If anyone doesn’t remain in me, that person is like a branch that is thrown out and withered; and they gather them, throw them into the fire, and they are burned.
They are barely planted, and have been barely sown, and their stem has barely taken root in the earth, When ʜᴇ merely blows on them, and they wither, and the whirlwind takes them away like stubble.
They are jagged rocks in y’all’s love feasts, feasting with y’all without fear, shepherding only themselves. They are clouds without water, carried along by winds; autumn trees without fruit, twice dead and uprooted.