by Serena S. Sellers

It was perfect The polished silverware gleamed. The china shone. The crystal glasses sparkled. The sweet potatoes were covered with perfectly toasted marshmallows. An artfully arranged platter of crudités was adorned with skillfully crafted radish roses. The basket of steaming hot rolls were accompanied by a dish of sweet butter pats carefully pressed into the shape of tiny, perfect pumpkins.

The extravagant cornucopia centerpiece overflowing with fruit and flowers was overshadowed only by the perfectly browned bird, the crowning glory of the table. A more beautiful feast could scarcely be imagined. Amy called her family to the table. Little daughter Dakota came in first. Dressed in her Sunday best, she was the perfect addition to the picture, or she would have been if it hadn’t been for her downcast look. She had tried to help in the kitchen, but none of her work had made it to the table. Her rolls had turned out lumpy. Her radish roses lacked properly formed petals. The last straw came when she couldn’t resist reaching for a marshmallow, but got a smack on the hand instead of a treat. She had been banished from the kitchen, and although she had dressed the part of a holiday reveler, the slump of her shoulders made it clear that her heart wasn’t in it.

Teen son Tyler slouched into the dining room behind her. He had on his confirmation suit, but obviously wasn’t happy about it. His tie was crooked, and a thin white wire ran from under his suit coat up to the buds in his ears. It was clear that Tyler couldn’t name a single place that he would rather be...he could name thousands.

Uncle Steve and Aunt Cindy came in from the family room. Cindy gave Dakota a sympathetic smile. Steve ruffled Tyler’s hair and noticed the wire. He signaled to his nephew to take out the headphones. Tyler rolled his eyes, but did as his uncle suggested, and just in time.

Amy came in from the kitchen. She had been up at dawn after tossing and turning all night. All day, she had averted one kitchen catastrophe after another to get this meal on the table. And what had been husband Bill’s response when she called that all was ready? "Honey, it’s third and inches. I’ll be there in a minute." Bill came in shortly thereafter, barely glancing at his gathered family and the beautiful table, looking a little sheepish, as he hurried to his place at the head of the table.

Later, with her hands in the sink, Amy found herself suddenly teary. She couldn’t put her finger on the source of her sorrow. She had done everything humanly possible to make this the perfect Thanksgiving. The food had been delicious — even Bill said so. Cindy’s drippy pumpkin pie had been surprisingly tasty. But the conversation had been so stiff. Dakota had barely said a word. She’d hardly eaten, for that matter. She just sat there, staring down at her plate, picking at her food. She was almost as uncommunicative as her brother. The only time he opened his mouth was to ask someone to pass more food, or to shovel it in.

And then it seemed that everyone had fled the table as soon as possible. Football, it appeared, was the real main event of the day. Cindy had offered to help clean up, but after the table was cleared Amy had shooed her out of the kitchen. Last year Cindy had started to put the crystal right into the dishwasher, if you could believe it.

Tempted by perfection
There is a longing shared by millions to have the ideal "Kodak moment" as we gather to celebrate the holidays. In our crazy headlong culture, we ache for the contentment of everything in order, as it should be, as we want it to be, as it never seems to turn out. No matter how hard we work, no matter how hard we try, little things and big things gum up the works and derail the plans. Something as small as a child’s pout can take the shine off the moment.

But it isn’t just during the holidays. We are driven to do our best every day, but we want more than our best — we want our work, our family, our vacation, our home, our lives to be perfect. Aren’t we supposed to give it our all? Shouldn’t we strive to create an exemplary life? Where would we be if everyone decided to settle for "good enough"? Doesn’t our faith encourages to lead a God–pleasing life, and doesn’t that require us to be our best, most perfect self?

Here’s the rub: The drive for perfection can easily become a catalyst for sin. I speak as one who knows. I freely admit that I am a recovering perfectionist. I never actually attained perfection, ever, but there was a time in my life when it seemed to be just beyond my grasp, but never beyond my striving. Some people are tempted to sin by greed or lust. In my weaker moments I’m tempted by perfection. How could it be sinful to do your best?

Perfectionism is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. As we whirl along in a frenzy of perfectionism, many of our actions and achievements get praise and admiration, but there is a dark side. Looking back, I can see that I was indulging in a number of sins that were drowned out by the accolades at the time, but are obvious to me now.

