As Christians, I don’t really think we have that much of a place to call ourselves sinners.

I know that’s a bold (and maybe somewhat arrogant) statement, and I could be wrong. In 1 Timothy 1, Paul refers to himself as a “chief of sinners.” This is the only verse in the Bible where I have found a believer calling themselves a sinner in the present tense. And ironically enough, in the surrounding context, he only uses past tense (in fact, he emphasizes it). Again, I could be wrong, so I’m not going to act like I have it all figured out.

But what I do know, is that when we start putting our identity in things other than God, we immediately enter some dangerous ground.

The basic definition of the word sin is “missing the mark”. If we constantly identify ourselves as “sinners,” we are repeatedly telling ourselves that we are OK with the fact that we are missing the mark all the time. Many of us have heard the simple metaphor here of an arrow and a target, but I liken it more to going to a shooting range with a hand gun. I load up the clip, and then I just go nuts, blasting away with one hand, alright with hitting the target sometimes, and being just as alright with missing it. It’s more for just the thrill of shooting than anything. Sure, it might be fun. Sure, I might hit the target a couple of times and feel good about myself. But in the end, I’m not any better off.

Paul talks about not using grace as a license to sin. Personally, I think this is what can happen if we identify with our sin. Is there grace for missing the mark? Sure. Do we, as humans, sin all of the time? Of course. But there’s a huge difference between doing and being. Here’s the basic idea:

Being: I sin. I am a sinner. God’s grace is sufficient. Shit happens, and it will happen again. Oh well.

Doing: I am created in the Image of God. But I do sin. And God’s grace is definitely sufficient. What steps can I take to “go and sin no more”, as Jesus often says?

Let’s go back to the shooting range idea (by the way, I know that some might find this kind of metaphor uncomfortable or distracting, but the bigger picture just seems to work). I see this as putting both hands on the gun, holding it the right way, meticulously standing the way that is best for aim, and if need be, letting the person more experienced put their arms around you to help guide your shot.

And of course, sometimes you’ll still miss the target.

Throughout his letters, Paul is always very clear about his issues with sin. He never acts like he has it all together. He is very open and honest about stuff he struggles with. But in Romans 7, Paul talks about how it’s the sinful nature in him that causes him to do what he hates—verse 20 sums it up specifically: “Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.” He has a fundamental understanding that in Christ, he is “a new creation.”

The old has gone. The new has come. One of my favorite quotes from any theologian is this quote from Marcus Borg (emphasis added):

“The Way of Jesus is the way of death and resurrection. The transition and transformation from an old way of being to a new way of being.”

I love the repetition of the word “being” in that quote. The fact that he just knows who he is in Christ. But he’s also come to terms with the fact that it’s a transition as well as a transformation. That our humanity—the sinful nature Paul speaks of—will still rear its head and get in the way sometimes. And that’s just one thing that God’s perfect, beautiful, transforming grace is for.

There’s a difference between doing and being. There’s a difference between coming to terms with our sin and identifying with it. The more we identify with it, the more we tell ourselves that we are (you fill in the blank) and nothing more, the more we open our hearts to believing lies about ourselves that just aren’t true. The more we fill our hearts and minds with this idea that we are something other than the image of the Most High God, the sooner we lead ourselves to our own destruction (more on this in part 3).

If we are created in the image of God, and we are considered “good,” is identifying with anything other than that missing the mark? Put more simply, is truly identifying with our sin—and telling ourselves this over and over, as we often do—in itself sinning? I think so. Is God’s grace still sufficient? This is one thing I definitely still know.

I must preface this section by saying that much of it is inspired by/appropriated from a sermon Rob Bell gave about a year ago, titled “The Importance of Beginning in the Beginning.” If you can get your hands on it and listen to it, I wouldn’t be able to recommend it enough. It is literally one of the most important messages I have ever heard.

