The "new life," this being “born again,”—the rising up from the depths of bleak and disgruntled, sometimes cruel, always fallen, soul—the onset of hope sparking in our life via the Spirit of the Man who instilled it—what is it, really?
Is it an escape into our own heads, jostling for a position of superiority and advantage in an—of course—obedient humility that beckons others to join, but secretly doubts they will, and even sometimes takes pleasure that they ignore, so that we can live in continued elevation over them?
At what point does the “new life” actuate and cease in it’s striving, praying for, and serving in a good-soldier act of forcing it to bloom?
Is it verified by the cessation of immorality and debauchery alone?
Is it stamped as "Official" by words upon words single-mindedly spoken to the “lost?”
Is it curated in the hours and years spent in cavernous rooms and rural, stained-glass atriums filled with singing, praying and preaching?
Is it watered and fed in the cloistered language of evangelical Christianity spoken almost conspiratorially with other like-minded groupies?
What does “born again” even mean?
If life as a pilgrim in this virgin land of Holy Spirit has taught me anything, it’s that living the new life in Christ:
Isn’t church attendance.
It isn’t being known as a prayer warrior (and how is it that so many people seem to know this about those so labeled?)
It isn’t about our vocabulary.
It isn’t about now being His child.
It isn’t about having inside knowledge.
It isn’t about our weekly schedule revolving around spiritual activities.
It isn’t about the nature of our work, charity, volunteering and sacrifice.
It isn’t about making our congregations proud.
It isn’t about growing those same congregations.
And it is never about dogma, doctrine and denomination.
So what is it, really, this being “born again”?
I would say it’s about the “for starters:”
For starters, it’s putting down the Iphone when our spouse or child enters the room, and keeping it down.
It's showing grace to outsiders the same as to those we consider insiders.
It's choosing to see the humanity, the God-givenness, in every person, not just those in our camp.
It's exploring our fear behind differing opinions, policies and worldview, and allowing that those fears may be rooted in nothing more than our own insecurity or neediness.
It's ending the taking of so much in the world at headline or face value.
It's when asking questions, other-centeredly sincere and not self-interestedly intrusive, replaces telling.
It's inquiring of ourselves why we are so vocal about many things but are not in a position, or have not sought a position, in which to make a positive difference.
It's stopping to consider whether we live in an "us versus them" mentality or one of "goodwill toward men."
It's our Holy Spirit-given right to say "No" to the church and any of its entities. The church or a church doesn't own us. Nor does the pastor. Only Christ can lay claim to each one of us. The Holy Spirit is a gifter of discernment in all things, including and perhaps especially, religion.
Born again is the all-encompassing of everything most of us leave out when we enter in to this new life with Christ.
It is being the family member and person we profess to be, but almost always fail to be because we put more effort and belief into the profession than into the being.
It begins with the smallest everyday aspects of life and remains there. It does not graduate from the little to the big, leaving first things behind.
The miniscule is that towards which the Spirit will steer, pulling out all the stops to get, and to keep, us there. Assurance will follow, in the form of a growing sense of no longer being out of sorts with God.
And once we set foot—in that sweet, delicate, luscious, unbridled glen of simple clarity—what I can describe only as the second childhood of Christ’s endowing—our hearts and minds, in maiden voyage agreement, will want, and choose, to stay and live.
Born again.
It’s a pilgrim’s landing on a shoreline initially laden with ballast which we are instructed—not by the Spirit but by man (our own self and other men and women)—to take up as a cross. But so often, as it was for me, it was an imposter cross, one that Christ never asked me to carry.
Born again is the Spirit unwaveringly whispering us to where Christ intended we be all along, unyoked from the density, heft and pressure of the outward cup.
Born again.
It’s noticing, naming and owning, finally, through the true Spirit’s eyes, the dirt—our dirt—on the inside of our very own cup, and starting there.
And as the Spirit cleanses, the wings of Christ gather us under Him, because we are now willing to make Him our home.
Copyright Barb Harwood
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