The wonder of a new identity

Estimated Reading time: 5 minutes · Written by Judy Moore

Have you ever thought about the deeply transformative concept of a new identity found in Jesus Christ? Rooted in grace, this change is not superficial, nor is it theoretical. It is a complete, life-altering transformation—a shedding of the old self and an embracing of the new. And as we’ll discover through the lens of stories ancient and modern, this change is as profound today as it was two thousand years ago.

Love, puppies, and the slow work of grace

If you’ve ever come across videos by Rocky Kanaka, you’ll know of a certain genre of puppy videos. A frightened, mistreated puppy cowers in a corner, afraid of human touch. But slowly, gently, the process of restoration begins. Rocky throws a treat, gently affirms the pup with kind words like "good boy" or "good girl", and patiently builds trust.

Before long, the once-terrified animal is leaning in for affection, ready to be held and loved. It’s a moving picture—not just of rescue, but of redemption. Of love that refuses to rush. And surprisingly, this puppy story mirrors our spiritual journeys far more than we might expect.

We all have moments—perhaps even entire seasons—when we feel like that trembling puppy. We retreat, we resist, and we’re not sure whether we can trust again. But into this place of weariness, the wonder of Jesus’ love breaks through, patiently and persistently.

The road to Damascus

This kind of redemption story isn’t just reserved for YouTube or tear-jerking commercials. It’s biblical. In Acts 9, we read of Saul—later to be known as Paul—a man breathing out “murderous threats” against followers of “the Way” (early Christians).

Saul was zealous, brilliant, and devout. Yet, despite his religious pedigree, he was spiritually blind. His mission? To crush this radical movement that claimed Jesus was alive. Ironically, he was about to become its most passionate proponent.

On the road to Damascus, a blazing light stops him in his tracks. He hears a voice, Jesus himself, calling his name not once, but twice: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” This wasn’t a reprimand; it was a relational summons. Personal. Powerful.

From that moment on, Saul’s world unravels. Everything he thought he knew, every path he had committed to, falls apart. But in its place, something new—someone new—is born.

Christianity isn’t just a belief written on paper. It is a way—a path we walk. Saul’s transformation demonstrates this shift perfectly. He had all the doctrines and rules memorised, yet he lacked the one thing that makes faith real: relationship.

What Saul encountered on that road was grace, a powerful, personal, unmerited love. And it wrecked him in the best possible way.

Modern-day Damascus

This isn’t just a tale from ancient scripture. The same power that turned Saul into Paul is still at work today.

Take Nathan, for instance. A former gang leader in Birmingham, Nathan was deeply entrenched in criminal life. Arrested and imprisoned, he showed little remorse. That is, until he was mysteriously drawn into a church service near one of his old haunts.

Covered in bling and bravado, Nathan stepped into the sanctuary and started to weep. Something had cracked open inside him. When the call to respond to God came, he moved forward, then collapsed, physically floored by the Holy Spirit. He heard a simple yet powerful instruction: “Get up and be baptised.”

He didn’t even know what that meant.

Yet that moment marked the beginning of a new life. Today, Nathan works with the Violence Reduction Unit, using his past not as a burden but as a bridge to help others find freedom.

Not all stories are dramatic. Some unfold gently. Many of us find ourselves slowly transformed, piece by piece, by persistent grace. The puppy metaphor returns here—how many of us have needed repeated assurances, multiple touches of grace, before we’ve allowed God’s love to sink in?

Yet whether it’s a dramatic light from heaven or a quiet realisation whispered in prayer, the outcome is the same: we are changed.

The courage of Ananias

Every Saul needs an Ananias—a person willing to follow the Spirit’s leading into risky, uncomfortable spaces. Ananias is asked by God to visit Saul, this known persecutor, and help restore his sight. Understandably hesitant, he obeys anyway.

And what’s his first word to this former enemy? “Brother.”

One word of radical inclusion. One act of bold grace.

We’re called to be Ananias too. Not just recipients of grace, but bearers of it. We are the ones who must venture out in faith, ready to place a hand on the shoulder of someone who least expects to be welcomed, and call them brother, sister, friend.

Are we ready to risk?

As Christians, are we bold enough to live like Ananias? To risk embarrassment, rejection, and even danger for the sake of sharing the gospel?

A simple WhatsApp message inviting friends to church might be met with silence, even scorn. But sometimes, it leads to someone encountering hope in the midst of grief. We don’t always see the fruit immediately, but we plant seeds. And God waters them.

We are not called to comfort. We are called to love dangerously, to forgive lavishly, to welcome outrageously.

God told Ananias that Saul was his “chosen instrument.” And that’s not a one-off designation. It’s true for all of us. We are chosen—called to carry God’s name to a world in desperate need of hope.

Yes, we’ll be misunderstood. Yes, we’ll feel inadequate. But grace doesn’t demand perfection. It demands faith.

The original teaching has been edited for clarity and brevity; This is not a transcript.