Surrendering to Perfection Before Striving for It

 

In the bustling rhythm of modern Christian life, where podcasts promise “next-level faith,” conferences hype breakthrough moments, and social media scrolls with filtered testimonies of victory, a quiet paradox whispers through the pages of Scripture. We are commanded to pursue holiness with relentless intensity, yet the very pursuit begins not in our grasping but in our release. The spiritual life is not a ladder we climb by raw effort but a race we run only after we have first collapsed at the feet of the One who has already run it perfectly. This is the heartbeat of surrender to perfection before striving for perfection, a truth that pulses through two pivotal passages: Philippians 3:12-14 and Matthew 5:48. 

Here, the Apostle Paul models raw humility in the face of unfinished sanctification, while Jesus issues the divine summons to reflect the Father’s flawless character. Together, these verses dismantle both smug self-sufficiency and paralyzing perfectionism. They invite us into a Gospel rhythm: first, we surrender to the reality that we have not arrived (and never will in this life by our own power), embracing the perfection that is already ours in Christ; only then do we press on with holy abandon. To exegete these texts using the English Standard Version, while examining the original Greek, is to discover that true maturity is born not from frantic striving but from yielded trust. Let us linger here, word by word, phrase by phrase, and allow the Spirit to reorient our souls.

The Humble Confession of an Apostle in Philippians 3:12-14 (ESV)

Paul writes from prison, his body scarred by beatings, shipwrecks, and sleepless nights, yet his spirit ablaze. The immediate context is his passionate renunciation of any confidence in the flesh (Philippians 3:3-11). He has counted all as loss for the surpassing worth of knowing Christ, even sharing in His sufferings and pressing toward the resurrection. Now he pivots to the future of his relationship with Jesus Christ, refusing to rest on past laurels or pretend he has crossed the finish line. The ESV renders it with crystalline precision:

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

The opening negation, “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect”, is a masterclass in spiritual realism. In the original Greek, it begins οὐχ ὅτι ἤδη ἔλαβον ἢ ἤδη τετελείωμαι. The verb ἔλαβον (from λαμβάνω) carries the sense of “to receive” or “to take hold of” something as one’s own possession, often with the nuance of grasping a prize. Paul insists he has not yet seized the full reality of resurrection power and conformity to Christ that he described in verses 10-11. Even more striking is τετελείωμαι, the perfect passive indicative of τελειόω. This verb, rooted in τέλος (end, goal, completion), speaks of being brought to full maturity, consummated, or perfected in every part. In classical Greek, it described the completion of a task or the initiation of a priest into sacred service; in the New Testament, it often denotes the finishing work of God in a believer’s life (see Hebrews 2:10; 5:9). Paul uses the perfect tense to emphasize a state of completion that he has not yet entered. He is not claiming sinless flawlessness or static arrival. As one commentator notes, there is no perfectionism in Paul, no cultivated image of constant triumph that many leaders unfortunately project today. 

This confession bursts the windbags of spiritual arrogance. Imagine a seasoned minister reading the biography of Robert Murray M’Cheyne or David Brainerd and feeling the sting: where is my zeal, my holiness, my utter abandonment? Paul’s words echo the wisdom of George Müller: “Just as a little child is a perfect human being, but still is far from perfect in all his development as man, so the true child of God is also perfect in all parts, although not yet perfect in all the stages of his development in faith.” The work of Christ for us is finished; the work of the Holy Spirit in us is ongoing. Spurgeon captured it beautifully: “While the work of Christ for us is perfect, and it would be presumption to think of adding to it, the work of the Holy Spirit in us is not perfect; it is continually carried on from day to day, and will need to be continued throughout the whole of our lives.” 

