AM I A NEW CREATURE?
“If any man be in Christ,” says the Apostle, “he is a new creature.” In the first part of this sentence it is more than intimated, that some men are not in Christ, are not true Christians. Such was the fact in the days of the Apostle; such it is now. There still are enemies to the cross of Christ. There still are open opposers, decent objectors, and multitudes thoroughly indifferent to Christ and heaven, the soul and eternity. We see them all around us. The world is full of them. In the straight and narrow path that leadeth heavenward, only infrequent prints of the feet of travellers are to be seen; while the broad road is thronged by an unnumbered multitude, regardless whence they came, and whither they are going.
The few who have chosen to desert their companions in folly and sin, and become Christian pilgrims, in search of a heavenly city, are called by the Apostle “new creatures.” This, and other language of similar import, the sacred writers frequently employ, to describe a regenerate state, a transformation from the complete dominion of sin to the dominion of holiness. Every truly converted soul is turned from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God. This is no eastern allegory, no oriental fiction, no dream of a disordered fancy, but the simple statement of a tremendously important fact—a fact, which, whether regarded or not, takes fast hold on the interests of the soul, and the destinies of eternity.
The new birth, the new creation in Christ Jesus, regeneration, &c. are words of strange and unimaginable import to many minds. And well they may be. These persons know little about them, and what little they suppose they know, is often any thing but truth. They may talk but they do not understand. They may fancy, but fancy and fact are seldom at one.
Notwithstanding the mystery which, in the view of many, hangs over this subject, to the honest and humble mind it may be simplified and rendered intelligible; and this is what I shall now attempt.
The new creation produces no change in any of our bodily or mental faculties. The subject of it sees with the same eyes, hears with the same ears, and labours with the same hands, which he had before. Neither is the sight of his literal eye, nor the hearing of his ear, nor the vigour of his hand strengthened. The same also may be said as to any change of his mental faculties. No person, by becoming spiritually a new creature, receives a new understanding, or a new imagination, or a new memory, conscience, or faculty of choice. His mental faculties may indeed be invigorated, through the influence of the Spirit, and by a proper use; still, they are not essentially changed.—In what, then, does the great change of which we are speaking consist? In what respects is the subject of it a new creature?
Man, in the full extent of his capacities and affections, possesses something more than mere organs by which to look abroad upon the earth, and hear the voice of his fellow man, and procure subsistence for his perishing body. He is something more than a mental being, who can recollect, and reason, and imagine. He can wish as well as see; desire as well as hear; love as well as recollect; hate as well as reason; choose and refuse as well as imagine. The existence of powers and faculties, corporeal and mental, is comparatively a small matter. How are they employed—is the great question. How does a man feel? What are his affections? What are his principles? What is his practice? These are questions which go deep into the soul, and discover what a man is, in the sight of Him who looketh on the heart, and cannot be deceived.
I say, then, with reference to the point before us, that the truly regenerate soul has a new object of supreme affection.
Formerly self was first and last with him. Morning, noon, and night,—in youth and manhood, and declining years,—at home, and abroad, in the church and in the field, seeking property or bestowing it on the destitute, in health and in sickness, in life and in death, the unregenerate heart pours forth its highest affections upon self. If it looks upward to God and abroad to his kingdom, these are regarded as secondary objects. He cannot think complacently of God, as ruling for himself, for the display of his perfections, for the manifestation of his character, and as making the impenitent sinner illustrate that character throughout the universe and through eternity. Such thoughts, if they force themselves into his mind, are unwelcome intruders, and are banished, as you would drive from your house a suspected guest, who you feared would rob you of your treasures, and deprive you of life. Just so it is with self. Whatever it suspects as inimical to its little, paltry ends, it eyes with suspicion and fixed hostility, and opposes with all the vigour that sin and Satan can impart. God, his character, his government, his perfections, his will,—these are objects that cross the path and thwart the purposes of self. Both cannot be first. ‘Ye will love the one and hate the other.’ This is the irreversible law of man’s moral nature.—The selfish person may for a time be ignorant of his selfishness, and may think himself actuated by noble, generous, disinterested views; but even when the wrappers are taken off, and his true character is revealed, still, he will continue to love himself. Still, he will dread and hate the holy character and government of Jehovah.
But he is a new creature. That Divine character, once so hateful, is now lovely; that government once so dreaded, is seen to be established in wisdom and goodness; while those perfections, once odious, break forth and beam out with a heavenly splendour, the source of joy and of unfailing confidence to all holy beings. ‘Be thou exalted, O God, above the heavens. Let thy glory be above all the earth.’—Truly this is a great and wonderful change. ‘Old things have passed away; all things have become new.’ The principle, which ran through and actuated the whole man—the entire mass of his moral nature, has been changed, renewed, supplanted. A new and hitherto unknown principle has entered the heart, from which the former occupant has fled abashed. The ground, formerly overgrown with the weeds and tares of selfishness, now brings forth, under divine culture, the fruits of holiness,—one of the first of which is supreme love to God, itself the seed, the germinant principle, the proof, the pledge, of all the rest.—It may be said then with perfect truth, that when a man becomes a Christian, he has a new God,—a new object of supreme regard, affection, and veneration. Self formerly occupied the throne; but self is now upon the footstool and in the dust that covers it, while God, his Maker, Redeemer, and Judge, is enthroned in his rightful supremacy.