The New Man
As some of my readers are aware, I was recently ordained in the Anglican Church. A humbling calling, I have pledged the rest of my life to labor in the vineyard of my Lord, so that he can make new wine from the fruits I gather for him.
In a very real way, I too have been made new. Now, this was already true, and it becomes no less true as time goes on. If that were not the case, then this never would have happened. Though for me the transformation has been more akin to the classic (reformation era) understanding of regeneration, than the modern day conception that most are familiar with.
The modern concept of regeneration (a promised transformation in Christian baptism, for those unfamiliar with the term) apparently didn’t start until the middle to end of the 1800s. It may be best visually represented by those evangelical baptism videos often contrasting “before Jesus” and “after Jesus”. Usually these show a person deep in sin and degradation: drugs, sorrow or madness, and clearly participating in sexual incontinence (if you will). Then is shown their baptism. Next, that same person is shown with peace on their face and often a glowing joy. Much of the time this latter video shows them helping others or being a present mother or father. He or she seems to be made new from that very moment of baptism.
This depiction is of a concept that may historically have been made popular first by evangelical methodism. It is of a “Road to Damascus” moment. Framed on the Christian Apostle Paul’s conversion. Paul was not at first a believer. He wasn’t even originally called Paul, but Saul. Saul had held the coats of the men who stoned to death the first Christian martyr, the deacon Stephen.
Saul was emboldened against the Christians, being part of the persecutions, jailings, and executions, that lead many believers to leave Jerusalem (actually spreading the church for the first time). However, Saul would not let this “scourge” spread, so he went to the high priest in Jerusalem to get letters authorizing him to arrest these Christians in Damascus. He was given these letters and sent on his way.
But on the road to Damascus Saul saw a great light, and a voice spoke saying “Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” he replies, “Who art thou, Lord?” And the Lord said, “I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.” Then the light was gone, and Saul was struck blind. He was led by hand to Damascus. While there a Christian named Ananias came and laid hands on him, giving him his sight. Saul was baptized and immediately began to preach the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Giving up all his power, status, and earthly riches to devote his life to the truth of Jesus Christ.
Like I said this “Road to Damascus” moment is the modern understanding of baptismal regeneration, but as I mentioned in my book “A Crisis of Meaning: An apology for traditional religion”, I never had a “Road to Damascus” moment. I’ve since learned that my own experience is much more in line with an older understanding of regeneration.
In the classic understanding our regeneration is something that will occur as we turn towards Christ, denying ourselves and the world. In time, as we do this (i.e., walk in His ways), we are transformed little by little into “the new man”. It is not a moment, but a continuous rebirth into this new person. In some ways it is a role, which when we carry out well, we find we’ve become a truer version of ourselves by doing. By giving up ourselves we become new, but not someone else. Instead, a clearer vision of the person we’ve really been all along.
Analogously, it seems the more I turn to embrace my new role as a Deacon, the more I’ve become the role I play. Not because I’m playing, but because in doing, I am becoming it. Which is exactly the reason moral formation of this type was considered so important in the Western World until historically 5 minutes ago. Because when we learn to walk virtuously, we become virtuous.
See, when I was a diehard atheist I always found Aristotle’s virtue ethics an unsatisfactory explanation for morality. To be an atheist, in a factual sense, is to believe there is no such thing as objective morality (as heredity, culture, and harm principles are simply impulses that can be ignored, or preferences with which one need not agree- equivalent to asking which is the best pie) But that put me in a tough spot, for I believed in morality was a truth that was knowable. (It was people who I was skeptical of.)
Yet, in Christianity I believe that the ideal, the sources of all goodness and virtue took on flesh in the incarnation and became man. Like other Greek philosophical ideas, virtue ethics takes on a whole new meaning when the virtuous man actually walked the earth and died for our sins. (For any readers who are still unbelievers, treat this as a viable hypothesis, input the formula, see what the result would be. In this way you will at least get a sense of what I’m saying.)
In virtue ethics you should do what the virtuous man would do. The beauty of this, if we have a virtuous example (i.e., Jesus Christ), is its practical implications. WWJD. bracelets (What would Jesus Do?) were popular when I was a child, and honestly they seemed corny to me at the time, but they are an example of applied virtue ethics. I always saw them geared toward serious moral questions, which they can help with, of course. But what if instead we used this standard to guide how we should lead our lives? What would a virtuous son do (WWJD)? What would a virtuous father do (WWJD)? What would a virtuous employee do (WWJD)? What would a virtuous Christian do (WWJD)? What would a virtuous neighbor do (WWJD)? What would a virtuous friend do (WWJD)? I hope I’ve made my point.
Notice, the examples I gave are roles we play, but when we play them well, they become who we are. If we play them with the ideal as our guide (i.e., Jesus), doesn’t our next action become clearer? Instead, I feel like people want to take on a new role (or join new group) not be become it, but because they think it will fix who they are. They appear to believe it will do all the work for them, and that essentially overnight everything will be better, without them ever having to change.
I think the reason they seek this may be that they feel their brokenness is who they truly are. Yes, our struggles and tragedies have defined us, but it is we who have faced them. The notions of sin, forgiveness, regeneration, and redemption (with the literal claim of resurrection included) promise a life where our faults pass away, but we are still here. If that is the case (and it is), then we are only holding onto those things that separate use from God.
God is the measure of all things, good, true, and beautiful. Definitionally, it is Him or the bad, ugly, and false which we hold onto. But in my experience, becoming more does not happen in a moment, but little by little, over time. It takes effort and an uncomfortably-revealing-honesty with ourselves.
When I look around at the lost people and cultures in the Western world, I feel like that classic understanding of regeneration, where we change slowly, may be the answer for many. The Christian story tells us that, in this life, nothing can ever take away fully our sinful nature. All of human history can be our guide on this topic. Yet so many long for this impossibility and try to make it happen in the here and now. I think it is the insistence that some authority, system, or choice in this life will fix sin, that leaves, not only us, but the whole world, separated from what it can be.
I know this can be confusing, because you can still see yourself in a broken mirror, so saying it’s broken, doesn’t mean it does work anymore. But I think it is insisting that it is not broken that keeps so many stuck in the mire of their own sorrows, pain, and dissatisfaction. We can be new. We can be born again, and we can live again, just in a different way. Sure, the “brokenness” will remain, but only until the final day.
Still, doubters will say “Why should anyone even try?” The answer is easy, because it’s the only hope we have. Because it’s the only hope we have ever had, so choose hope.
The first step is to walk closer to holiness, to take a first step in virtue. To start striding in new ways and new roles. Ones inch at a time. You begin by doing more, so that you can begin to know more. In doing you are knowing and in knowing you are becoming and in becoming you will finally be “the new man”.
