There is a moving box sitting on the floor of our dining room. This box has been taunting me since the day we moved. Emblazoned on the side of the box is a simple corporate slogan that constantly cuts me to the core:
Never stop improving.
This is where we find ourselves in 2018. Our culture is so beholden to the god of progress that we must improve every area of our lives, all the time. There is always a project around the house that needs to be done. There is always a personal habit that could be optimized or hacked.
Every headline and magazine cover reminds us that we are not quite enough but that we could be if we just worked harder or bought the new device or read the new book.
I have been waiting my whole life to be a different person, to be better. The disappointing truth is that I will always be the same person that I am right now. This is hard news to hear.
When I was in the discernment process to become an Episcopal priest, I assumed that the seminary would make me a different person. I thought that I would graduate seminary and magically be more holy. I imagined it like an automatic car wash: I would drive in a sin-sick and immature soul and drive out a clean and wise minister of the Gospel. It turns out that if you go to seminary as a schmuck, you will graduate as that same schmuck with a little more knowledge and many more books.
My focus then shifted to ordination. My seminary classmates and I spent a lot of time discussing what would happen at the moment that the bishop laid her hands on our heads making us deacons and priests.
Some classmates subscribed to belief in an ontological change: that the very nature of your being is changed at ordination and you are forever a deacon or priest.
I longed for this to be true. I wanted so badly for the man who stood up after being ordained to be a totally different Connor. I was tired of dealing with the same sins and habits over and over again. I was growing weary of dealing with the deeply ingrained patterns of behavior that led me away from the good I wanted to do and towards the evil I did not want to do.
Fast forward to my two ordinations. I stood up from my knees as the same guy. Sure, I was different and set apart for the new ministry that God called me into, but I still struggled in all the same old ways.
I was ordained and it still felt like a chore to pray. I was a priest in Christ’s Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church and I still had very ungracious thoughts about my siblings in Christ. All of the patterns of sin that followed me from my early life were still present.
My wife gave birth to our first child two weeks ago. I spent much of the pregnancy preparing for the moment when I would become a father. I read books and poems about fatherhood and built an image in my head of the moment when I would finally change. In the bright lights of the hospital delivery room, as I heard the cries of my daughter for the first time, I imagined that I would leave behind the besetting sins of my past and move into the new phase of my life.
As it turns out, I am the same schmuck that I have always been. Sure, my priorities have changed dramatically; I carry within me a love for my daughter that I did not think possible. At the same time, I am the same guy with the same sins and the same bad habits that I have always had.
The Law-bearing box tells me that I should ‘never stop improving.’ My ego tells me that one day I will magically be different.
All the while, Jesus tells me that I will never change, and that is okay because he has imputed a righteousness to me that I could never earn on my own. The deepest ontological change took place on a hill outside of Jerusalem two thousand years ago. In Christ, I am made a new creation, and whenever I fall into sin, I am welcomed home as I am—not as I should be.
As I sit here on the couch, watching my wife play with our daughter, I have given up the idea that I will ever be different. I accept that I am not the perfect priest. I accept that my little girl does not have a perfect father. I accept that the lie of perpetual progress will always leave me exhausted and resentful.
In Jesus, we have “a great high priest” who perfectly intercedes on our behalf. In God, we have the perfect Father. Through the Spirit, we are convicted and converted so that we can finally rest in that truth.
The accusatory box is now in storage. I have stopped improving. I will not change.
Thanks be to God.
????❤️????????
I chased that elusive “monster” called “growing in the Lord” in my brand of fundamentalism, while at the same time yielding to every passion and destructive activityl that came along. I reached the point of near psychosis. Then, miraculously, along came Mockingbird. I’m in tears reading your article. Thank you
So is this not the place to talk about sanctification?
Well said, Connor. Always in need of this reminder, and good to hear a critique of the ontological change position. Congratulations and prayers for you, Emma, and Harper Jane!
Thanks, Connor.
I love this, thanks Connor. Bless the Lord!
However, if the Scripture does indeed mark out growth and change (as I think it does), then perhaps you’ve got it all misframed. When you look at your life, and don’t see the promised changes, don’t deploy a feel good hermeneutic about never changing, confirming you in your ways and allowing yourself a false comfort. Instead, trust God’s word of promise. If he says you will grow/bear fruit unto eternal life, bearing the very likeness of Christ, then don’t depend on your own personal assessments. Hold fast to God’s word that you will, in fact, be better. If God could make rocks into sons of Abraham, He can (and will) remove all the thorns in your side.
Also, the fact you grieve over your sins enough to write a post about it, may be itself a fruit. Repentance is a virtue.
I like what you’re saying, Cal, but there was a fairly influential figure in the first century church who requested the removal of a thorn in his side and was vetoed. Does that not qualify the “can and will” prospect?
I was using the phrase a bit more broadly. But, to the point, we don’t know what that thorn was, whether a moral failing or something more neutral and tangible (e.g. Paul losing his eyesight, a physical deformity). It’s only if it is the former that the point be modified, and even if it is the former that is both a) a divinely given revelation; b) expressly for the purposes of his “growth” (i.e. so Paul may know God works in weakness and to keep him humble).
Again, repentance, humility, self-awareness of weakness and limitations, these are all fruits of life in the Spirit.
????????True that and double true. If nothing else, awareness of and grief over sin testify to the Spirit’s ministry; sometimes I just want that affirmation to temper what sometimes sounds like triumphalism from some peeps.
Insightful! But a bit pessimistic. Through the enabling power of the Atonement, personal growth over a lifetime is possible. In fact, we are commanded to become like God (Matt 5:48). Change and growth and improvement is inherent in the children of God, because our destiny is to become like God. We are driven to growth and improvement, because our parentage are Heavenly beings. Yes, it is absolutely true, there is only so much remodeling of the soul that we can accomplish on our own. Our Savior Jesus Christ will help us the rest of the way as we invite him into our lives and allow him to work in our lives.
Thank you. I attended a talk yesterday given by Wm. Paul Young (author of The Shack). I have known Paul for a few years and I think he is awesome, with one of the clearest and most inspiring “theologies” I’ve ever heard.
I happen to be a Roman catholic priest, ordained 34 years.
Paul talked a bit about ontological (vs. Existential) change and I am writing to him about the subject. I will attach your article.
Since ordination and even more along the way I have struggled with the whole notion. I have never believed or felt that I am “ontologically” changed or different. Hence, your article is such an affirmation (I’m not so sure I agree with the end, with Jesus being ontologically changed, but I’ll have to ponder that some more).
Thank you for such a refreshing, uplifting story.
I fear too many have clung tight to ineffable doctrines, giving us some sense of (cognitive) control because (spiritually) we’re struggling to embrace indescribable Mystery.
peace.
The only way the Lowe’s box can help is improve on the outside (get our stuff from one place to another) is to change on the inside (it was empty; now it contains stuff).
According to Frank Sheed, We are all unaware of our soul, of its movements, although our soul is very aware of our physical life. So when that ontological change happens – in Baptism, or Confirmation, or Holy Orders, in our goofy, human way, we just stumble along, unaware of the change. But if we are going to excuse ourselves from any responsibility for change, we are not going to work with our soul to become like Christ. I know I will never achieve the perfection I am always wishing for, but I will work with my soul for the good of the church and the world, and in the end, Jesus will change me, body and soul into his image. And he will love all my helpless little efforts, as much as you love watching your daughter try to be like her parents!