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Frank Lloyd Wright–style homes of that period are characterized by unique features such as low-pitched rooflines, overhanging eaves, and rows of casement windows. Our home was no exception. It was a genuine period piece and a privilege to own.

Imagine, though, that once we move in, I start getting some ideas about how to improve the place: “We could take out those windows and put in a sliding glass door. We could rip out those horizontal lines and add some gingerbread décor along the eaves so it looks more like other houses on the street. And we could frame up a new roofline so it’s not so flat anymore.”

Then I grab a sledgehammer and go to work.

Of course, that never happened. I would have made a mockery of that house. We owned a unique piece of architectural history that would’ve been ruined if I had tried to “improve” it. You don’t purchase a historical home designed to reflect a certain style and then try to force it into a different genre. That’s turning Frank Lloyd Wright into Frank Lloyd Wrong.

As children of God, we are perfectly designed by the Master Architect. But we’re so convinced of our own unworthiness, so obsessed with our failures, that it’s hard for us to believe we don’t need to be “fixed.” Blinded by the flesh’s desire to self-improve, we may not see how out of place our attempts to perfect ourselves really are. Sure, there’s “yard work”—changes in our attitudes and actions—as we “put on love” each day (Col. 3:14). But there’s an important truth to be understood here: we—who we are structurally at the core—cannot be improved. We are the Master’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus as a new species of heavenly people:

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Eph. 2:10)

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. (1 Pet. 2:9)

The whole purpose of the gospel is to communicate that we are in need of Jesus for genuine change. This fundamental change happens when we receive Christ. It’s our job from that day forward to learn about the masterpiece that God has fashioned us to be. We are told to live from our perfection in Christ rather than trying to “perfect ourselves” through religion:

In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. (Rom. 6:11)

Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh? (Gal. 3:3 NASB)

For by one offering He has perfected for all time those who are sanctified. (Heb. 10:14 NASB)

God has crafted us into a beautiful home for himself. Once we realize this, it’s only natural for us to accept ourselves just as he does. If we see ourselves as an old, dilapidated shack, we’ll be driven to constantly make structural changes. And these self-inflicted “improvements” run counter to God’s intent for us. We can’t improve upon the work of a Master Architect. We are the product of God’s finest workmanship.

And you don’t mess with a masterpiece.

20

In my “God without Religion” seminar, I ask people a series of questions to see what they think of themselves. I ask them to measure themselves against people we know or have heard of.

I first ask, “How many of you would say you’re as righteous as me?”

Most hands go up. Some people even wave two!

I then raise the bar. “How many are as righteous as Mother Teresa?”

A lot of hands go down, but a few confident ones remain. “God probably grades on a curve, and I just don’t have her opportunities, but if I did . . .” they might think.

I up the ante even more. “How many are as righteous as the apostle Paul?”

Only a few brave souls persist.

Then I deliver the final blow. “And how many are as righteous as Jesus Christ?”

With that one, I’m lucky to see one hand remaining.

But here’s the deal: if we can’t say, “I am as righteous as Jesus