Here is the first movement of surrender: we must release the illusion of having “already obtained” or “already perfected.” In a culture obsessed with personal branding and spiritual metrics, likes, downloads, and conference invitations, this verse is a mercy. It frees leaders from the exhausting performance of projected perfection and invites every believer into honest vulnerability. Edge case: What if past victories tempt us to coast? Paul’s οὐχ ὅτι dismantles that. What if failures paralyze us? The same confession reminds us that even the apostle had not arrived. Surrender here is not defeat but the doorway to authentic striving.

“But I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” The Greek διώκω δὲ is vivid: διώκω, the same verb Paul used in verse 6 for his former persecution of the Church, now redirected toward holy pursuit. It evokes a hunter relentlessly tracking prey or an athlete sprinting in the stadium. No passive drifting; this is an active, forward-leaning effort. Yet notice the beautiful reciprocity: Paul presses on εἰ καὶ καταλάβω ἐφ’ ᾧ καὶ κατελήμφθην ὑπὸ Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ. The verb καταλαμβάνω (to seize, to lay hold of, to apprehend) appears twice, once in the aorist subjunctive καταλάβω (that I may lay hold) and once in the aorist passive κατελήμφθην (I was laid hold of). The prefixed preposition κατά intensifies the action, suggesting not merely catching but grasping firmly and pulling down, like a wrestler pinning an opponent. Wuest’s insight is powerful: Paul wants to “catch hold of it and pull it down… like a football player who not only wants to catch his man, but wants to pull him down and make him his own.” 

Christ’s prior laying hold of Paul on the Damascus road was no gentle tap; it was a sovereign seizure that turned a persecutor into an apostle. Why did Jesus lay hold? To make him a new man (Romans 6:4), to conform him to the image of the Son (Romans 8:29), to make him a witness and instrument of conversion (Acts 9:15), to bring him into suffering (Acts 9:16), and ultimately to the resurrection (Philippians 3:11). Surrender means recognizing that our striving is always a response to His initiative. We do not press on in our flesh but in the grip of grace. This is child-like faith meeting mature resolve: the toddler who reaches because the parent has first lifted her. Nuance: Passivity masquerading as trust (“Jesus has me; I’m good”) is exposed as counterfeit. True surrender fuels holy aggression.

“Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.” The Greek λογίζομαι here is accounting language; Paul does not “reckon” or calculate himself as having attained. ἓν δέ (but one thing) signals laser focus. Forgetting (ἐπιλανθανόμενος, present middle participle of ἐπιλανθάνομαι) is not amnesia, but a deliberate refusal to let past successes or failures define the present. Straining forward (ἐπεκτεινόμενος, from ἐπεκτείνω) pictures a runner stretching every muscle toward the tape, neck extended, body fully committed. This is no casual jog; it is all-out exertion. 

Paul illustrates with the ancient coinage of Spain: once inscribed *Ne Plus Ultra* (“nothing further”), it became *Plus Ultra* (“more beyond”) after the discovery of the New World. Some Christians live with “nothing further” etched on their hearts, resting in past revivals or early conversions. Paul chooses “more beyond.” He had put his hand to the plow and refused to look back (Luke 9:62). The deception of living in the past (guilt, nostalgia) or future (anxiety, fantasy) robs the present, where eternity intersects now. A race is won stride by stride, breath by breath.

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” Again διώκω κατὰ σκοπὸν, pursuing straight toward the σκοπός (goal, mark). The βραβεῖον (prize) is not merely heaven’s perks but the upward call itself: κλήσεως ἄνω, the heavenly summons emanating from God’s heart, worthy of God, summoning us where Christ sits at the right hand (Meyer). Clarke captures the intensity: “every muscle and nerve is exerted… running for life, and running for his life.” Crucially, this call is ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ, only in Christ. Legalists might claim an upward call by fleshly effort; Paul knows it flows from union with the crucified and risen Lord. 

In this passage, we see the full arc: surrender to the imperfection of our current state (οὐχ ὅτι… τετελείωμαι) births surrendered striving (διώκω… καταλάβω). Paul’s maturity is not the absence of struggle but the presence of single-minded pursuit rooted in Christ’s prior grasp.

