A First-Place Sinner
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I like to win. The thrill of victory tastes better than the agony of defeat. And crossing the finish line with no one in front of you is an invigorating experience. But I’m not as obsessive about winning as Coach Red Sanders, the originator of the line: “Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.” And I don’t have to take a victory lap boasting that, “second place is the first loser.” Still, victory is sweet. And a polygraph test would reveal that I’d prefer winning over losing.
One can’t find much glory in rehearsing experiences of dismal failure. But there’s also no glory in pretending we haven’t failed.
But who would want to win at something shameful—something like sin? Who would want to be crowned a first-place sinner? One can’t find much glory in rehearsing experiences of dismal failure. But there’s also no glory in pretending we haven’t failed.
The Apostle Paul’s brutal admission of his own sinfulness is both honest and vulnerable. He wrote to Timothy, “This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief” (1 Tim. 1:15). Paul is saying, when it comes to sinning, he wins. He’s the chief sinner, the foremost sinner, the worst sinner, the prominent sinner.
It’s easier when our heinous acts of rebellion and our disobedience to God are remembered only as distant chapters of the past or better, as sins that are forgotten altogether. Those terrible things we’ve thought, said, or done, if mentioned at all, should now be confined to our past-tense testimony. Those things happened back there in our former life. However, when Paul described himself as a chief sinner, he doesn’t say that I was that sinner; he says that I am that sinner. The trophy for first-place sinner is still displayed on Paul’s mantel.
Surely, Paul must have remembered Stephen’s face gazing into heaven when he was being pelted to death with rocks.
Seems to me the apostle never loosened his stranglehold on his own depravity. He knew he was once an enemy of God. He knew he had joined murderous mobs that dragged Christians from their homes. He was present at and complicit in the stoning of Stephen, the church’s first martyr. Surely, Paul must have remembered Stephen’s face gazing into heaven when he was being pelted to death with rocks. And right up until his personal encounter with the risen Christ, Paul (then Saul) was still making threats to murder the Lord’s disciples (Acts 9:1). But Paul would later acknowledge that his sin was especially repulsive. He persecuted the church of God which meant he was also persecuting Jesus (1 Cor. 15:9, Acts 9:4). And he would never exempt himself from those terrible consequences that rested on his shoulders.
Like anyone, Paul lived a sinful life. And he refused to pretend that wasn’t the case. He did not whitewash the severity of his alienation from God and his hostility toward Christ-followers.
Like anyone, Paul lived a sinful life. And he refused to pretend that wasn’t the case. He did not whitewash the severity of his alienation from God and his hostility toward Christ-followers. His self-portrait was painted with the brush of blunt candor. Paul was a first-place sinner.
But something extraordinary has taken place for Paul and every other believer in Jesus. All of us have sinned, and we have also exchanged our sin for Christ’s righteousness. In 2 Corinthians 5:21, Paul reminds us,
For God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.
When it comes to our sin and Christ’s righteousness, two truths can be embraced simultaneously even though held in tension. We don’t stop being sinners. But through faith, we do take on a new identity—righteous before God. Sin no longer owns us. Therefore, we can count ourselves dead to sin and alive to God (Rom. 6:11).
We may even try to deflect God’s conviction with a subconscious competition or comparison with others. All we must do to feel better about ourselves—less sinful—is to find someone worse than us.
Admitting you’re wrong is rarely easy. And the word sinner is nearly impossible for some people to use in describing themselves. Many of us live unaware of how bad we really are. We may even try to deflect God’s conviction with a subconscious competition or comparison with others. All we must do to feel better about ourselves—less sinful—is to find someone worse than us.
Once we’re confronted with the holy magnificence of Jesus, our own sin becomes magnified. We’re all chief sinners because our sins and careless actions nailed Jesus to the cross.
But Paul knew the standard of comparison was Jesus. And he knew that he fell short. All of us do. Once we’re confronted with the holy magnificence of Jesus, our own sin becomes magnified. We’re all chief sinners because our sins and careless actions nailed Jesus to the cross. Jesus is sinless perfection—an unattainable standard for any other human being. But through Jesus we have perfect, right standing with God.
Yes, we sin. But the believer has also found a new freedom. A death has occurred. Your death and mine. We’ve been crucified with Christ, and we’re no longer alive, but Christ is alive in us as we live this life of faith. And Jesus loved us and gave Himself for us even in our sinfulness (Gal. 2:20).
