something old, something new

By calling this covenant “new,” he has made the first one obsolete; and what is obsolete and aging will soon disappear.

– Hebrews 8:13, NIV

 

In an unguarded moment, a question crept unsolicited into my thoughts: What covenant am I living under? Which convention informs my day-to-day life and approach to ministry? Wisdom dictates that we give careful consideration to these questions, as our responses chart our course – either toward success or failure.

 

On the most basic level, Scripture is comprised of two units: the Old and New Testaments. These are structured as covenants, what we might call binding contracts. While they are two halves of a single book and counterparts of one canon, the old and new covenants are fundamentally very different.

 

Under the old, God remains distant and untouchable, as when he delivered the Ten Commandments: “I will come down upon Mount Sinai as all the people watch. Set boundary lines that the people may not pass. Warn them, ‘Be careful! Do not go up on the mountain or even touch its boundaries. Those who do will certainly die’” (Exodus 19:11-12, NLT). Under the new, he is Emmanuel, God with us: “We saw him with our own eyes and touched him with our own hands” (1 John 1:1, NLT).

 

The old takes the form of codified law, a mechanized system of dos and don’ts. Operating on the twin engines of obligation and fear, it creates adherents at best and, at worst, slaves compelled by the looming threat of “or else:” “Cursed is everyone who does not observe and obey all these commands that are written in God’s Book of the Law” (Galatians 3:12, NLT). By contrast, the new inhabits the spacious greens of faith where grace offers what we cannot earn and forgiveness compensates for our failures. It is cultivated from passion and gratitude which spring out of the fertile soils of liberty. Here, we are beckoned by Jesus’ calls of “come to me,” invited to become his disciples and friends.

 

The old is a mirror which reflects our inherent need: “Why was the law given? It was given to show people how guilty they are” (Galatians 3:19, NLT). With its focus on sin and human unworthiness – i.e. the problem – it adopts a preventative view to stabilize against moral erosion. Altogether different is the new, which is a doorway into God’s presence: “Let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God” (Hebrews 4:16, NLT). Its focus is redemption and restoration – i.e. the remedy – encouraging us to grow and mature, to become what God dreamed we would be, to move from glory to glory. The new, rather than fortifying the ground it holds, dares to go out and take the field.

 

The old is a humanistic model; the new embraces the mind of God.

 

Which defines us? Certainly we aspire to the latter, but does our default mode more closely resemble the former? Do we truly know the air of God’s presence? Is it duty or desire which drives us? Are we so consumed with preservation that expanding the Kingdom becomes secondary? I must ask myself these questions. Each of us must.

 

Transitioning between these models is no simple affair; it is involved and messy, requiring a complete overhaul. Paul made it abundantly clear that Christ is the sole foundation of orthodoxy: “No one can lay any other foundation than the one we already have – Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11, NLT). In other words, if our house is framed under the old covenant, a complete demolition is required, since the foundation of the old covenant is human effort. This is precisely why the Pharisees protested so vehemently to the teachings of Jesus; his message was so revolutionary that it left no room for partial measures or compromise or incremental change. Its call to displace an egocentric theology with a Christocentric one was urgent and unwavering.

 

Will we heed this call? God’s words echo down through the ages to us: “Today I have given you the choice between life and death, between blessings and curses” (Deuteronomy 30:19, NLT). Friends, let us choose life and blessings. Let us choose Jesus.