The Discomfort of Reading Old Things
And the interior growth that can follow
“Indeed every sin, in its own nature, has a tendency towards a final apostasy; but there is a provision in the covenant of grace, and the Lord, in his own time, returns to convince, humble, pardon, comfort, and renew the soul. He touches the rock, and the waters flow.
By repeated experiments and exercises of this sort (for this wisdom is seldom acquired by one or a few lessons), we begin at length to learn that we are nothing, have nothing, can do nothing but sin. And thus we are gradually prepared to live more out of ourselves, and to derive all our sufficiency of every kind from Jesus, the fountain of grace.
We learn to tread more warily, to trust less to our own strength, to have lower thoughts of ourselves, and higher thoughts of Him; in which two last particulars I apprehend what the Scripture means by a growth in grace does properly consist. Both are increasing in the lively Christian; every day shows him more of his own heart, and more of the power, sufficiency, compassion, and grace of his adorable Redeemer; but neither will be complete till we get to heaven.”
This post isn’t about this quote (though I’ve come to love that quote), but I share it to highlight how Newton talks about sin and to share how I’ve grown as a reader and person through engaging Newton’s work.
If I’m honest, sometimes Newton’s turns of phrase or descriptions of sin and sinners make me uncomfortable.
Every sin… has a tendency towards a final apostasy.
We begin at length to learn that we can... do nothing but sin.
We learn to… have lower thoughts of ourselves.
My discomfort with these phrases perhaps isn’t a surprise. I’m a millennial, college-educated woman who has done her fair share of counseling and drunk a bit of the pop-psych Kool-Aid found on Instagram.1
But my discomfort with these phrases actually arises from elsewhere. In my teen years, I am imbibed my fair share of “worm theology,” a theological lens that overemphasizes human depravity.2
In high school and early college, I listened to many, many sermons that took sin quite seriously. On one hand, that teaching helped me make sense of my propensity to muck things up and it seemingly provided simplistic but deeply desired answers to the suffering I had witnessed in my community and while traveling.
On the other hand though, those sermons distorted my understanding of God and myself. I would turn off my iPod thinking God couldn’t really stomach my presence unless my eyes were downcast before him or I was actively doing something good. Tightness seizes my chest now thinking about how I felt then. That bad theology went deep into my mind, soul and body.
I’m indebted to the ministry of my college pastor (and the small congregations I worshiped at in college), all of which expanded my understanding of how God sees and relates to the creation he crafted in divine love and delight, yet remains under the rule of the Evil One in countless ways. Interestingly, in that context, I started taking sin more seriously in many ways because it was about so much more than me, but also included me. That good theology continues to make its way deep into my mind, soul and body.
Nonetheless, I come to phrases of Newton’s like those I shared above and I want to look the other way, ignore them, write them off as a mere product of Newton’s culture, etc. They feel too close to the theology I was schooled in from my iPod.
Yet, I’ve learned that my responses say less about Newton’s writing and more about me and the tender places I need to tend in my interior.
So I’ve stuck with the discomfort and kept reading. I’ve attended my soul. And I’ve grown. Here’s some of what I’ve learned and how I’ve changed.
I read with my own history narrating my reading. This is an incredible gift typically, but also something that can distract me from the good in front of me if not acknowledge. Newton is not the pastors I listened to in high school on my iPod. When I read certain topics, the tone I read into the writing mimics what I heard in the sermons I listened to: Harsh, zealous but cold, self-righteous. It’s been fruitful to realize this pattern in how I receive certain inputs, and exercise my imagination and practice new ways of reading things that feel familiar and understood, but actually aren’t
I default to reading old texts with 21st century eyes. Newton’s writing is surprisingly fresh and relevant. The space between the pages I read and my own life is blurry. When I encounter something “off” or simply incongruent, it’s an opportunity to pause instead of dismiss. I don’t think Newton in infallible, but I want to first humbly understand (truly humbly understand) and evaluate instead of conceitedly assume, assess and brush aside.
I’m learning in new ways to see how a part is part of a whole. Newton’s writings on sin sit in a robust body of work, both in form and content. While he handles sin in very particular terms, this is far from the only thing he dealt with. Sin (and its ilk) is one important piece of the picture of Newton’s theology, but his writing on sin is not the picture. To stick with the picture metaphor, it’s been beautiful to examine Newton’s understanding of sin, then step back look at the whole picture of his theology and see how it connects to the other elements.
Newton’s letters tell Newton’s story. Yes, they are often theological exposition, but the epistolary genre is inherently personal. Considering Newton’s life, his descriptions of sin peculiarly become something I’m grateful for and make more sense. He’s helping me connect the beauty of God, the injustices of my time and my muck-ups of commission and omission with the sins of my heart.
I’m glad I stuck with my discomfort; it’s been a path to maturing, both in my thinking and in my heart and in my living. I love what Alan Jacobs says about reading old books.
When you read an old book, you want to look for something that has thoughts that are not your thoughts, that has assumptions that are not your assumptions, that sees the world very differently than you see the world, because those are the words that are going to teach us.
I’m grateful. Keeping company with Newton is teaching me more about myself than I could have anticipated.
The counseling I’ve received I’m deeply thankful for. The pop-psych Kool-aid found in tiny squares on Instagram… not so much.
Worm theology