New Wine, New Rhythms, New Rest
A Teaching Manuscript on Mark 2:18–28; Matthew 9:14–17; Luke 5:33–39; Matthew 12:1–8; Luke 6:1–5
Timing and Tables
As we resume our study of the gospels we see that word has been spread about Jesus, a rabbi who teaches with authority. Crowds are gathering and followers are multiplying, but his tone and habits do not fit what the religious establishment expects. In their minds, devotion looks like ritual separation, meditative silence, regular fasting, and reverent solemnity. Yet Jesus feasts with tax collectors and sinners, heals on the Sabbath, and sits at lively tables where the wine is new. To people accustomed to somber practices and religious segregation, this breaking of social barriers and this posture of celebration feels inappropriate.
All of this unfolds within a well-known religious rhythm. In the Second Temple period (when Jesus’ earthly ministry took place), many devout Jews fasted twice a week, often on Mondays and Thursdays, as a sign of humility and repentance. Communities also called special fasts in times of crisis or lament. The Pharisees modeled these patterns, and even John’s disciples appear to have embraced a stricter rule as they waited for God to act. The fact that Jesus did not follow these practices puzzled and offended many Pharisees, but what they fail to see is that Jesus is not undermining holiness. Instead He is re-centering it around himself.
Jesus never said that it was wrong to fast, or that the practice of fasting was an Old Covenant practice to be abandoned under the New Covenant. Instead, when pressed about his approach to fasting and feasting, Jesus answers with a wedding picture. Fasting fits seasons of absence and grief. Feasting fits when the bridegroom is present. In other words, his presence changes the timing. The religious calendar with its feasting, fasting, and Sabbath rest is being reshaped around Christ’s presence. So the question is not whether to fast or keep Sabbath. It is who defines their timing and purpose.
The early Christians seemed to understand this better than we do. They did not abandon the spiritual practice of fasting. Rather, they reframed it. An early church manual called the Didache, directs believers to pray the Lord’s Prayer three times a day and to fast on Wednesdays and Fridays rather than the customary Jewish days of Monday and Thursday, a change many believe was linked to the betrayal and the crucifixion. Now the Didache is not part of the New Testament and does not carry the same authority as Scripture, but it was widely read as reliable, practical teaching and the reason I bring it up is that it highlights how the early church’s pattern of fasting, feasting, working, and resting, was reshaped and set by the story of Jesus.
Funeral Fasting and Wedding Feasts
When people questioned Jesus about fasting, He answered with a picture most would have been familiar with, a wedding: “Can the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them?” (Mark 2:19, ESV). Obviously you do not fast at a wedding. Joy fits the moment, not somber fasting. By calling Himself the Bridegroom, Jesus is making a bold claim about His identity. In Israel’s Scriptures, the covenant Lord is the husband of His people: “For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name” (Isaiah 54:5, ESV); “I will betroth you to me forever… in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord” (Hosea 2:19–20, ESV). Jesus applies that imagery to Himself. He is not simply a teacher or prophet. He is the center of the celebration (the bridegroom), and His presence sets the mood.
Matthew records the same scene with some additional teaching included: “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them? The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast” (Matthew 9:15, ESV). This is a reminder that fasting is not a joyless habit for its own sake. It is an embodied lament. It also is foreshadowing. The phrase “taken away” hints at the cross, echoing, “By oppression and judgment he was taken away” (Isaiah 53:8, ESV). There will be a time to fast when the Bridegroom is removed from the Bride, but for now they are together and we should not hinder their joy.
The early church learned to live in both realities. Fasting was not abolished. It was reoriented. From the start, believers fasted in seasons of repentance, need, and longing, and they feasted in seasons of presence and praise. We both mourn the absence, and rejoice in the presence. We celebrate the aspects of the Kingdom of Heaven that are already available to us, but we still long for and eagerly await the aspects that are not yet here in their fulness.
What does all of this mean for us? It means our fasting and feasting should always be tethered to Christ. We fast when our prayers are heavy, when we ache for His return, when we face crisis or conviction. We feast when the Spirit renews, when sinners come home, when the Lord’s Table reminds us that the Bridegroom meets us with grace. Both practices belong in the rhythm of discipleship. In the end, Jesus reframes the whole conversation. The real question is not about food. It is always about His presence.
Patches and Wineskins
Jesus then offers two additional illustrations to make His point abundantly clear. “No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the patch tears away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made” (Mark 2:21, ESV). And again, “Neither is new wine put into old wineskins. If it is, the skins burst and the wine is spilled and the skins are destroyed. But new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved” (Matthew 9:17, ESV).
These are not lessons in tailoring or winemaking. They are exaggerated images meant to shock. You cannot stitch the kingdom onto the old fabric of ritual religion. You cannot pour the ferment of the Spirit into rigid forms. Something will tear. Something will burst.
