The crowd cheered before he said a word. The stage lights flared like artificial sun. A man in a tailored suit stepped into his spotlight as a comedian returning from controversy.
Jimmy Kimmel was back!
He had been off the air, off the stage, off the screen. There had been anger. There had been silence. There had been a moment. And now, he offered an apology.
“I never intended to make light of the murder of anyone,” he said.
It was measured. It was humble. It was welcome.
I’m thankful I live in a place where a man can speak freely. I don’t have to agree with him. I don’t have to like his jokes. But I’m grateful he can still stand on a stage and talk. That freedom matters. Because once we start silencing each other, it won’t be long before the Gospel gets silenced too.
And then he said something else.
“Erika follows the teachings of Jesus Christ—as I do.”
That line has haunted me.
Not because it was cruel or false or flippant. But because it was spoken with what felt like real respect. And that, more than anything, revealed the quiet danger behind it.
Because you can follow the teachings of Jesus. You can admire His words, frame His quotes, and model your ethics after His kindness. You can say all of that with sincerity.
And still not be connected to Him at all.
The Walk to the Garden
Jesus didn’t preach John 15 from a stage.
He whispered it under the moon.
He and His disciples had finished the meal. The bread was broken, the wine poured. Judas had left. Eleven men followed their Master through the narrow Jerusalem alleys, under stone arches and over worn steps, until the city thinned behind them and the Mount of Olives rose before them.
Fires lit the slopes. Campfires. Makeshift shelters. The kind used by pilgrims with no place to sleep.
Some of the fires crackled with burning vinewood, dry and brittle, cut from gardens for this very purpose. The branches were twisted and blackened, useless for anything but smoke.
Jesus stopped beneath a living vine, its limbs crawling along a stone wall, leaves trembling in the chill.
He looked at the plant. He looked at the fire. He looked at His friends.
And then He said it.
“I am the true vine. My Father is the vinedresser.”
A Dangerous Sentence
It was not religious language. It was a claim.
He didn’t say, “I teach about the vine.”
He said, “I am the vine.”
Not His morals and certainly not just a movement.
Him.
And He didn’t invite His disciples to mimic Him. He told them to abide.
The branch that abides in the vine lives. The one that doesn’t is gathered with the rest, thrown into the fire, and burned.
That is the line that separates salvation from sentiment.
And it runs straight through Jimmy’s sentence. “I follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.”
So did Judas. So did thousands who touched Him, heard Him, wept in His presence, and still walked away.
Admiration doesn’t attach you to Jesus.
Only death and life do.
The Lie of Goodness
It is a comfortable thing to think of Jesus as a teacher.
He is safe there. You can quote Him and remain unchanged.
You can mention the Sermon on the Mount and never kneel. You can defend His ethics while despising His cross. You can call Him beautiful and never call Him Lord.
And you will not feel the knife.
Because the knife is only for the branches that are in Him.
Jesus said that every branch bearing fruit would be pruned, so that it would bear more. Mold, blight, excess leaves cut away. The knife scrapes, cleanses, bleeds.
That is the life of a real Christian. That is what it means to abide.
You are cut so that you grow. You are wounded so that you live.
If there is no cut, there is no union.
If you have never felt the sharp edge of providence, or the sting of conviction, or the sorrow of repentance, it may be that you are still dry, still resting among the leaves, still faking the look of life.
There is no such thing as a fruitless Christian.
There are only living branches and kindling.
The Words That Cannot Save
Jimmy’s apology was good. It was right. I welcomed it.
But the world doesn’t need more good apologies.
The world needs the vine.
When he said he follows the teachings of Christ, he might have meant it with all his heart. And that’s what terrifies me.
Because millions of people believe the same thing.
They think of Jesus as a figurehead. A moral compass. A man who said good things about loving enemies and giving to the poor.
But Jesus does not let you follow Him from a distance.
He demands attachment. He demands your death and your life.
He demands that you abide.
Not admire. Not appreciate. Not agree.
Abide.
Cleaving or Withering
Jesus said, “Apart from Me, you can do nothing.”
That sentence should crush every notion of casual Christianity.
You cannot do anything eternal, anything holy, anything fruitful without Him pulsing through you.
His Spirit. His Word. His blood. His power.
That is what flows through the branches that live.
And if you are not cleaving to Him, clinging with both hands, hungering for His voice, obeying with your days, you are already withering.
You may look green now. You may be tangled with the fruitful. But the fire sees everything.
There are only two ends.
The fruitful are pruned.
The fruitless are burned.
The Apologetics of a Holy Life
We are desperate, in this age of arguments, for something real.
We write books to explain our faith. We debate online. We defend the resurrection and the manuscripts and the morality.
And it matters. It all matters.
But the strongest apologetic is still the holy life.
Jesus said, “By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples.”
The fruit of the branch is the proof of the vine.
You can say anything with your mouth. You can be followed by millions. You can write essays and host programs and say you love His teachings.
But if your life is not marked by holiness, then Christ is not in you.
And if Christ is not in you, no words can save you.
Not even His.
Love in the Hinge of the Wheel
Jesus didn’t stop with the vine. He didn’t finish the lesson when He talked about union.
He turned to the disciples, looked them in the eye, and told them to love each other.
The love of the Father to the Son.
The love of the Son to the disciple.
And the love of disciple to disciple.
It is all the same thread.
You cannot cleave to Christ and hate His body.
You cannot abide in Jesus and be absent from His church.
Jesus called them friends. He opened His heart to them. He washed their feet and gave them His peace. And then He told them to do the same for one another.
There is no Christianity that walks alone.
There is no branch in the vine that keeps its fruit to itself.
The World Will Not Clap
Jesus ends the discourse with a warning.
“If the world hates you, know that it hated Me before it hated you.”
You can live in kindness. You can speak with gentleness. You can give generously and walk humbly.
But if you belong to Christ, the world will recoil.
Not because you are cruel. But because you are not theirs.
If you were of the world, they would love you.
But you are not.
The closer you move to Christ, the farther you will be from their approval.
The North Pole and the South are never in the same place. You cannot drift toward one without retreating from the other.
Expect rejection. Expect mockery. Expect that your Christlike life will be more offensive than your Christless theology.
And do not be afraid.
Because you are not alone.
The Witness That Will Never Die
Jesus said the Holy Spirit would come. That He would testify. That He would cause the apostles to speak, and the gospel to spread, and the church to be built.
That same Spirit still moves.
Somewhere today, a man who despised the gospel will surrender.
Somewhere tonight, a woman will be cut by the knife of truth and begin to bear fruit.
This is what the Holy Spirit does.
And He is not done.
He is grafting branches even now.
One Last Fire
I don’t know Jimmy’s heart. I don’t claim to.
But I know mine. And I know this: I am not saved because I follow the teachings of Christ.
I am saved because I have been broken, buried, raised, and bound to Christ Himself.
And so are you.
There is no hope in morals. There is no life in admiration. There is no future in sentiment.
You must abide.
And if you do not, then you are only waiting for the fire.
The same fire that lit the slopes of the Mount of Olives.
The same fire the Lord stared at when He said those words.
“I am the vine. You are the branches.”
And somewhere in the night, a hand reaches for dry wood.
Choose carefully.
The sparks are already falling.