I Thought Being Born Again Would Feel Different

A Bible study conversation forced me to confront a question I thought I had already answered.

A few days after writing my article on salvation, I found myself sitting around a restaurant table with my men’s Bible study group discussing what it means to be born again.

They’re all older than I am. (A couple of them might even read this … hey gents! 🤓)

All of them spent years in the same religious system I came out of.

All of them have wrestled with many of the same questions.

What bothered me wasn’t anything they said. It was how little effort it seemed to take them to say it.

They spoke about being born again the way someone talks about a home they’ve lived in for years, with a kind of comfortable familiarity and assurance.

And sitting there listening to them, I realized I wasn’t sure I could say the same.

Not because I doubt Jesus, nor because I doubt that He can save.

The problem was that I know myself.

I know how easily my attention wanders.

I know how often I reach for distraction instead of prayer.

I know how much easier it is to consume than to cultivate.

And if being born again means a new life, I’m not always sure what I am looking at when I look at my own life.

---

The Distorted Mirrors

Part of the problem, I think, is that my picture of being born again has been shaped by more than Scripture.

On one side, I inherited a very performance-heavy version of faith. Born again people showed up. They stayed faithful to the meetings.

They walked in the way, and ultimately they were safe because they remained visibly aligned.

But on the other side, I’ve also seen a very different picture. The emotional certainty of modern conversion language. The raised hands. The “hallelujah, I’m saved” confidence. The clean testimony. The moment someone can point to and say, “That was when I got saved.”

I am not saying that is false. I am saying I do not always recognize myself in it, and that has made the question harder.

“The wind blows where it wills… so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit.”
John 3:8, RSV

Maybe part of the problem is that I have wanted being born again to be easier to measure than Jesus Himself described it.

---

The More Important Question

For years I thought the big question was salvation.

How am I saved?

What does faith that is alive look like?

What role do repentance and obedience play?

I wrote an entire article trying to answer those questions. But this conversation exposed a different question underneath them all.

What does it look like when Christ’s life has genuinely taken root in someone (me) who still gets tired, distracted, afraid, and pulled by lesser things?

Paul writes,

“Therefore, if any one is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.” 2 Corinthians 5:17, RSV

I believe that.

The question is not whether being born again is real. The question is whether I expected “new creation” to feel more obvious from the inside than it often does.

Maybe I expected new life to feel less ordinary and less of a contest for my daily attention and affection.

Less tangled up with fatigue, fear, distraction, appetite, and just the daily pressure of being human.

That’s the question that carries more weight for me now.

I’m not just asking what being born again means in doctrine, but what it looks like when new life is lived by a real human being like me under the pressure of daily life.

---

The Thing I Couldn’t Stop Thinking About

One of the men said something to the effect of:

“If you’ve truly been born again, your salvation is secure.”

Another spoke about trusting Christ’s finished work completely. Past, present, and future sins.

I understood what they meant and in many ways, I agreed.

I believe Christ’s sacrifice is sufficient.

I believe He can save.

I wholeheartedly believe I am not beyond redemption.

Peter says God “has caused us to be born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” 1 Peter 1:3, RSV

That phrase, “living hope,” matters to me.

Perhaps it’s less like emotional certainty and more like something alive that keeps pulling me toward Christ, even when I feel divided.

But I also know there are parts of me that still trouble me. I still struggle with sin. I battle with things I wish I didn’t struggle with.

And if I’m being honest, I think part of me assumed that being born again would have fixed more of that than it seems to have.

And I think that’s not so much of a theological statement as it is just the feeling of human disappointment.

---

The Part I Don’t Like Talking About

So, yes, I still see things in myself that concern me.

And ironically, it’s not dramatic things. We tend to be drawn to dramatic stories of redemption, but a lot of my struggles are boringly ordinary.

The pull toward distraction.

The ease with which I can spend an hour consuming something useless and struggle to spend ten focused minutes in prayer.

The way my mind wanders almost immediately when I try to be still. Picture a kid with undiagnosed ADHD trying to sit still in church in the 80s. Turns out you don’t really outgrow it, you just get better at managing it.

But that’s not an excuse or a reason for pity. I’m very aware and do not like the way I can crave digital junk food and actual junk food while neglecting things I know would nourish me.

It’s hard to admit that.

Partly because I’m a health coach.

Partly because I’m a Christian.

Partly because I know what the right answers are supposed to sound like.

But if I’m going to talk honestly about being born again, I can’t pretend those things aren’t there.

“For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh.” Galatians 5:17, RSV

Maybe I should not be surprised that the Christian life still feels contested. Paul seems to assume that it will.

