The Shape of Becoming Human

This past Sunday, I had the privilege of serving as lector at church.

The reading was from Romans 7:15 and following.

“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Those words stayed with me long after worship had ended.

Paul seemed to be describing something deeper than morality.

He was describing formation.

The tension between the person we long to become and the person we have already been shaped into.

That same reading sat with me differently the week I served as lector myself — a reflection I share in Coherence Is Hard.

I found myself lingering on his words about delighting in God’s law “in my inmost self,”
while experiencing another law at work within his own members.

It felt less like an abstract theological argument,
and more like an honest description of what it means to be human.

My mom and I spent part of Sunday talking about the reading.
We reflected on Paul’s struggle and what it might mean for our own lives.

Then, on Monday morning, she played a sermon from India on YouTube.

The pastor offered some background on Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation,
describing it as a remembering for the Church.

As he spoke, one Tamil word kept being repeated.

சீர்திருத்தம் (seer-thi-RUTH-tham)

I’ve heard that word my entire life. This time, it stopped me.

After the sermon ended, I looked up its roots.

சீர் (sīr) speaks of proper order, flourishing, or what is rightly arranged.

திருத்தம் (thiruththam) means correction, restoration, making something right again.

Together, சீர்திருத்தம் (sīr-thiruththam) means something like:

Restoring what has drifted back into its proper order.

I loved that.

But another thought quietly emerged.

What if the English word had been hiding something too?

Not simply Reformation.

But…

Re-formation.

I suddenly wondered if Paul’s struggle and Luther’s Reformation were speaking about the same human reality.

Not simply changing what we believe.

But changing what has formed us.

Formation shapes us.

None of us begins life unformed.

Long before we make our own decisions, we inherit ways of seeing the world.

We receive language before we speak.

Culture before we question.
Religion before we believe.
Money before we earn it.
Family before we define ourselves.

Every human system becomes a formation system.

Families form children.
Churches form disciples.
Schools form students.
Businesses form employees.
Governments form citizens.

Even markets quietly form consumers.

Formation is not something that happens to a few people.
Formation is what it means to become human.

Even Paul the Apostle was profoundly formed by the religious system he inherited.

His encounter with Jesus did not erase his past. His discipline, his intellect, and his passion remained.

What changed was their direction.
His orientation.

Perhaps this is why Paul could honestly describe the tension within himself.

He was no longer the same man, yet he was still carrying the formation of the old one.

Remembering recovers our orientation.

Over time, every formation becomes a formation system for the next generation.

And every formation system eventually drifts.

Not because people are necessarily malicious.

But because every human system slowly begins preserving itself more than the life it was created to serve.

Churches become more concerned with institutions than disciples.
Businesses become more concerned with performance than people.
Families become more concerned with appearances than relationships.
Governments become more concerned with control than justice.

The system still functions. But its orientation changes.

Perhaps this is why Scripture repeatedly calls God’s people to remember.

Remember the covenant.
Remember the exodus.
Remember the Sabbath.
Remember the Lord.

Remembering, in the biblical sense, is rarely about recalling information.

It is about recovering orientation.

Remembering asks,

Where have we drifted?

What were we originally facing?

When the pastor described Luther’s work as a remembering for the Church, something clicked.

Perhaps every generation inherits this responsibility.
Not merely to preserve tradition.
But to recover its orientation.

Re-formation reshapes us.

That is why the hyphen has stayed with me.

Perhaps re-formation is not primarily about fixing institutions.
Perhaps it begins by reshaping people.

Not into something new.
But toward the original orientation they were created for.

Jesus did not begin by restructuring the Roman Empire.

He began by calling people.
Inviting disciples.
Announcing the Kingdom.
Teaching them another way to live.

Paul became one of those people. Luther became another.
Neither sought novelty for its own sake.

Each, in his own generation, was responding to a people who had slowly forgotten their orientation.

Perhaps every meaningful reformation in history begins as re-formation.

Not changing the structure first.
Allowing ourselves to be formed again.

Re-membering restores our participation.

Then another thought emerged.

What if the deepest movement is not remembering…
but re-membering?

Not simply recalling something forgotten.
But becoming members again.

Restoring what has become fragmented.

Being joined again to God.
To one another.
To creation.
To the life we were created to participate in.

Paul describes the Church as one body with many members.

A body is not made whole because every part remembers the same ideas.
A body becomes whole because every member participates in the same life.

Perhaps this is where re-formation ultimately leads.

Not merely to corrected beliefs.
Not merely to restored doctrine.

But to restored participation.

The shape of becoming human

As I sat with one familiar Tamil word,
I realized it had quietly connected many threads I have been exploring over the past several years.

Why do organizations drift?
Why does leadership slowly become control?
Why does growth often become abstraction?
Why do families repeat patterns across generations?
Why does every generation seem to rediscover the same truths?

Perhaps because every human system eventually becomes a human formation system.

Families. Churches. Schools. Businesses. Governments. Markets.
None simply organize people.
They form them.

Over time, people forget their orientation.

Then someone remembers.

Not because they have discovered a new truth.

Because they have recognized an old orientation.

They invite others to remember with them.

Perhaps this rhythm is not unique to the Church.
Perhaps it is the shape of becoming human.

We are formed. We remember.
We are re-formed. We are re-membered.

Again and again.

Not because we are failures.
But because becoming human is not a destination we reach once.

It is a way of participating in life that must continually be recovered.

That is what one familiar Tamil word unexpectedly gave back to me.

சீர்திருத்தம் (sīr-thiruththam) restores what has drifted into proper order.

Perhaps re-formation reminds us where that restoration always begins.

Not with systems. Not with institutions.

But with people willing to be formed again,
so they might once again participate in the life they were always created to share.

Perhaps this is why the work is never finished.

Every generation is formed by the world it inherits.

Every generation is invited to remember.

Every generation must be re-formed.

So that every generation might once again be re-membered into the life God has always been giving.

Perhaps that is the enduring shape of becoming human.