Hey, Church! 

A few months ago, we introduced a song called “New Wine.” It has a beautiful message, but one that may require a bit of forethought. Since we plan to sing it again this Sunday, I thought it might be helpful to revisit the following explanation.

[Jesus] told them a parable: “No one tears a piece from a new garment and puts it on an old garment. If he does, he will tear the new, and the piece from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the new wine will burst the skins and it will be spilled, and the skins will be destroyed. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine desires new, for he says, ‘The old is good.’” (Luke 5:36-39)

The context of Jesus’ parable makes it clear that He was contrasting the practices of those who seek righteousness by means of the “old” covenant with those who live in light of the “new.” Jesus kept the Law perfectly, credits believers with His righteousness, and promises to fill them with His Holy Spirit (symbolized by “new wine” here). And yet, despite this incredible gospel invitation, many will continue to say, “The old is good,” and fail to receive the greater gift of Christ’s imputed righteousness and indwelling Spirit. 

Jesus gives two analogies to describe why those who continue to rely on the works of the Law cannot be worthy vessels of the Holy Spirit. First, He says that pouring the Holy Spirit into such men would be like patching an old garment with a new cloth. The new patch will shrink after it is sown to the old fabric, tearing it apart. Second, He relates the old and new with the analogy of wineskins. It seems that the gases released by the fermentation of freshly pressed wine could expand to such a degree that an older (often goat-skin, in those days) bladder-container would burst open. Likewise, a new Spirit requires a new vessel.

The broader message is this: we cannot expect new demonstrations of God’s Spirit and power in us if we continue to cling to our old ways. 

In theological terms, our justification is immediate and final, when we are enabled by the Spirit to turn from our old self and cling in faith to Jesus alone for salvation. We are now a “new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17), but we are not yet perfected. The work of sanctification is the life-long process of putting our “old man” to death and choosing, instead, to walk by faith according to the Spirit at work within us (see The Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q35; 2 Thess. 2:13; Eph. 4:23-24; Rom. 6:4, 6; 8:1). If we refuse to “stretch” in sanctification, we become dry and rigid, unable to serve as vessels of the Holy Spirit. 

But stretching is uncomfortable. We desire more of the Holy Spirit until that pursuit demands we forsake the comforts and pleasures of the old self. This is the point at which many Christians cease development: when they accept the works of justification but reject the sometimes-painful process of sanctification. 

If we want to grow in His likeness, or be any use in the building of His Kingdom, then there must come a point at which we choose Him over our comfort. That’s why Jesus spoke so often about how difficult it is to love both Him and money (and the insulation from suffering that money affords). And before we are tempted to think of this requirement of faith as cruel, we must remember that no one ever emptied himself more completely than Jesus did. 

It is not an accident that Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine, or that His final days of suffering led Him to the Mount of Olives. Both the olive and the grape are vivid images of how God brings life through pressing, crushing, and death. Consider the scene of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane: 

And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. And when he came to the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)

Pastor Sam Kastensmidt has beautifully summarized the imagery at play in this passage: 

“It was no small detail that Jesus suffered this blood-inducing stress in an olive garden known for its oil press. Like the many olive trees that surrounded him, Jesus ‘grew up… like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground’ (Is. 53:2). Like the olive branches (a universal symbol of peace), our Prince of Peace would be savagely beaten with a wooden staff (Mt. 27:30). Beneath the millstone, the olives were crushed to secure a precious, red substance. Likewise, as Jesus agonized under the extreme pressures of his ultimate fate, he poured forth his own blood to cleanse us of sin and anoint us as subjects of his glorious kingdom. This blood would serve to heal us and to fuel the light of hope in our dark world.” 

He who calls you to forsake the desires of the flesh offers to replace those “old ways,” which lead to death, with everlasting life and true, unshakable joy. This weekend, meditate on Jesus’ parable of wineskins and ask His Spirit to reveal anything of your old self that needs to be put away for good.