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The Parable of New and Old

During those first few months of his life whenever someone asked about Sam, the subject of his sleeping habits inevitably came up, and this person would invariably have some advice. Well-intentioned people would flat out contradict each other and cite specific research to back up their divergent claims. Do you soothe your baby when he wakes up or do you let him cry until he wears himself out? Do you start your baby on solid foods before he goes to bed or continue to nurse him? Do you let your baby sleep in the bed with you or put him down exclusively in the nursery?

Over the course of navigating this maze of advice, we developed a few tricks of the trade. Ginny figured out that Sam was waking himself up because of his startle reflex, meaning that his arms would involuntarily flail around like helicopter blades at the slightest provocation. When he was about two months, we bought a special swaddle with Velcro straps. Even our little whirlwind had a hard time getting out of that one.

As first-time parents, we became keenly aware of the contrast and continuity between new and traditional parenting advice. Swaddling babies is as old as the birth of Jesus (Luke 2:7). Velcro is obviously a relatively new invention. Through trial and error, we moved forward, often discovering some kind of balance between the two.

But I have another reason for raising this specific illustration about the swaddle as the introduction to this chapter: either tradition or innovation can be imposed onto people. Babies have no choice. But what about adults who feel as though they are straight-jacketed by tradition or, conversely, forced to accept a new way of doing things? As a community of faith, how do we maintain the legacy that we have inherited while assuring the church remains vibrant and relevant in an ever-changing culture? These questions keep many Christians awake at night! As a result, there are contradictory and competing theories about tradition and innovation, often with each side claiming to offer the best model for today’s church. To help navigate this maze of advice, let’s consider what Jesus had to say about clothes and wineskins.

The Parable

Mark 2:21–22	Matthew 9:16–17	Luke 5:36–39
“No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth onto an old garment; otherwise, the patch pulls away from it–the new from the old–and a tear becomes worse. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the wineskins and ruin the wine and wineskins; instead new wine into new wineskins!"	“No one sews a piece of unbleached cloth onto an old garment; for the patch pulls away from the garment and a tear becomes worse. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wineskins are broken apart and the wine is poured out and the wineskins are ruined; instead they put new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.”	He also told them a parable: “After tearing off a piece from a new garment, no one puts it on an old garment; otherwise, it will tear the new and the piece which was from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the new wine will burst the wineskins and it will be poured out and the wineskins will be ruined; instead new wine must be put into new wineskins. And after drinking old wine, no one wants new, for he says, ‘The old is good.’”

Mark

Following the premise that Mark’s Gospel was written first and referred to by Matthew and Luke, let’s begin by examining a few literary features of this book of the Bible. Scholars have long noticed that Jesus hits the ground running in Mark’s Gospel. One of the evangelist’s favorite words is “immediately,” which he uses to narrate Jesus’ movements and actions in rapid fire sequence. As a reader, I barely have time to catch my breath until, boom, Jesus is doing something different again! Some interpreters have understood this tendency as evidence that Mark was a sloppy story-teller or that he was juvenile, flailing out facts like a newborn’s startle reflex. But such conclusions miss the rhetorical point of his style.

While Mark narrates this good news in a breathless, almost frantic pace, his Gospel is not unsophisticated. It is composed like a series of front page headlines: “Extra, extra! Read all about it!” Jesus begins his ministry by announcing that the time has been fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near (Mark 1:14–15). From Mark 1:21 through 2:12, the healings and exorcisms that he performs witness to the power that God has unleashed on the world–boom! In Jesus, God is doing something fantastic, something new. This is especially relevant because our parable is prompted by a question about the traditional practice of fasting.

The in-breaking of God’s kingdom in the person of Jesus Christ affects everything in the world, including religious rituals and practices. As Pheme Perkins puts it, “Conventional rules do not apply.”1 In the Old Testament, the practice of fasting has a rich history as an example of both communal and personal devotion to God. The Law required fasting only on the Day of Atonement (Lev 16:1–34; 23:26–32; Num 29:7–11); however, there were other fast days added later in history (Ezra 8:21–23; Neh 9:1; Zech 8:19). We also find record of impromptu fasts observed by large numbers of people because of a national emergency (Esth 4:16; Isa 58:3–6; Jonah 3:5). Other texts record fasts as personal expressions of supplication, mourning, repentance (1 Sam 1:7–8; Neh 1:4; Dan 9:3). Therefore it makes sense that the disciples of the Pharisees and of John the Baptist observe fasts and question Jesus about the seeming negligence of his disciples (Mark 2:18). Why aren’t they likewise following this important and sacred tradition?

