By Reverend Laurie DeMott

But today let us begin with "Extreme Makeover", and for all of you reality show fans I need to clarify that I am not talking about "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition"; I'm talking about "Extreme Makeover", the original series. The original "Extreme Makeover" aired in 2002 and in that series, the producers would select a man or a woman who had been judged by their friends and family to be found wanting in the beauty department. The problem might have been a physical detriment such as crooked teeth or a big nose but it usually included as well a lack of judgment about styling issues and deportment. At the opening of the show, the camera would linger gleefully on the victim's physical deformities, unruly hairstyle, the jeans they'd been wearing since the 70s, their slumping posture, and ungainly stride so that the message to the audience would be clear -- "This person is a walking disaster and it will take a miracle to make anything of them." And then the staff of "Extreme Makeover" would go to work, and in a sped up version of "My Fair Lady", dentists, plastic surgeons, personal trainers, and stylists would transform the peasant into a prince or princess. At the season's finale, the person's friends and family would gather for a triumphant unveiling of the new creation and as the newly transformed person emerged, there would be whoops of disbelief, tears of astonishment, and effusive professions of gratitude to the show's staff for having given the heretofore ugly duckling a new lease on life.

I happened to catch one season's finale and as I watched the transformed woman glide into the room, twirling in a glamorous display of confident beauty, her friends gasped and whispered to one another, "Surely this is not her! I can't believe my eyes!" As the camera panned the awed crowd, however, it caught a look on her husband's face that was in stark contrast to the delight of his neighbors. His expression was cautious and troubled as he gazed upon the Hollywood starlet who had once been his wife, but since disappointment was not in the script, the camera moved on quickly. By the time the camera returned to him, he had remembered that he was in front of a massive television audience and he managed to stammer out some appropriate exclamations of gratitude to the host of the show, but his words could not completely disguise his fundamental discomfort with his newly transformed wife.

Perhaps the husband wondered what had become of the woman he married. Perhaps he was afraid that their once easy companionship would be strained by the pressure of proving himself worthy of such a trophy. Or perhaps he was thinking, "How much is it going to cost to maintain this look?" After all, these were not Walmart clothes she was wearing.

We love these reality shows specifially because they are not our reality. We can enjoy the miraculous transformations that make princes out of frogs and then close the book with a simple, "and they lived happily ever after." We don't have to worry about the work that comes after the happy ending. We don't have to live with the Bachlorette. We don't have to worry about re-painting that new 3000 square foot home in five years. We don't have to wonder if the 200 pounds we lost this season is going to creep back on when the camera turns off. We enjoy reality shows specifically because they cut away just before the reality begins.

In II Corinthians, Paul promises that we can all be new creations in Christ, and we like the sound of that Extreme Makeover: we like the thought that if we have enough faith, we might be able to shed this flawed frustratingly imperfect self that is us and take on a new personality that gleams in perfect goodness and light. Isn't it wonderful to think that this ugly duckling can become a swan? And so we come to church every Sunday to confess our faults and pray for that promised transformation. We want something that will fix the bad temper we struggle with or something that will make us less prone to ruminating over every little thing. We want a transformation that will mend our strained relationships and give us a renewed passion for our work. We want to be new creatures: creatures who are wise and strong and joyful instead of the dopey, clueless, weak, bored, short-tempered, impatient, clutzy creatures we are. And there are times when we leave this sanctuary certain that this is the week that our hearts have truly been transformed. Ah ha, world, look at me! I am a changed person and you are going to find me an absolute delight from here on out! But then, always and every time by Monday morning, we sense the old self creeping back upon us and soon the happy ending is just a fairy-tale memory. The work of maintaining that new creation begins and we discover just how much effort real deep down change requires. Is Paul's promise that we can become new creatures only wishful thinking after all? If it were real, why would we need absolution week after week?

In an article called "Arguing with Paul", a Mennonite man confessed his dislike of this passage in Corinthians. He said, "All of my Mennonite friends walk around with their heads in heaven, striving for the day when they will become the new creation that Paul promises, but I have to admit, I'm kind of fond of the old creation myself. I love its imperfections; I love the earthy frailty of our human selves."

