Growing up in a Christian school, I was taught to “be perfect”—not just morally, but spiritually. We were told this was to reflect the perfection of our heavenly Father, as Matthew 5:48 states:
“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
It felt like this: Your Father is perfect. So you should be too.
For over three decades, I believed that being perfect meant not sinning. In other words, following all the rules and principles outlined in the Bible.
To sin was to disobey God—so not sinning was the only path to “perfection.”
But here’s the kicker: I was also taught that I could never be perfect.
So Jesus seemed to be setting an impossible standard we were doomed to fall short of. Try your hardest. Still fail. Because—after all—“nobody’s perfect,” right?
Whiplash much?
Whiplash much?
This confusing paradox was my reality for most of my life. It wasn’t until my 30s that I began questioning these deeply embedded contradictions and gave myself permission to think for myself.
Evangelical Christianity is often accused of harboring unrecognized cognitive dissonance—holding two opposing beliefs at once. Like:
- Be perfect.
- But you’ll never be perfect.
If you point this out to someone deeply committed to that framework, you might get a blank stare. It’s as if their brain momentarily short-circuits.
To resolve that dissonance, most people do one of three things:
- Deny the conflict altogether.
- Drop one belief (usually the one that causes the most discomfort).
- Explain it away with something like, “God’s ways are higher than ours.”
This third option allows people to avoid discomfort and critical thinking. And while it’s understandable (because the unknown is scary), it’s also a form of subconscious self-protection. The mind seeks familiarity—even when it hurts.
But what if divine truth requires us to become uncomfortable?
Let’s look at a story from the very scriptures that shaped this narrative.
Wrestling with the Divine
In the book of Genesis, Jacob wrestles with a divine messenger. He doesn’t back down. He wrestles all night and, in the process, is physically marked—his hip injured—leaving him with a limp. But he gains something far more significant: a new name. Israel.
And with that, an identity is born: those who wrestle with God.
To be an Israelite, then, was never about blind obedience—it was about grappling, questioning, engaging with the Divine.
Contrast that with what many of us were taught:
Obey. Don’t question. Don’t doubt.
Obey. Don’t question. Don’t doubt.
But the tradition of wrestling—especially among Jewish thinkers—is not only accepted but encouraged as a path to deeper faith. Sadly, many evangelical spaces have replaced this sacred wrestling with rigid certainty.
As someone who has deconstructed from that system, I now see Matthew 5:48 differently.
Jesus wasn’t setting an unreachable goal.
He was pointing to something already true about us.
He was pointing to something already true about us.
In the original Greek, the word “perfect” is teleios, which doesn’t mean flawless—it means complete, whole, mature.
So Jesus might have been saying:
Live as one who is whole, because your Creator is whole.
That hits differently, doesn’t it?
What if we said it like this:
Live as one who lacks nothing—because your Source lacks nothing.
There’s no contradiction in that.
No spiritual tightrope.
Just a grounding truth: You’re already complete.
No spiritual tightrope.
Just a grounding truth: You’re already complete.
That’s something I can grab onto. That’s something worth wrestling with.
The Real Sin: Forgetting Your Wholeness
Here’s something else I’ve come to see:
The word “sin” in its original language (hamartia) simply means to miss the mark.
So what if the mark is not obedience…
…but awareness of your own completeness?
…but awareness of your own completeness?
If you forget that you are whole…
If you live from a place of lack…
If you search for someone or something to “complete” you…
Then yes—you miss the mark.
If you live from a place of lack…
If you search for someone or something to “complete” you…
Then yes—you miss the mark.
But when you remember your divine wholeness?
You’re already there. You’re aligned. You’re perfect.
You’re already there. You’re aligned. You’re perfect.
We were told there's a "God-shaped hole" in us. But maybe Jesus was telling us the opposite:
You are whole. You lack nothing. You don’t need to earn it.
This truth isn’t complicated. But believing it will change your life.
I know it did mine.
When I finally stopped chasing perfection and started embracing my completeness, my world flipped right-side up. I haven’t been the same since.
So wrestle with this thought:
You are perfect—just like the Divine.
Love,
Can 💕
If this resonated with you, share it with someone who needs the reminder.
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🌀 Want to work with me 1-on-1? Visit Candid Hypnotherapy to learn more.
🌀 Subscribe to my Substack for more thoughts on deconstruction, spirituality, and self-worth.
🌀 Want to work with me 1-on-1? Visit Candid Hypnotherapy to learn more.
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