Jesus responds to this question with figurative language, which might catch modern readers off-guard. His interlocutors asked about fasting; why is he discussing wedding banquets? The key is that we understand the symbolism. By the time of Jesus, the coming of God’s kingdom in the new age was imagined as a great banquet or wedding feast.2 The “new” aspect to Mark’s theology is that this reality has already begun in the person of Jesus the Messiah. Accordingly, Perkins believes that the wedding banquet image “symbolizes the presence of salvation.”3 What’s more, “The fasting episode signifies that, because they are with Jesus, the disciples act as though the kingdom of God is present.”4

In Mark, Jesus’ response to the question of fasting does not imply a critique of the spiritual discipline, but rather of the specific timing. This interpretation implies a sharp rebuke: if guests are fasting during the wedding, then they are disapproving of the marriage and insulting the host.5 The Pharisees and John’s disciples were correct in noting the differences between their communities and the one forming around Jesus; according to Mark, however, they are the ones who are at fault, even though they believe they are following a traditional practice of devotion to God.

Mark employs the parables about new cloth and new wine to play on this irony. An “old garment” is ruined by the patch, not repaired. The contrast between “new and old” pieces of clothing is explicit (Mark 2:21). Likewise new wine “bursts” and destroys old wineskins because the new wine ferments and gives off gases that break the brittle fabric of the containers (Mark 2:22).

In his explosive style of writing, Mark uses these parables to lay down the boom! Even cherished expressions of piety and traditional religious practices must be questioned in light of the reality of God’s reign in the person of Jesus Christ. The old guard is more than put off-guard by this new, bombastic understanding: they are threatened. Within the first three chapters of this Gospel, the religious leaders move from questioning Jesus about the habits of his disciples to conspiring with their political officials in order to kill him (Mark 3:6). Extra, extra! Read all about it!

Luke

Luke’s version shares many similarities with Mark’s account. Both Gospels narrate the same events in roughly the same sequence that lead up to Jesus’ statements about the new and old: the call of the first disciples (Mark 1:16; Luke 5:1), the cleansing of a leper (Mark 1:40; Luke 5:12), the healing of a paralytic (Mark 2:1; Luke 5:17), and the call of Levi (Mark 2:13; Luke 5:27). By building on the narrative framework in Mark, Luke ratchets up the contrast between old and new.

In Luke, the hypothetical situation involves first tearing up a new garment in order to produce a patch for an old one. This idea is obviously ridiculous: surely no one would do such a thing (Luke 5:36). In addition, the language that Mark used to describe the patch of cloth as “unshrunk” or unwashed is replaced by the notion that the old clothing does not “match” or compliment the new (Mark 2:21; Luke 5:36). According to Luke, the two types of cloth have a fundamental difference that cannot be changed or fixed. Furthermore Luke emphasizes that the new wine “must be put” it new wineskins (Luke 5:38; emphasis mine). The effect of these subtle changes to Mark’s version makes even sharper distinctions: apparently Luke is not at all interested in patching up the old garment or preserving the old wineskins. Alan Culpepper states emphatically that, in this version of the parable, Luke allows “no accommodation between the old and the new. The new will supersede and displace the old.”6

Culpepper also points to the significance of a verse that is completely unique to Luke: “And after drinking old wine, no one wants new, for he says, ‘The old is good’” (Luke 5:39). This statement may seem as innocuous as a glass of red wine with dinner, but Culpepper insists, “[This is] one of the Gospel’s most piercing judgments. As Christians in a privileged society, have we cultivated such a taste for the old wine that we despise the new?”7 In other words, have we become too comfortable with our traditions? Have we developed such a preference for the finer, more expensive things in life that we are missing out on the dramatically new thing God is doing? In Luke’s hands, I am reminded of Isaiah’s prophetic announcement, “Behold, I am doing a new thing! Do you not perceive it?” (Isa 43:19).

Matthew

While likewise building upon Mark’s Gospel, Matthew’s version serves as a counterpoint to Luke’s emphasis. Like wine connoisseurs, careful readers of this Gospel will detect subtle variations in flavor. The root of such distinctions can primarily be understood by differences in their original audiences. There is consensus among scholars that the first recipients of Matthew’s Gospel were primarily Jews who began following Jesus as the Messiah, while Luke wrote to a largely Gentile audience. With this hypothesis in mind, we would expect Matthew to exhibit more continuity and connection with the past than either Luke or Mark.

