His winnowing-shovel is in His hand, and He will make a thorough clearance of His threshing-floor, gathering His wheat into the storehouse, but burning up the chaff in unquenchable fire.«
If any one does not continue in me, he is like the unfruitful branch which is at once thrown away and then withers up. Such branches they gather up and throw into the fire and they are burned.
But if it only yields a mass of thorns and briers, it is considered worthless, and is in danger of being cursed, and in the end will be destroyed by fire.
These men –sunken rocks!– are those who share the pleasure of your love-feasts, unrestrained by fear while caring only for themselves; clouds without water, driven away by the winds; trees that cast their fruit, barren, doubly dead, uprooted;