Mark adds some additional details: “And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is destroyed, and so are the skins. But new wine is for fresh wineskins” (Mark 2:22, ESV). Jesus is not condemning the old simply for being old. Rather, He is warning that his presence and message cannot be contained by the Pharisaic system of fasting and ritual law-keeping.
Luke preserves one more line: “And no one after drinking old wine desires new, for he says, ‘The old is good’” (Luke 5:39, ESV). This is a reminder that people cling to the familiar even when it cannot hold what God is doing. Augustine saw here the stubbornness of those who preferred the “taste” of the law to the new covenant of grace even though the old wine was valued as the best. Luke is here reminding us that the gospel is not a fad but the true wine, surpassing all that came before.
Hardened hearts are like brittle old wine skins, and if we are too dependent upon tradition we will be like old wine skins unable to stand what the Lord may be doing in and around us. As wine ferments it expands, and unless the wine skin is able to expand they will tear and burst. Unless hearts are made new and supple, the life of the kingdom will tear them apart.
Now we need to have discernment as we apply this passage to our lives. This passage is not a blanket endorsement of innovation. And it is not a rejection of tradition. Not all new things are good, and not all old things are bad. Jesus’ “newness” is not about being trendy. It is about the life of the kingdom. And that life grows. It stretches. Some beloved traditions can stretch with it. Others cannot. If we try to patch Jesus onto brittle systems, we risk tearing the very fabric of our faith. But when our hearts and our communities are made new, supple and open to the Spirit, then the ferment of the kingdom can be preserved and poured out for the world to “taste and see that the Lord is Good”: (Psalm 38:4, ESV).
Lord of the Sabbath
We then read that, “One Sabbath he was going through the grainfields, and as they made their way, his disciples began to pluck heads of grain” (Mark 2:23, ESV). The Pharisees immediately object, but Jesus responds with examples from Scripture.
He recalls David: “Have you never read what David did, when he was in need and was hungry, he and those who were with him: how he entered the house of God, in the time of Abiathar the high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and also gave it to those who were with him?” (Mark 2:25–26, ESV).
Matthew records another precedent: “Or have you not read in the Law how on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath and are guiltless? I tell you, something greater than the temple is here” (Matthew 12:5–6, ESV). The priests could work on the Sabbath because temple service was essential. Jesus claims even greater authority. If the temple ministry justified setting aside strict Sabbath rules, how much more the presence of the one who is greater than the temple.
Then comes the declaration: “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27–28, ESV). In other words, the Sabbath was not designed as a master to be served by men but as a gift to mankind. It was given for refreshment, for worship, for mercy. And when Jesus claims to be Lord of the Sabbath, he places himself above creation’s rhythm and above the law itself. The one who instituted the Sabbath now fulfills its meaning. Here we see an important aspect of Jesus' teaching. He never dismissed the importance of ritual and law, but Jesus understood that in God’s economy, need outweighed ritual and mercy was greater than sacrifice.
Luke shows the meaning in action. “On another Sabbath, he entered the synagogue and was teaching, and a man was there whose right hand was withered. And the scribes and the Pharisees watched him, to see whether he would heal on the Sabbath, so that they might find a reason to accuse him” (Luke 6:6–7, ESV). Jesus heals him, proving that the Sabbath is fulfilled not by restriction but by restoration. Augustine saw the withered hand as an image of humanity’s weakness, unable to do righteousness until Christ restores it. The Sabbath is meant for such healing, bringing us closer to God, not for trapping people under legal burdens that make it harder to approach Him. The command to rest is not a burden but a blessing. It is a space for worship, for renewal, for compassion. Calvin said the Sabbath is a day for “the exercise of godliness.” If our observance of Sabbath ever becomes an obstacle to love, then we have missed its heart. True Sabbath keeping is not measured by what we refrain from doing but by whether it leads us to worship, renewal, and mercy.
Conclusion:
Timing and tables. That is where this all comes together. Jesus calls himself the Bridegroom, which means his presence sets the calendar of our lives. He warns that new wine needs new skins, which means his life requires containers that can stretch with grace and truth. He declares himself Lord of the Sabbath, which means his heart for mercy and restoration reveals what holy rest is for.
So here is the question for us. Where is Jesus inviting you to reset your timing, to trade funeral fasting for wedding joy, or to take up a fast that matches your ache for his return? Where is he asking you to loosen your grip on brittle forms and receive a new, supple heart that can hold the ferment of the kingdom? Where does he want to teach you Sabbath again, not as a chain but as a gift that leads to worship, renewal, and mercy? If you are weary, he gives rest. If you are empty, he pours new wine. If you are stuck in the old, he makes all things new. Let us bring him our calendars, our containers, and our Sabbath, and let him center them on himself. For in his presence there is fullness of joy, and in his lordship we find the true rhythm of life.