You Are More Than You Think: What It Really Means to Be Made in God’s Image

At the very beginning of the Bible, there’s this massive, sweeping claim: humans are made in the image of God. And I don’t think we always realize just how disruptive that idea is. Because most of us—when we really stop and sit with who we are—we feel small. We feel insecure. We feel like imposters in our own lives. So if I’m made in God’s image, why do I feel so disconnected from that truth most of the time?

If humanity has such high value and divine purpose, how do we reconcile that with the ache we carry around, the confusion, the shame, the disillusionment? That’s what I want to explore with you. Because this question of identity isn’t just theological—it’s deeply personal. It’s the kind of question that finds you late at night, in the car alone, or in the middle of a quiet breakdown when everything looks fine on the outside. It’s the question that’s followed me for decades in ministry and in my own walk with God: Who am I really? And why am I here?

Genesis 1 and 2 are where we have to begin. These chapters aren’t just a poetic origin story—they’re the setup for everything the Bible is trying to say. They frame what it means to be human, what it means to live well, and what God had in mind when He made us. They don’t just tell us that we’re made in God’s image—they tell us why. “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness,” God says. And then—don’t miss this—it adds: “So that they may rule…”

That phrase “so that” is doing some serious theological heavy lifting. It tells us that image bearing isn’t just a label—it’s a vocation. It’s not a stamp we carry around like a divine birth certificate; it’s a way of being, a calling to live into. The image of God isn’t passive. It’s not about looking like God in some abstract way. It’s about partnering with Him, reflecting His character into creation, living in a way that mirrors His justice, His mercy, His creativity, His order. It’s about ruling—not like kings who dominate, but like caretakers who cultivate.

And let me be really clear here: this calling to “rule” has been misunderstood and misused for centuries. It doesn’t mean exploit. It doesn’t mean dominate or abuse. It means to care for. To steward. To manage creation on God’s behalf in the way He would—because we are His representatives. If God called the earth “very good,” then our role as image bearers isn’t to use it up. It’s to protect it, nurture it, and bring more good into it.

So when we ask who we are and why we’re here, the Genesis narrative says: you are an image bearer, and your life has a “so that.” Identity and purpose. These two questions—who am I, and what am I here for—are woven into every human heart. And the Bible’s opening chapters give us a starting place for answering both.

Now, there are two Hebrew words at the center of this: tselem (image) and demut (likeness). Tselem can mean image, shadow, or representation. Think of it like a reflection—something that points beyond itself to a greater reality. Demut, likeness, means resemblance—not sameness, but similarity. So when Genesis says we’re made in God’s image and likeness, it means we’re made to resemble and reflect God—not in substance, but in purpose and character.

And that sets humans apart from everything else in creation. Animals don’t get this title. Stars don’t. Not even angels. Psalm 8 says it like this:

“What is mankind that you are mindful of them? You made them a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned them with glory and honor.”

In other words, we’re not divine. But we’re not ordinary either. We are, somehow, caught between heaven and earth—crowned with purpose, tasked with ruling alongside God, called to live with dignity and direction.

What’s wild is that Psalm 8 suggests the angels marvel at this. That somehow, the divine beings envy the humans—not because we’re more powerful, but because we’ve been given something sacred.

And here’s where it gets even deeper. That Hebrew word tselem—image—is the same word used for idol in the Old Testament. The little carved figures people would worship as stand-ins for their gods. And yet, the same God who forbids idol worship also says you are His image. You are the representation He made. So when God says, “Don’t worship idols,” He’s not just saying “Don’t bow to statues.” He’s saying, “You don’t need them—I already made my image. It’s you.”

Let that sink in.

You don’t need to look for God in statues or signs or systems. You were made to carry His reflection. That’s how much you matter. That’s the kind of value the biblical story places on your life. And if you’ve ever been told otherwise—if religion or culture or shame told you that you were worthless or too far gone—I want you to know that is not what God thinks of you. Genesis 1 says that you bear the image of the divine. You have value. You have a calling. You are more than you think.

But—and this is where the story turns—if Genesis 1 and 2 are about the beauty of who we are, Genesis 3 shows us what happens when we forget. The moment we stop trusting God’s design for how to be human and try to define it for ourselves, things unravel. Chaos enters the story. We misuse our power. We distort the image. And the rest of the Bible becomes the story of God trying to restore what was lost.

God partners with a family. He gives them a mission: to show the world what it looks like to walk with God again. And they get it wrong. Over and over. The Old Testament is a long story of good intentions and broken covenants. And by the end of it, the question is hanging in the air: Is there anyone who can actually do this right?

That’s where Jesus comes in.

Paul writes in Colossians 1:15 that Jesus is “the image of the invisible God.” That’s not just poetic—it’s theological. The New Testament writers looked at Jesus and said, that’s what we were supposed to be. He’s not just another prophet. He’s the true human. The new Adam. The one who reflects God’s image perfectly, not just in theory but in flesh and blood.

The writer of Hebrews doubles down on it: “The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His being.” In other words, if you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus. And if you want to know how to be fully human—how to live out your image-bearing vocation—you look at Jesus too.

Because Jesus didn’t just come to die. He came to live. To model. To show us what it looks like to forgive enemies, to serve the vulnerable, to live generously, to walk humbly, to speak truth, to seek justice, to trust God no matter the cost. He didn’t just show us how to get to heaven—He showed us how to bring heaven to earth. And that’s what image bearing is all about.

So if you’re wondering where to start—how to reconnect with who you are and what you’re here for—I’d invite you to sit with Matthew chapters 5, 6, and 7. That’s the Sermon on the Mount. It’s Jesus’ manifesto for what it means to be fully human, to live in the kingdom, to bear the image well. Read it slowly. Read it honestly. Let it shape your imagination.

And hear me on this: if you’ve been told you’re worthless, if you’ve been pushed out of faith spaces, if you’ve been judged or harmed or made to feel like you don’t belong—please don’t judge Jesus by the people who misused His name. Judge Him by His words. Judge Him by His life.

Because the story of the Bible is still good. And there is still a part for you to play in it.

You are more than you think. You are an image bearer. And the invitation to live fully, reflect deeply, and partner with God in this world is still wide open.

So let’s walk forward—together.