Things, New and Old: A Reflection on Wineskins

I like old things. My library includes a few books from the 1700s and an oil lamp from the first century. My wife and I live in a 100-year-old house with a dining table that is 130 years old. Hundreds if not thousands of people have put their knees under that table to break bread and find life. I like old things!

Even so, old things can’t always do the job. Recently I said goodbye to my 20-year-old vehicle. It was worn out, with no air-conditioning (I live in Texas!), no heat (I live in West Texas!), and finally, a cracked engine block. Some things wear out, and other things simply do not fit the times and places we live. For example, a scrub board for washing clothes might still be in pristine condition, but relatively few folks in the United States today would think washing clothes by hand is the way to go! Sometimes a new thing is really better than an old thing.

God’s people need to ask about things – including the things of congregational life and practices. Some things just get better with age; others don’t. And communities of faith that forget why they exist may be sitting in 20-year-old vehicles and not going anywhere. Just because it feels comfortable and good (like my 30-year-old easy chair) doesn’t necessarily mean it is useful. So how do we know when something old needs to go and when something old ought to stay?

The answer comes from anticipating the ever newness of the good news of God’s arrival in the world. It’s new wine! And new wine will always expand and evolve. New wine needs a new thing – a new wineskin – to hold it (Mark 2:21-22). If our old ways of being the church don’t allow for expansion and evolution as gospel is experienced, then it is time for a new thing.

New things – new ways of being the church – will require hope and some risk. Although I like my old oil lamp, it doesn’t give any light. And although I like my dining table, I could find other tables and other places where people can break bread and find life. Because, at the end of the day, it is light, not the lamp, that matters. And what I long for is communion, not an oak table.

It may be that we have let our love of old things get in the way of our love for the creative power of God breaking into our world. God’s mercies and God’s word are new every morning. Are we letting old things hold back God’s newness?

I can imagine someone answering, “Yes, but...” Yes, but isn’t God’s word also ancient, and what churches do is anchored in something tried and true and old? My response is, “Yes, absolutely!” And here is the distinction: part of God’s newness exists because God is timeless.

The dilemma comes all too often when we conflate the timeless reality of God’s presence with our historically limited practices and rhythms. We begin to assume that systems of governance, times to meet, the way we worship, the purpose of our study, and so much more are the timeless, ever newness of God. But that would be like confusing the table with communion or a lamp with the glow of light.

So I invite us to rejoice in new wine, celebrating and welcoming the newness of God. And if we are to rejoice in God’s presence, then we will also be a people who constantly attend to the need for new wineskins – new things and new ways of conveying God’s newness!