You’re not new because of what you do. You’re new and so you do new things, even in spite of yourself, because of your sinful nature.
“You were taught to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness. Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another. Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil. Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need” (Eph. 4:22-28).
You were, and you are. That’s the Christian life. You were, and you are, and you “were” and “are” all the way to the grave.
You were, and you are, and you constantly need to be reminded, because you have been baptized, and your old Adam has been drowned, but like a younger sibling dunked in a pool, he still fights furiously to breathe. Only terrible older siblings or traumatized younger siblings will get that reference, I suppose, but as an older sibling I find it helpful.
You were, and you are, and it’s helpful to step back with passages like these and remember what comes before and after. The fact that the passage begins in the middle of a sentence more than hints that such an approach is wise.
St. Paul likes to follow a familiar order in his letters. He greets, he gets to Christ and our justification, and then he turns to the Christian life. We do well to remember the order, as he most certainly intended us to do so. We are loved. We are set free. And then we love, in freedom.
In this chapter of Ephesians, Paul turns to our life together, with neighbor, and specifically with brothers and sisters in Christ. We are one body, he tells us—Christ’s body. We belong to Christ, and in Christ we belong to one another. As such, Paul, a prisoner for the gospel, not for moralizing platitudes, calls us as those gospeled to walk “with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:2-3).
Paul isn’t naïve. He knows this isn’t an easy task. We must act against our desires. We must be trained by our brothers and sisters, by our neighbors.
- We learn humility when life together puts us in our place.
- We learn gentleness when we realize we’ve wounded those we love.
- We learn patience when they annoy or test us.
- We learn to bear each other’s burdens in love when others do the same for us, or trust us with their struggles and sufferings, confiding in us as to Christ.
- We learn to maintain the unity and the bond of peace when division is sown and discord threatens our fellowship, when we forgive as we have been forgiven.
These virtues aren’t abstractions. We don’t learn them intellectually. We don’t practice them like the piano or layups. They’re done to us. We’re taught them by life together. The Scriptures are done to us in our neighbor and done to our neighbor in us. Theology happens. We are tested. We learn to pray.
These virtues aren’t abstractions. We don’t learn them intellectually. We don’t practice them like the piano or layups. They’re done to us.
You are not what you were. You are. You are in Christ, new every day in your baptism, which is never behind you, but always in the historic present.
You are not what you were. You are. You are “created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Eph. 4:23). This isn’t a potentiality. This is a reality, even if it’s also an article of faith, as your life is hidden for now in Christ.
That’s the importance of the “therefore” of our text. You’re not new because of what you do. You’re new and so you do new things, even in spite of yourself, because of your sinful nature.
The struggle isn’t forever, though. Your old self is dying. Your old self has an expiration date, while you don’t. Your old self forevermore was. You are. You are in Christ. And so what comes after the therefore isn’t a verdict. The verdict was delivered long before with an empty tomb.
You were, but now you are. You don’t put on your new self when you withdraw and hide, frightened of sin, paralyzed by the prospect of failure. When you put on your new self you put on your neighbor in love, with the confidence of faith, with clothes that don’t stain and a future that’s never at risk, no matter how vulnerable love freely given may make you feel.
The old indeed can get lost. That’s it’s job. It’s the “were.” But you now are, and you are in Christ. You are new, not a work in progress. You are by the gifts of God, and you are by those gifts, a gift of God to others. Amen.