The Divine Standard and the Human Impossibility

In Matthew 5:48, Jesus concludes the antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount with a command that shatters every self-righteous illusion: “You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” The Greek is Ἔσεσθε οὖν ὑμεῖς τέλειοι ὡς ὁ πατὴρ ὑμῶν ὁ οὐράνιος τέλειός ἐστιν. τέλειοι is the nominative plural of τέλειος, an adjective derived from τέλος (end, goal). In classical and Koine Greek, it denotes completeness, maturity, wholeness, or that which has reached its intended purpose, not sinless flawlessness in every moment, but moral and relational integrity that mirrors the Father’s character. God is τέλειος in His undivided love, perfect justice, and unwavering faithfulness. Jesus commands us to reflect that wholeness: no hatred (5:21-26), no lust (5:27-30), no deceitful oaths (5:33-37), no retaliation (5:38-42), and love even for enemies (5:43-47). 

If anyone could live this chapter perfectly, they would possess a righteousness exceeding the scribes and Pharisees (Matthew 5:20) and enter the kingdom. Yet only one Man has: Jesus Christ. The verse is not primarily a checklist for daily Christian ethics, though it is that, but a mirror exposing our need for righteousness apart from the law (Romans 3:21-22). Carson observes that the law always pointed toward “all the perfection of God.” Jesus is not softening the standard; He is heightening it to drive us to grace. The purpose of the commandment is love from a pure heart (1 Timothy 1:5). We are left guilty, unable to self-justify, precisely so that we cast ourselves on the perfect One.

Here surrender meets the summit. The call to τέλειος is impossible in the flesh, yet it is our destiny in Christ. We surrender to the Father’s perfection first, acknowledging our shortfall, then strive by the Spirit to grow into it. Nuances abound: τέλειος is not static arrival but progressive maturity (James 3:2 links it to not stumbling in speech). Edge cases include the perfectionist who collapses under self-imposed standards (missing grace) and the antinomian who dismisses the command as “Old Testament” (missing holiness). Implications for today: in polarized Churches, loving enemies becomes the test of τέλειος. In anxious parenting or leadership, refusing to grasp control mirrors the Father’s perfect trust.

Synthesizing the Two: Surrender First, Then Strive

The genius of these passages lies in their interplay. Philippians 3:12-14 shows surrender in action: Paul’s honest “not already perfect” (οὐχ ὅτι ἤδη τετελείωμαι) prevents striving from becoming self-reliant drudgery. Matthew 5:48 supplies the target: τέλειοι as the Father is τέλειος. We surrender to Christ’s finished work and ongoing grip (κατελήμφθην), then press on (διώκω) toward the goal. This order guards against burnout and complacency alike. 

Practically, surrender looks like a daily confession: “Lord, I have not attained; yet You have attained me.” It births prayerful dependence before ambitious goals. Consider historical examples: Whitfield’s zeal flowed from yieldedness; Herbert’s devoutness from resting in Christ’s perfection. In our age of hustle culture, this rhythm restores joy. Edge case for leaders: the temptation to project “already perfected” erodes authenticity; Paul’s model invites transparency that actually magnifies grace. For the wounded: forgetting what lies behind is not denial but redirection, trauma yields to the upward call. 

Implications ripple outward. Marriages thrive when spouses surrender imperfections before striving for oneness. Churches grow when members release performance for pursuit. Missions advance when workers rest in Christ’s grasp before laboring. Theologically, this upholds sola gratia: perfection is a gift before it is a goal. 

Ultimately, the prize is the call itself, the privilege of running with God as a partner in His kingdom. May we, like Paul, forget the behind, strain toward the ahead, and in yielded pursuit reflect the Father’s perfect love. Surrender today. Strive tomorrow, and every tomorrow thereafter, in the power of the One who has already made you His own.