Give me the well worn hoe that has seen a thousand plantings and fits in my hands like a friend than the shiny new tool that is hesitant to sink into the grime of the soil for fear of sullying its beauty.

The flaw in the premise of every reality show that promises miraculous transformations is that our true value lies not in the perfection of our selves but in the perfection of our purpose. Reality shows sell the gospel of self-fulfillment because in our American society, we focus constantly on the individual. The highest calling any of us can have in America is to develop a perfect self, and so we constantly strive to get our bodies in shape and follow Oprah's guidelines to achieve a centered sense of well-being, and we are just as constantly frustrated when the old personality flaws creep back in marring the perfect self-portrait we are trying to paint.

Paul, however, didn't live in America and had very little concern for self-actualization. Paul, in fact, had a whole array of personality flaws that bedeviled his congregations and made him a tough person to be around, and there is no indication in the Bible that his conversion to Christianity made a dent in any of those flaws. His own letters betray an often hot-tempered man who had little patience for people's foibles, and it is likely that his many prison stays could have been reduced if he had only learned to control his tongue a little more. If he thought that Christ's promise to change us all into new creatures was a promise that we would all become beaming beatific saints, he himself would have despaired of ever knowing that promise.

But he tells the church at Corinth that the transformation has already occurred. We are already new creatures, he says. We have taken on Christ and so the old has passed away and the new has begun. In Christ, we don't experience a perfection of self -- we experience a perfection of purpose. Our lives have changed because our reason for being has changed. We are no longer here to scramble after an elusive unobtainable self perfection but we are here to allow God to use us, even in the fulness of our imperfections to bring about God's kingdom of peace and compassion.

God didn't fix Moses' stutter before God sent him to free the slaves from Egypt. It was a stuttering stammering Moses that convinced Pharaoh to let the people go because God had placed in Moses not a perfect self but a perfect purpose, and because of that transformation, Moses was able to accomplish mighty things.

God didn't send David to the gym to develop a body of steel before he faced Goliath. It was a scrawny little shepherd boy that brought down the mighty giant because God had placed in David not a perfect self but a perfect purpose, and because of that transformation, David was able to accomplish mighty things.

God didn't send Sarah to a spa to melt away the years in the sauna. It was a wizened old woman way past her prime who gave birth to the baby who would bring forth the people of the covenant because God had placed in Sarah not a perfect self but a perfect purpose, and because of that transformation, Sarah was able to accomplish mighty things.

For Paul, what we need is not an extreme makeover in our selfhood but an extreme makeover in our purpose. Paul says that in Christ, we become new creatures because we no longer live for ourselves but instead live for God, and the purpose of our lives is no longer to attain some fairy-tale pinnacle of personal perfection but to become a partner in the work of God's kingdom.

Dr. Dan Bateman is a psychotherapist who at the height of his career had a car accident that left him a quadrapeligic. He sank into a deep depression thinking of all he had lost until one night, a nurse came into his room to check his vital signs. As she puttered about, she chatted with him about her life and gradually, his quiet questions caused her to open up to him about a serious problem she had been facing. When she finally left to return to her duties, she thanked him for listening and in that thank you, Dr. Bateman discovered redemption. His body may have been broken but his ability to serve had not been impaired. He tells people now that when he broke his neck he freed his soul because he can no longer waste time trying to be who he thought the world expected him to be but has to think about who he really is and why he is here.

You are challenged by Christ not to pursue perfection of self but perfection of purpose, and when you accept that challenge, you will find that your flaws and frailities take on less consequence. You will no longer ask, "How can I rid myself of this personality trait?" but you will ask, "How can I use who I am with all of my weaknesses to serve Christ?"

The shy person can use her quietness to make her a better listener.

The impatient person can turn his impatience upon injustice to pursue social change.

The person who has been hurt and scarred by life can allow those wounds to make them more compassionate toward others.

Be made into a new creation, striving not to be perfect in personality but striving always to be perfect in purpose by setting your eyes on Christ and allowing him to use your life for the glory of God's Kingdom.