I’ve become somewhat of a gnostic lately. I don’t like it at all.

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.