While Matthew preserves much of the same language, it deletes Mark’s specific reference to “the new from the old” (Mark 2:21). As reflected in my translations above, the same Greek adjective may be translated as either “unshrunk” or “unbleached.”8 For Matthew, the problem was that the patch wasn’t treated correctly, and so it pulls away from the garment; instead of fulfilling its purpose, it makes the rip worse (Mt 9:16). In addition, notice that Matthew slyly adds to the description of wine and wineskins that “both are preserved” (Mt 9:17). Can such slight changes to parables dramatically change their meaning? What might Matthew be trying to communicate to his original audience and to us?

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus famously states, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets. I have not come to abolish, but to fulfill” (Mt 5:17). In terms of the parables, the old garment does not need to be destroyed, but repaired; the new wine needs to be placed in the proper containers, so that neither are destroyed. Biblical scholar Eugene Boring might have an unfortunate name for someone who publishes, but I have always found his insights to be stimulating. He makes note of these differences and concludes, “Matthew sees Jesus as having brought something eschatologically new . . . But Jesus brings the eschatologically new in such a way that it does not do away with the old, but fulfills and preserves it.”9 The new is in continuity with the old; the new perfects tradition, instead of getting rid of it.

Conclusion

It is important that we recognize the variations in the different Gospels because they give us an insight into the original communities and the struggles they faced. Specifically I hope it was clear that the make-up of the original audience of a particular Gospel impacted how they interpreted their community’s relationship to the past. This is true today as well. Like first-time parents, the church today must carefully weigh the arguments for maintaining tradition versus implementing new ideas in a rapidly evolving culture. Occasionally we should take to heart Luke’s insistence that we need to change and let go of our outdated ways in order to experience a fresh perspective. In other circumstances, we do well to hear Matthew’s call to carry forward with the best of tradition, even as we seek to live into a new day. Sometimes the way forward is a form of compromise, like our experience with the Velcro swaddle, as we find a balance between the new and the old. I’d like to think about these ideas through the illustration of naming our son, Samuel Greene Taylor-Troutman.

Alongside My Son

Called by Name

When we were married, Ginny and I decided to hyphenate our last names. We wanted to start our new life together with the symbolic understanding that both families of origin are important. A hyphen creates one word from two separate ones, meaning that something new is actually the result of maintaining a direct reference to both traditions. As people learned of this decision, the most common question involved our children: Would they also have a hyphenated last name? Yes! We wanted to pass along this value of equal preservation, while starting something new with our nuclear family—the Taylor-Troutmans. Once the last name was decided, we were left the not-so-simple decision about the rest of our child’s name . . .

We had made up our minds, even before she was pregnant, that we wanted to learn the sex of our baby as soon as possible. In part, this had to do with plans and preparations; but mostly we wanted to select the name in advance. I’m sure that you’ve probably got a great story about naming your child just after you first laid eyes on the baby . . . but we simply could not wait!

After the ultrasound proved convincingly that we were having a boy (that is a story for another chapter), we discussed this important decision over lunch at our favorite restaurant. As we ate quiche and soup, we touched on this name and that one. We wanted a name for our newborn that reflected our joy about this unique and wondrous gift, yet also reminded us of our family history. In seeking the perfect balance, there were several good options but none that seemed quite right. That is, until I suggested Samuel Greene Taylor-Troutman. I’ll never forget Ginny’s face, as she lit up and whispered reverently, “That’s perfect.”

In the Old Testament, a boy named Samuel was the fulfillment of Hannah’s fervent prayer for a child after a long period of infertility (1 Sam 1:13–16). We, too, knew something about the agonizing uncertainty of those prayers (yet another tale for later in this book). But the child’s name evokes the incredible feeling of grace when the wait is over. In Hebrew, “Samuel” is a play on the words, “name” and “God.” Hannah thought that her son was named by God (1 Sam 1:20). But the Hebrew letters embedded in Sam’s name can also form the verb, to hear, as in “God has heard.” Our son is an answer to our prayers and we want to raise him in our faith tradition, which includes the story of his namesake and how this scripture is God’s Living Word in our lives.

