Into the New

At the intersection of past and future, we have one of the greatest opportunities to influence the common good. Unthinkingly, we sometimes idealize the new and devalue the old. The truth is, the only way for tomorrow to have integrity is for the best of yesterday to pass through the gateway of today.

In my interactions with leaders from churches and other organizations, I find that most people want to be “fresh,” “innovative,” “pioneering.” Who wouldn’t? Innovation is a great ideal if you believe that God the creator is continually making things new.

True innovation is not copying someone else’s idea and touting it as “the next great thing.” If we aren’t true to our own context we may find ourselves committed to “the next great thing,” which was actually new twenty years ago, and now abandoned by the people who created it.

Sometimes we just don’t have our own sense of rhythm. We are like people trying to clap to the music by watching other people clap, which makes it likely that we will clap out of rhythm. To get with the music, you have to feel the music and connect with the music. You can’t be yourself when you’re always watching others.

True innovation is wonderful. The word literally means “into [the] new” (Latin:innovare). In other words: “renewal.” Something that existed takes on a new shape. The gold of the past becomes the platinum of the future. There is a theology of innovation, expressed in a single statement in Revelation 21:5 “He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”

In a strange tension between the old and the new, my education is in historical studies, but 90% of my work involves creating new things. I truly love them both. The great stories of the past—flowing into one Great Story, the narrative of God in the world—are more powerful than the greatest new trend or organization. Every exceptional new organization is built upon great institutions of the past. Every powerful new movement is a tributary of the river of history, whose source is well beyond the horizon. Great prospects are built on great precepts. They are great because they address core human needs—and those things do not change.

This has surprised me: now in my mid-fifties, I have stronger connections with people in their twenties than I did when I was in my thirties. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe it is because, in the past, I used to consider it my mission to convince others, whereas now I find more value in connecting with others and discovering truth with others. It’s not that I withhold the lessons I’ve learned or the convictions I have, but I have a new appreciation for Jesus’ kingdom paradigm of long-view influence—seed in soil, water, patience, and eventually the harvest.

We also have a healthier view of innovation when we get to a stage of life in which we are less tempted to prove ourselves to others. When grabbing for the brass ring is less alluring than going on journeys of discovery. It takes the desperation out of inventing (or stealing) that “next great thing,” and places the onus on you to connect faithfulness with fruitfulness.

It has always puzzled me that some people think that if you’ve been around a few decades, you’re likely to be living in the past. Nobody really lives in the past, which is a logical impossibility. People who appear that way are only living in a very very stale present.

As I calculate it, I have experienced 21,358 “new” days, whereas my son has only encountered 8,760 “new” days. The longer you have been around, the more new days you have experienced. With each day, you become more familiar with the new. That ought to make you more competent when moving into the future, not less so—if you make the effort. That’s the issue. The more laps you’ve made around the sun, the more hard days you’ve seen, and it could tempt you to lose your idealism. It could tempt you to quit.

So what is the task for today? How can we be truly innovative—faithful stewards of past gold that can become future platinum?

1. Learn from the stories. God’s truth is always embedded. If you’ve been around for decades, share your stories with others when the time is right. If you’re young, then draw stories out of people older than yourself.

Here’s how: Read an old book; take an older person out to lunch (but get them to pay for it); look for great documentaries and biographies; consider every person you meet interesting in some way; network, network, network.

2. Expand your vision. Don’t think of vision as your will imposed on others, but as your drive to gain a wider apprehension of the glorious work of God in the world—past, present, and future.

Here’s how: Make formative reading of Scripture a habit; get to know people from other parts of the world; learn from Christians who are different from you (if you’re an intellectual, read a mystic or vice versa; if you’re an activist, get to know a contemplative, or vice versa).

3. Find a classic idea you can make new this season. Don’t steal an idea that may only be a fad on its way out. If you are not a very creative person, then gather a network of creative people around yourself. Don’t put them off in a corner to do their creative thing. Join with them. Fuel the discussion. Guide the outcome without predetermining it.

Here’s how: Find one or more dynamic working groups you can be part of; if you’re in a working group that is tired and worn down, recruit a couple of spark plugs; pay attention to “best practices” but create what is right for your setting.

A friend of mine was in a church meeting in which there was freedom for people to stand up and share a prayer, a Bible passage, a song–whatever. One gentleman sang a simple song. The meeting leader told him he was unfamiliar with the tune: was it a historic song or contemporary? The singer replied: “Well, I guess you’d have to say contemporary—really contemporary—I just made it up.

What do you think about moving “into the new”?