I’m pretty sure everyone knows the Creation story. Or at least the gist of it. And I’m also pretty sure that everyone knows at least the most important part of the story of the fall of man. They are stories that are ingrained into Christians from a young age, as well as stories that permeate our culture and humanity. No matter what you believe—or if you even believe it—this idea that we were once perfect, and then something happened to screw it all up, it’s just in us.

But where are we starting the story? In my Bible, Genesis 1 and 2 come before Genesis 3. How about yours?

Genesis 1 and 2 are two distinctly different, and beautiful pieces of poetry revealing God’s nature as a Creator, and revealing our proper nature as the Creation. In end of the first part (1:31), the text reads:

“And God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good (suitable, pleasant) and He approved it completely. And there was evening and there was morning, a sixth day.” (Amplified Version)

Notice the text doesn’t say “perfect”. This is interesting to me. God made us “good,” “suitable,” and “pleasant” but with the ability to choose imperfection. Anyway, in the second part (2:7), another great thing is revealed:

“Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath or spirit of life, and man became a living being.” (Amplified Version)

So we learn from the very beginning of our sacred narrative that we were created good, and that we were given the very breath and spirit of life. Even though the Hebrew word for life in this verse is predominantly talking about literal, physical life, I can’t help but connect it to the spiritual, abundant life that Jesus speaks of in John 10:10. Our identity from our very creation is in the fact that we are made in the image of the Most High God. It’s who we are.

It’s not until Genesis 3 where humanity chooses imperfection. Humanity chooses to separate itself from this “good” thing. But as much as it would be easy to say this is where our identity changes form because of a stupid, selfish choice, it’s just not true. And if we start our Bibles here, we start with the posture of who we aren’t, rather than who we are.

I look mostly like my mom, and kind of like my dad. I act mostly like my dad, and kind of like my mom. My last name is Simula. A name that was passed on by my dad, a name that I, in turn, am passing on to my sons. At any time, I could choose to change my last name. Or I could get cosmetic surgery to change my appearance. Or I could see a behavioral specialist and try to change how my personality works. I could choose to never speak to my family again. But the fact of the matter is that nothing I can do can separate me from the fact that my identity as a human is in the fact that I am a Simula, and I am a spitting image of my mom and dad. I can try as hard as possible to change this fact, but the bare facts will still always remain.

It’s that simple. We were created in the Image of God. And we are considered good, suitable, and pleasant. Our story starts with this simple truth. And nothing can change that.

Over the last year or so, I’ve stretched myself theologically on so many levels. I’ve called into question many things I’ve believed wholeheartedly my entire life. I’ve bent my beliefs to the point of nearly breaking them. But by the Grace of God, I am only more in love with Jesus and the Scriptures.

But that A.W. Tozer quote puts so succinctly what Paul was getting at in 1 Corinthians 13: that knowledge and understanding, by themselves, are completely meaningless.

Am I, or have I been, completely spiritually empty? No. Have I been close? Of course. There has been some shaking of my spiritual life and community in general that has factored into this spiritual emptiness—this disconnected feeling—and I have been working towards healing and making those situations right. But beyond that, its just been too heavy of a focus on learning ABOUT God, and less of a focus on abiding IN God. Spending time WITH Him.

Do I believe theology and doctrine are unimportant? Not by any means. But I do believe there needs to be a perfect balance, and God has been tipping my scales in the right direction.

In the last few weeks, God has been doing a work in me. He has rekindled the experiential side of my faith. He has given me a new passion for walking with Him. He has, in a way, made me a little bored with theology for the time being. He has been more clearly and loudly showing His presence as the third (well, first) member of my wife and I’s “marital trinity”. I’m feeling less and less inclined to argue a theological point that, in light of the bigger picture, is more than likely near-meaningless anyway. I’m feeling less and less cynical. I’m feeling emotional again.

Best of all, I’m rediscovering Jesus for WHO HE IS, not for who I think He is. And I’m falling in love with Him all over again.