Sloth
First was the sin of sloth. How can you be lazy when you are working yourself to death to be perfect? I was lazy because I was able to excuse myself for what I didn’t get done. I was so busy trying to be perfect, I didn’t have time to be human. I was in denial about the limits of my time and energy, but that didn’t make my limits go away. For every extra task I added to my list, something else was neglected. For example, whenever I was too busy building houses for Habitat for Humanity, or taking soup to a shut–in, or bringing home work so that I could put a few more hours into polishing a project, I didn’t deal with my mail — well, what more could anyone expect of me?

Despite my growing piles of papers and mail, people were still praising me for my volunteer efforts and workload, which meant that I wasn’t really bad for not getting to those things that I should have done, right? Who ever praises you for getting all the piles of paper sorted and filed and filled out and paid and shredded? I was just too tired, and who could blame me? I had more important things to do. Who were they to judge me anyway? Look at all the good that I was accomplishing!

This one little falsehood can cause a world of pain. It is as if your relationships develop a slow leak of respect and caring. There is a saying, "No guts, no glory," but I’ve discovered "all glory leads to no guts." It really is the little things that count. Guts are not glamorous, but they are important for a healthy life. Those little things that get neglected eventually demand their day, and it can be a very unpleasant day.

Is my house clean now? No way! But I recognize that my mess is my own responsibility. I don’t expect that what I ought to do should take care of itself just because I opt to do something else, even if it is "perfect," in my opinion.

False witness
Another sin of perfectionism is the sin of bearing false witness. It isn’t that a perfectionist is intentionally untruthful; it’s more that the vision of the perfectionist is distorted. Being a perfectionist is like wearing smog-colored glasses. Instead of seeing what is actually good and lovely, right and true, a perfectionist will focus only on what is lacking and flawed. It is as if the image in my head of what would be "perfect" is a lens that makes me see the world off–kilter. Instead of seeing the world as it is, with appreciation and thanksgiving, perfectionism drives us to see only what could be made better.

When I allow myself this "perfection vision" I am deprived of a certain generosity of spirit. God’s incredible gift of life becomes a problem to be solved instead of a journey to be enjoyed. Theologians in the process school of theology claim that what pleases God most is our enjoyment of God. To truly enjoy God, we have to appreciate what has been given by God, not what we imagine (or wish) God intended to give. We must see the beauty in life even though it is flawed, even though we are flawed.

Idolatry
But the most damning sin of perfectionism is the sin of idolatry. When we become obsessed with perfection we presume that not only are we capable of perfection, but we can achieve it consistently. Worse than that, we presume that our own standards are what perfection really looks like. Consciously or unconsciously, we set ourselves in competition with others to meet our standards of perfection.

When God chose to reveal the true standard of perfection to humanity, we didn’t have a clue about what we were seeing. The world rejected Jesus Christ. He was associated with the sick, the troubled, and the people society rejected. He was killed, and in that humble, broken moment on the cross, we finally see what perfection really looks like. It isn’t polished and attractive, but roughhewn and bloody. It looks like perfect love.

That really is the key, isn’t it? Our faith calls us to be our self — our best self, surely, but our true self most of all. We live as flawed people in a beloved but broken world. Our striving is driven by an idea of perfection that comes from an unreal world of fantasies. That isn’t the world that God so loves. We imagine the perfect family, the perfect job, the perfect home, and then we push and pull and stretch our lives to fit the mold that we have created, no matter who or what must reform to fit our fantasy. God doesn’t create this imaginary world, we do. God created a world that is still in the process of becoming, of changing, of growing. God created us, and loves us now, warts and all, not when we’re "perfect."

By all means, we need to aim high and do our best, but we should never let the quest for "perfection" drive us away from the love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things — even lumpy rolls, drippy pies, and the imperfect people who remind us just how perfect God’s love must be. Rejoice in the knowledge of God’s perfect love for you, just as you are. Appreciate the limits with which you were created. Then you can work on being perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect — that is, perfect in love.

The Rev. Serena S. Sellers is assistant to the bishop for connections and resources in the Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod of the ELCA and adjunct faculty at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. She lives in Quakertown, Pa., with her very patient and understanding family, the Rev. Raymond Miller and their two daughters, Lydia and Evelyn.