I think steadily saying something of value can drain a person. Unfortunately, the algorithm demands routine posting and the pressure that comes with it. I’ve learned that pouring from an empty cup can do violence to our souls. So I’ve been away for a bit. The late Blaze Foley sang a song called Clay Pigeons and in it, he sings of being at an intersection, a crisis, a time of searching. A part of the song talking about what he’s going to be up to goes: Feed the pigeons some clay, turn the night into dayAnd start talkin’ again when I know what to say The line about feeding pigeons clay has to do with the fact that they eat clay to help with their digestion. That pause for digesting and processing is a luxury and liberty. I have taken the luxury and liberty this summer. Autumn brings me back to this space with some things to say. I’m happy to find you still here. This is a Substack about living our inherent worth. It will persist in these topics as the pieces I hope to write will orbit around the ideas of flourishing in life from the truth of our God given inherent worth. You were never a wretch Here’s what I’d like to add to the conversation at this time: you were never a wretch. You may not know the reference, but many of you immediately connect with a deep memory. A treasured and fabled hymn of the American church, Amazing Grace, contains the line Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, That saved a wretch, like me! Taking John Newton’s treasured words to task is not something I do lightly, but I feel it’s more than just a trace line in a song; it’s become a mindset that’s thrived and developed beyond its momentary intent. New versions exist You can find adaptations to this line, but you’ll find a pile of pushback to any change of the stone tablets on which hymns have come down from the mountain of our memories. I’m in no way contesting that grace is amazing and a sweet sound, but I have an issue with name-calling apart from the context of John Newton’s abhorrent past. Moreover, projecting that same name-calling forward for all time. Newton, for his part, we assume was meeting his past as a slave trader humbled and transformed by grace. But it can be misleading when applied universally, especially if it leads believers to see themselves as inherently vile rather than deeply loved. The word “wretch” suggests someone utterly despicable, worthless, or beyond hope. But Scripture never describes human beings in such terms from God’s perspective. Even in our sin, we are not worthless—we are wayward children whom God longs to restore. From Genesis to Revelation, the biblical narrative affirms the inherent dignity of humanity, made in the imago Dei—the image of God. Sin distorts that image, but it does not destroy it. God’s gaze toward humanity, even in our rebellion, is not disgust but compassion: “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Having sung this for years isn’t the crime; the crime is believing it to be true. That God’s image in man was so tarnished that it became unpursuable by the Creator of it. That we are an unworthy wretch in all respects, and not someone for whom God would chase after to save. For some, this has created a way of viewing our need for grace. But that need is present no matter our track record. Read that again. No amount of “unwretched” actions before accepting His grace negates our need for His grace. So, seeing oneself as a wretch to create an indispensability of grace is thoroughly unnecessary. Poetic, maybe, but bad theological scaffolding. I can only guess the reason John Newton wrote the line or why it resonates with our experience. The shame from our past can be powerful, visceral, and defining. However, just because a line of a song lands doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a helpful characterization. Maybe the line has created a higher level of humility for some, but at what cost? I’m afraid it speaks of a way of thinking about ourselves that has terrible downstream consequences. There are more than a few people who believe and live like they are their actions. They try to stack enough good ones to earn respect, honor, esteem, and, sadly, even their salvation. Yes, we need Christ. He achieves for us what our souls could not. But conjuring a flawed definition of man in a lost condition can stay with us for long after we’ve been saved. I’m afraid I know far too many people who aren’t out sinning without a sense of their wrongdoing, but far more who deeply feel God could never forgive them. You were never more than a lost sheep. If that doesn’t satisfy some desire for deep humility, I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to find a God-inspired word to say it more strongly than you were separated from your Creator. God never calls you a wretch. Ever. No matter what state you are in. We were lost sheep for whom God comes, pursues, and reclaims. This should satisfy our need for humility. That God would even think of us is amazing, but He’s never thought of us as a wretch. That has less to do with us and more to do with Him. Be well, friends. Thanks for reading Formerly Feral! This post is public, so feel free to share it. Get full access to Formerly Feral at feralsoul.substack.com/subscribe