Don’t get me wrong, I love reason. I love logic. I love science. I absolutely love reading and learning. As a kid, I used to read encyclopedias for fun. And now, I still find myself getting sucked into 45-minute Wikipedia binges.

But the adverse of that, my faith is strong. My faith is real. I have had some real, unexplainable-by-reason-or-logic experiences with the Most High. I have seen the Father work in ways in my life that just can’t be explained by conventional ideas or coincidence. And to me, that’s alright.

The balance has been off lately. I’ve been deconstructing my faith for no other reason than deconstructing it. I’ve been pursuing knowledge far above the equally as (if not more) important experience.

Through prayer and listening, I feel like God has shown me tons of grace for this deconstruction, but He has given me a better blueprint for it.

I’m calling it “constructive deconstruction.”

My brother Evan is a bike mechanic. A damn good one, at that. I was thinking the other day about how he learned so much about bikes and how they work. He learned about them the same way other boys learn about mechanics and electronics and things: taking them apart. Deconstruction, not for the sake of breaking something, but for the sake of learning more about it, and possibly even improving on it. What are the core parts? How do they function? What is their purpose? What can I remove without losing that function or purpose?

I’m sure you can see where I’m going here. We can strip our faith down to it’s very core, learn more about what we really believe, and maybe improve on it by adding a little logic and reason to it all.

What does every bike have? A frame, a chain, pedals, handlebars, a seat, and wheels. Other things such as multiple gears, brakes, reflectors, water bottle holders, and splash guards definitely are good things. They serve their purpose. But they aren’t necessary to the function of the bike, right?

As a Christian, I have my orthodoxy. I have my Apostles’ and Nicene creeds. I have the very core, functional things of my faith: a triune creator-God, authority of Scriptures, salvation by grace through the resurrection of Jesus, a promise of hope and peace for the future, a community of brothers and sisters to stand with—you get the point. I can add other theologies and doctrines and lifestyle choices and other things on top of this that are all good and purposeful, but not essential. Just like a bike, we always benefit from learning more about it’s function and removing the unneeded things, to make our ride as light and efficient as possible. Not saying it’s easy—you will know what I mean if you’ve ever taken a fixed-gear bike for a ride.

I’ll take the analogy one step farther, which is God, through his grace, meeting us where we are at. My brother has a room full of bike parts: frames, wheels, gears, handlebars, shocks, and the like. He can custom-build a multitude of bikes for any occasion, any terrain. If he is going to be riding in the mountains or in the woods, he’ll throw some extra gears on, use a stronger frame, and use fat, knobby tires. If he’s going to be tooling around the city, chances are he’ll have nothing but thin road tires and a single, fixed gear. The bike is different, but it still has the same core parts, and still serves the same purpose: riding. Some people need certain types of theology, certain types of doctrine, certain takes on the Gospel in order to really “get” it. Some people need nothing more than the basics. Some people need some bells and whistles to help them move forward. But at it’s core, there’s still only one unchanging Gospel. One Gospel that serves one purpose.

For me, adding knowledge helps me find the beauty in the Gospel. I am constantly learning. Learning new stuff about the history of the Bible, the historical Jesus, the different cultures that the scriptures were written in—sometimes taking it to the point of questioning some core elements of my faith. But when I step back and look at it, I think to myself: “I know that I still need that wheel. I know I still need those handlebars.” That’s what keeps me pressing on towards Jesus. I know that He is real, and I still believe in the core doctrines and purpose of this faith I hold so dearly.

Lately, the scale has been tipped too far in the knowledge direction. I don’t want to become a gnostic. I don’t want to make knowledge my god, I want knowledge to compliment my God.  Sometimes I just need to remember what’s important.

Sometimes I need to replace the inner-tube on the tire to keep it inflated.

Sometimes I need to grease the chain up to keep the ride smooth.

And I thank God everyday for keeping me on the bike.