And I can’t help wondering whether that’s part of why assurance sometimes feels elusive.

Because when I hear people talk about being born again with complete confidence, my mind immediately starts looking for evidence against myself.

And that’s probably the real issue.

I’ve spent so many years searching for reasons I could be disqualified.

I can assure you, it’s not because I want an excuse to sin.

Quite the opposite.

Because I desperately don’t want to fool myself. I couldn’t ever imagine the pain of being one of the “five foolish”.

---

Looking For The Wrong Evidence

That is why Jesus’ words to Nicodemus still carry weight with me:

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” (John 3:3, RSV)

When I first read passages like that, I think I unconsciously built an image of what being born again should look like.

Strong assurance and confidence in God.

A vibrant prayer life.

Consistent spiritual discipline.

A love for spending time with God’s word.

Victory over temptation.

A clear awareness of God’s presence.

And maybe for some people it does look something like that.

But when I look at Scripture, I keep running into people who are very obviously God’s people and yet still seem remarkably human.

Peter confessed Christ and later denied Him.

Thomas doubted.

The disciples repeatedly misunderstood Jesus.

The churches Paul wrote to were often messy and immature.

None of that excuses sin. But it does challenge some of my assumptions.

Because if being born again means never struggling, then I don’t know what to do with half the people in the New Testament.

And, without trying to justify sin, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I feel a bit of relief when I realize this.

---

What If The Wrong Question Is Driving Everything?

As I sat with this, I started noticing a pattern. Someone would offer a reason for assurance. And my mind would immediately search for an exception.

What if I wasn’t truly born again?

What if my faith isn’t genuine?

What if my fruit isn’t real?

What if I drift away later?

What if I’m deceiving myself?

It was like every answer generated another question. And eventually I realized something uncomfortable:

I had been trying to achieve certainty by eliminating every possible way I could be wrong.

But, really, can that project ever actually be finished?

If I remove one concern, won’t another simply take its place?

That realization hits hard, because for most of my life, I’ve confused vigilance with self-audit.

Scripture certainly warns us and the warnings are very real.

Jesus speaks about the narrow gate.

The foolish virgins.

The dangers of self-deception.

I don’t want to explain any of that away. But when I revisit those passages now, I notice something I didn’t used to notice.

At the very least, Jesus does not seem to be warning the tender-hearted struggler who is grieved by failure and trying to come back.

He’s warning about people who never really wanted Him.

People who wanted religion for selfish reasons.

People who wanted safety, like serving God as an insurance policy.

People who wanted the blessings of God without God Himself.

At least that’s the pattern I keep seeing.

---

What Keeps Bringing Me Back?

The more I’ve thought about this, the more I’ve realized that for most of my life, I was measuring the wrong things.

When I examine myself, I naturally focus on my failures. Things like the prayers I didn’t pray, the disciplines I didn’t keep, the temptations I didn’t resist, the distractions I gave into.

But I spent so much time with those questions, I missed some very meaningful questions:

Why do I care whether I belong to Christ?

Why do I keep coming back to Scripture?

Why does sin bother me at all?

Why, after all my questions and frustrations and failures, do I still find myself wanting God?

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” John 6:68, RSV

Maybe that is closer to what I recognize in myself than constant certainty.

Not always confidence or perfect clarity. But still, somehow, “to whom shall we go?”

And for most of my life, I spent so much time examining the evidence against myself that I ignored the evidence pointing the other direction.

---

Where This Leaves Me

I wish I could tell you I’ve settled everything. But, the truth is, I still wrestle with assurance at times.

I still don’t fully understand why some believers seem so settled while I remain so prone to questioning.

But maybe that is what has me thinking differently. I keep looking at the places where I fall short and asking whether they disqualify me.

But no matter my struggles, I keep coming back to God.

This has been a process of unlearning as much as it has been learning.

As I wrote earlier, I think I expected new life to feel less ordinary than this.

Less tangled up with the very human struggles of fatigue, appetite, fear, distraction, and the daily pressure of life’s responsibilities.

But maybe that expectation was part of the problem.

What I am coming to accept is that being born again does not mean I suddenly stop being afraid.

It means I have somewhere to bring the fear.

It does not mean my appetites vanish.

It means I can no longer treat them as harmless when they start pulling me away from God.

It does not mean I always feel spiritually alive in the way I expected to feel.

It may mean that even when I am tired, divided, distracted, or unsure, something in me keeps turning back toward Christ and saying:

“This still matters. You still matter. I cannot make peace with living apart from You.”