Sam’s middle name, Greene, is the maiden name of my maternal grandmother. Like many family names, it has a history tied to a place and time. To this day, members of the Greene family live in Oxford, North Carolina, which is a small, agricultural town with a Baptist church that all my relatives attended. Shortly after Ginny and I began dating, the community marked its one hundred and fiftieth year with a sesquicentennial celebration. For the Greenes, it was really more like a family reunion; but the truth is that I didn’t want Ginny to attend this reunion. At that time in my life, I was ashamed of this side of my family.

Timothy Tyson has written a book, Blood Done Sign My Name, about the horrific racism in Oxford during the Civil Rights era, including the real-life story of cold-blooded murder of a young black man.10 My relatives lived during this sad history and one of them, my great uncle, actually appears in the book. He was the man who bought the public swimming pool in order to maintain segregation by making it private property. He couldn’t even swim; but he was racist and had the money to prove it. As difficult as it is for me to imagine, he must have thought that he was maintaining a just and noble tradition. In fact, segregation blinded him to the reign of God that demanded a new way of living regardless of skin color and ethnicity. For such shameful reasons, I didn’t want Ginny to even visit the place or meet these relatives. Years later, why in the world would I want to name my son after this side of the family? What about new wine and old wineskins?

Like many small churches, there is a cemetery just outside the little Baptist church in Oxford. After the sesquicentennial celebration, we stood under a big blue canopy of a sky and my dad told me about the women of the Greene family, about how they would gather around family tombstones after funerals. The older generations would share the stories about the departed, such as the one about my great-great-grandmother who allegedly chased away Union troops with a kitchen broom! While the veracity of these tales might not stand close scrutiny, the abiding message related to the strength of these women. And so, the new generations would hear these stories about the seemingly ancient past, no doubt embellished, but nonetheless a part of family history meant to inspire the future.

While there is racism snaking its way up my family tree, there are also strains of fierce independence that have rooted my relatives during difficult times. So it’s not as simple as replacing the old with the new: I do not want my son to be blind or indifferent to the skeletons in our family closet. Yet, instead of denying the past and the reality of its mistakes, I hope that Samuel Greene will study our cultural history and learn from the best lights of his own family tradition.

A Privilege

For Mark, I have argued that it was an important aspect of his rhetorical style to write his Gospel at frantic speed. Not only does this convey the sense that the reign of God was breaking into the world, but it puts a special emphasis on the listener to hurry and convert. Extra, extra! Read all about it! Believe in the good news and repent (Mark 1:15)! But I would also note how Jesus drew on basic observations from the world of his listeners, like wineskins and clothes. Some scholars suggest these parables are more similar to a proverb or wisdom saying.11 At first blush, these illustrations involved basic commonsense; but with contemplation, the meaning deepens profoundly. In a sense, his parables were passed on like family stories, perhaps embellished and glossed by subsequent storytellers, but for the purpose of connecting with a new listener in a different situation. The key is that, when the message hit home, you could never forget what the lesson meant to you.

Ironically it seems to me that the people who plotted to kill Jesus understood his message in a deeper way than many Christians in our country. When Jesus spoke, they realized that he was a threat to their way of life. Like the Civil Rights era attacked white supremacy in the South, so the Good News of Jesus Christ broke down political and religious barriers designed to keep people in places of inferiority. From our position of opulence and affluence, we are often too comfortable with our ways. But, if we claim to be disciples of Jesus, then we should be trying to live like the one who continued the traditions of Israel yet simultaneously turned the world on its head. For people of privilege, this paradox means taking a critical view of cherished traditions because, too often, what has been sacred to a few has been detrimental to many. Rather than denying the past, we need to study it carefully. We need to show up at the sesquicentennial celebrations and remember the past for its cruelty and horror in order to find a redemptive story.

I love the dedication of Walter Brueggemann’s book, Prayers for a Privileged People: “I am glad to dedicate this book to my new grandson, Peter William Brueggemann, who, like many of us, is born into some privilege and invited to a life of reflection, yielding, and glad obedience.”12 This is one of my prayers for Samuel Greene Taylor-Troutman. I pray that, for the rest of his unique and wondrous life, his name will remind him of where he comes from, both in his faith and family traditions. Not a perfect past, but not to be forgotten either: a blending of old and new like when he was wrapped so lovingly in a Velcro swaddle.

1. Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” 554

2. Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” 235

3. Perkins, 555

4. Perkins, 557

5. Perkins, 555

6. Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” 131

7. Culpepper, 132

8. Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 12

9. Boring, 236

10. Tyson, Blood Done Sign My Name

11. Williamson, Mark, 69–70

12. Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People, v