Old Blue Jeans and New Wine

My favorite pair of work jeans has a hole in the pocket. Being a man, and a frugal man at that, I don't want to throw them away. The comfort of a well-broken-in pair of blue jeans is a treasure, not lightly to be given up. I've sewed the pocket, but the cloth is thin and thread doesn't hold well. I've even stapled the frayed cloth back together to allow me to wear them a little bit longer. But nothing holds long. I don't mind losing a bit of pocket change from the hole, but when I find my keys in the parking lot, even I know it's time.

My inability to patch the pocket got me thinking. I've been puzzled about the parable admonishing us to not use new cloth to patch an old garment for a long time, especially in its context. Levi the tax collector had just left everything to follow Jesus. He then had a party, with Jesus as the guest of honor, and invited all his friends. The Jewish religious leaders were appalled with the mixture of heretics, outcasts, and sinners—all beneath them! When asked about the odd gathering, Jesus responded that the sick needed a doctor, not the well. The leaders went on to ask Jesus why His followers didn't give themselves to fasting when John the Baptist's did. Jesus responded again, saying that it's appropriate to celebrate while the bridegroom (Jesus) is still with them. And then Jesus told seemingly random parables about new cloth being incompatible with old, and new wine breaking old wineskins. He finished by saying old wine was more desirable to those who had tasted it than new. I understand Levi and his party. I understand why the religious leaders hated it. I understand sick people needing a physician. I understand enjoying Jesus' presence while you have opportunity. But how do the parables about the incompatibility of new and old fit into the story?

It had not made sense because I had seen the parables as the cataclysmic clashing of two faiths—one old and worn out and one new and full of life. Unfortunately, these assumptions fit neither the context nor the whole of scripture. God's commands and the history of His faithfulness did not wear out. Following Christ was not, and is not, a new faith. For those of us who believe in Him, it is the only possible way to fulfill an old faith.

So then, if old cloth and new cloth are not faith systems, what are they? What things become so worn out that they are un-fixable, un-redemable? If God and His word are un-changeable, what is changeable? The answer, of course, is our perspectives. In this story, the leaders' perspectives were wrong. God had given His Word through Moses and the prophets. But over time, their interpretations and traditions about those Words became more important than the Words themselves, and in some cases, directly contradicted those Words, and they clothed themselves with their traditions. These tradition-clothes became hard, brittle, and unrepairable. Their pockets also had holes in them. Repairs to those pockets were neither possible nor desired. But they were comfortable in their worn out clothes. The keys--unreserved love for God, justice for the oppressed, and mercy for the penitent—had long since slipped from their torn pockets. And new clothes are expensive and sometimes uncomfortable. The old was preferable. They chose comfort for themselves over usefulness to God.

And now back to my jeans, and my life. My jeans are comfortable, but worn out, dangerous and need to be discarded. Their liabilities are greater than their usefulness. Some of my perspectives and ways of walking out my faith are the same. Levi came to a similar decision point, and found a whole new way to implement his new faith. He gave a Jesus party for his friends. For me, that would have been incredibly uncomfortable. But it may be the best example of how a new believer, or any believer, can impact friends and co-workers. Incredibly useful! But I'd rather read about it than do it. Real change in how we live is not easy.

P,S. I still have my jeans. I will throw them out. Maybe I'll do it tomorrow.

"No one tears a patch from a new garment and sews it on an old one. If he does, he will have torn the new garment, and the patch from the new will not match the old. And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the new wine will burst the skins, the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, 'The old is better.' " (Luke 5)

“My Dad said you came from the wrong side of the tracks.” Years later, he answered the question I never asked, never considered asking. I had wondered why my best friend from First Grade kept running away from me at recess in Second Grade. He wouldn't play with me any more. I never knew why. I didn't know I was poor or that it made me different. All I wanted to do was play with the boy who used to be my friend.

A wound can be just a wound; smooth skin parted; a bleeding crease that becomes a scar. Or it can be a furrow in fertile soil for Kingdom seed. For me, it's been both.

I've heard it said that Jesus has a preference for the poor. My own opinion is that He loves all equally, but spends His time where He's most wanted. The poor and oppressed know they have need, and are more prone to welcome help. The comfortable often forget. Though I'm blessed in many ways, I can not forget being lonely and rejected. And that, too, has become a blessing. I need and welcome Him.

What, then, is God's blessing? Is it being comfortable in life, an absence of need? Or is God's blessing a profound awareness of need? If “blessing” removes a sense of absolute dependence on God, is it blessing at all?

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.'' He also said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” It seems that need is the cost of the ticket, the preliminary requirement for the flight to another Kingdom. It doesn't guarantee permission for the flight, but it's the first step of the journey. Changing the metaphor, it's the good soil. From here, the Gospel, the Good News of the Kingdom, can take root.

What if being rejected by my friend's father were a gift from God? Would I have hungered for real acceptance if I hadn't experienced being innately inadequate? What if my deepest pain were intended to be I my greatest gain? And if my preconception about God's blessing is not accurate, what else can be called into question?

And what if our weakness were His strength? What if the servant were counted greater than the gifted leader? What if our treatment of the “least of these,” the most unimportant, were the most important to Him? What if dying to self were the prerequisite for being alive to Him? And what if being alive to Him, and following Him with abandon opened the abundant life to us, the life overflowing with everything that most satisfies?

What if Jesus meant all the things He said Himself and through His servants? And what if we based our lives on His words instead of our desires; and built our churches on His principles instead of our doctrines? What if we quit “seasoning” the Gospel with our perspectives, thinking we make it more palatable and simply presented God's message as accurately as possible?

I believe we'd be the Church; the fullness of Him Who fills all in all. No longer would we be scorned for being self-seeking; we would be persecuted for being God-seeking. And the Word of God would be living and active in our midst; no longer anemic, seemingly without power because it was dependent on our power of presentation instead of His power. I believe.