It was a typical Sunday morning during my teen years; I was running late (again). This time because I couldn’t decide what to wear to church. I grabbed a Springy-print, long-sleeved, pullover dress.
Arms first into the tight long sleeves, then I pulled the straight, fitted dress over my head and body. In the “olden days,” fabric blends didn’t include today’s generous stretch of spandex.
I looked in the mirror and decided I wasn’t in the mood for pink and flowery.
Time was ticking away, so I quickly began pulling the dress up and off. In my haste, I managed to twist the dress on the way up creating a mummy-like wrap around my upraised arms, head, chest, and shoulders.
The more I struggled to untangle myself, the tighter my pink-flowered boa constrictor gripped. That’s when claustrophobia struck, and I began to yell for my mom.
Yells quickly turned into screams. I was in full-stage panic mode. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. Death was certain.
Then I heard the hysterical laughter of sister #2 – she of the most perverse sense of humor ever awarded to a human. I was too busy screaming to tell her to “shut up!”. At least, I would die with an appreciative audience.
Finally, Mom’s voice broke through the screams (mine) and the laughter (my sister’s). “If you will be still, I will get you out of this mess! How in the world did you manage to do this to yourself?” She sounded simultaneously irritated and amused – I sensed no sympathy.
She calmed and stilled me, allowing her to unwind the twisted garment that had almost claimed my life. She handed me my wadded-up dress, then said we needed to leave for church in minutes. Death and disaster averted. I quickly made a less-hostile dress selection, brushed my hair, repaired my face, jumped into my shoes, and ran for the car. Yep, indeed…a typical Sunday morning.
One of the many things that I love about Paul’s writings is his use of analogies. He compares common, easily understood concepts to deep theological truths making them more relatable and easier to understand (ex. running a race, dressing for battle, and looking in a mirror).
An analogy that Paul uses frequently is that of “taking off” or “putting off” the old man (self) so that the new man (self) can be “put on” – much like taking off and putting on a garment. That analogy is used in his letters to the Churches in Rome, Corinth, Galatia, Ephesus, Colossae, and Thessalonica.
In Galatians, Paul says that when you became a believer, you put on Christ. The picture is that you are wearing the likeness of Christ. You are to begin looking like Christ.
We are eager to “put on” the godly attributes that belong to the new man in Christ Jesus:
Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.
Colossians 3:12-17
What we tend to overlook is that we cannot “put on” UNTIL we “put off.” You don’t simply add these attributes to your laundry list of personal characteristics. The characteristics of the old man do not dwell well with the characteristics of the new man. The peaceful cohabitation of opposing qualities is not an option.
Corruption and Holiness cannot walk hand in hand.
Put off must come before put on.
It’s like me deciding to change dresses but trying to put one dress on over the other. It might sort of work, but it’s going to be ugly.
Here’s the thing about that Sunday morning teenage dress episode. I loved that dress. I picked the fabric and pattern. I sewed and made that dress. I did not want that dress damaged in the process of removal, because I wanted to be able to wear that dress again in the future.
And isn’t that what we sometimes do with our “old self?” We really don’t want it damaged or destroyed, because we want or feel we might need to put it on again. Not for long. Just for a visit. A little indulgence. A special occasion.
So, we try to tuck the “old self” into the back of the closet – out of the way, but easily retrievable. Friend, that never works because while the old self is alive, it will not be ignored. It will find its way out of the closet over and over again.
All we do when we try to keep the old self alive is stir up a firestorm of conflicting goals, feelings, and desires. There will be no inner peace – no flourishing new self – as long we try to keep the old man alive while attempting to nurture the new man. It simply will not work. You may fake it for a while but eventually, your façade will crumble.
You’ve got to lay bare the old man – the old self. Then you must dissect and remove it piece by piece through the ongoing act of confessing and repenting of every sin you identify. (Psalm 51:2, James 4:8, 1 John 1:9)
As each ungodly trait is put to death, you intentionally, prayerfully replace it with a God-pleasing quality. This doesn’t happen all at once or overnight. It’s the lifelong sanctifying process that God’s Holy Spirit is working in you.
Friend, is there anything that is keeping you from putting off the “old man”? Is there anything you are holding on to that is keeping you from looking more like your Savior?
Put it off.
Put on Jesus.
