new in kind: fresh and unlike anything before it, not merely recent in time
Greek had two words for new. One simply meant recent, lately arrived, young in age. This is the other one, and it points to newness of nature rather than newness of date. A thing called new in this sense is not just the latest of its type; it is different in quality, a fresh kind that supersedes or outshines what came before. The contrast is with the worn-out and the obsolete, not with the old-as-in-ancient.
That gives the word a wide reach. At the plain end it describes objects that have never been used: wineskins still able to stretch, a tomb no body has lain in, a piece of cloth straight off the loom. From there it stretches to the curiosity people chase after, the latest idea no one has heard before. And at its fullest it carries the great promises of the New Testament: a new covenant, a new self, a new song, a new heaven and earth. In those settings new does not mean recent. It means a transformed order that replaces the old one and will not wear out in turn.
The senses below run along that line from the literal to the transformative. They share a single core: something marked off from what preceded it by being of a different and better quality.