounds of clay on the worktables. Some versions of Jesus don't reveal him much at all, really, looking far more like the ones who created them, instead. Other copies of Jesus bear his likeness better but still clearly distort his image, making him bigger or smaller, thinner or fatter, tougher or milder, more masculine or feminine, more coarse or genteel, than he actually is. There are, though, some very few copies of Jesus that look virtually identical to him. These few likenesses are amazing in their detail, and similarity to the Real Thing and those who've made such excellent copies of Jesus are much admired and applauded. For many years they've given their all to produce such wonderful copies, the toll evident in their bodies and faces, and their fellow Jesus-sculptors understand and appreciate their great sacrifices.
Eventually, the copy-making subsides, each one having done as much with their mound of clay to reveal Jesus as they're able. Among the versions of himself, Jesus begins to move, and as he stands next to each copy, considering them, their constructors realize in dismay how far from the Real Thing their version of him is. Even those whose copies of Jesus have been the object of much praise and admiration, when he is right beside them, realize how absent of his vitality, of him, are their motionless, soulless, dead images.
By the time Jesus has examined every copy, the whole room was murmuring in disappointment and frustration. Kevin had a very unhappy moment, himself, as Jesus stood looking up at Kevin's version of himself on the table - the best he was able to produce - and Kevin saw how badly he'd done in representing Jesus. Despite all his long and careful effort, in the end, Kevin's copy of Jesus was nothing like him. Humiliated and angry, Kevin wished he'd never made his dreadful caricature of Jesus. His beauty, his kindness and grace, his power, and wisdom, and love, evident in such staggering degree as Jesus's eyes had turned from Kevin's copy to regard him, had made Kevin weep with shame at the ugly thing he'd made of Jesus.
"You were never going to be able to reveal me this way," Jesus had said as he'd rested his hand on Kevin's shoulder. "I have been in this room with you the whole time you've been laboring, and struggling, and working, but you never once stopped your fussing with this clay to ask me how I might best be revealed. You didn't let me teach you how to understand and fulfill my Father's command."
Shocked, Kevin had replied, "This wasn't what you wanted? My best copy of you wasn't what the Father meant by "reveal my Son"?
"Not at all," Jesus had said, his sad expression filling Kevin with horror and regret. "Only I can reveal myself."
"What?" Kevin had responded dully, "What do you mean?"
Gesturing at the figure of clay on Kevin's table, Jesus had answered, "This clay represents you. It was intended to remind you of what you are. Now, it also demonstrates how impossible it is for you to reveal me, yourself, and what an ugly thing results when you try to do so. Only I can reveal myself."
Astonished, Kevin had said, "All my work is in vain, then?"
"Yes. As you can see."
"Is it too late for me to reveal you in the way I ought to have done?"
"You still don't understand, Kevin. You can't reveal me. Only I can reveal myself."
A pained expression twisting his face, Kevin had replied, "But what am I to do? If all my effort to make you evident just results in this -" he had nodded at his copy of Jesus then, cringing inwardly, wishing he'd never started on the dreadful thing.
"What do you do?" Jesus had said, pity in his eyes. "The only thing you can do: Submit. Give up yourself to my control. By yielding to me, agree to my transformation of you. I won't go to work on you otherwise; I won't ever force you to take my shape."
"Okay. But then what? I have to act, don't I, to do something; I'm not your puppet, am I?"
"No, you're not my puppet. But you are to be a willing vessel for my use, my bond-servant, my branch, my temple - a conduit through which I communicate myself."
"There doesn't seem to be much difference, to me," Kevin had observed a bit sourly. "A puppet or a conduit, I'm still a thing you control."
"A puppet is made only to be controlled; it has no other capacity, no will of its own. You, though, are capable of love, which means you are only my conduit if you choose to be."
Kevin had scrubbed his head with a clay-begrimed hand and said, "Okay, but what do I do? I submit to you and then what?"
"Is submitting to me not something you do?" Jesus had said, a small smile twitching the corners of his mouth.
He was silent for a moment as he pondered this, then Kevin had replied, "Well, yes, I guess it is. But is that all? Is submitting to you all that I do?"
"Can you reveal me, Kevin?"
Glancing uncomfortably at the dismal copy of Jesus he had worked so long and hard to form, Kevin had muttered, "No."
"What does a conduit do, Kevin?"
"Transmit, I guess. It holds and transmits a signal, or substance, of some kind - water, or oil, or electricity, or whatever."
"Does a conduit of, say, water make what it holds and transmits?"
"No."
"Does a conduit of water actively control what it holds and transmits, deciding for itself what will be done with the water it contains?"
"No."
"Does a water conduit exist to express itself; does it use the water within itself to show how great a conduit it is?"
Kevin had chuckled at this. "No."
Jesus had poked a finger into the clay image on Kevin's table, collapsing the figure into its original mound. "If this clay represents you, Kevin, what form should it take?"
Wordlessly, Kevin had begun to work the clay, in only a few moments forming a large water pitcher.
"Ah," Jesus had said, "Now you're beginning to understand."
James 4:6-7
6 ...“God opposes the proud,
but gives grace to the humble.”
7 Submit yourselves therefore to God...
Philippians 2:13
13 for it is God who works in you, both
to will and to work for his good pleasure.
