It's easy to hear the phrase "Christian perfection" and immediately picture someone impossibly saintly, someone who never stumbles, never has a bad thought, and is, frankly, a bit intimidating. But when you dig into what it really means, especially through the lens of early Methodist thought, it's less about an absence of mistakes and more about a profound, all-encompassing love and devotion to God.
Imagine giving your all to something – a passion, a project, a person. You pour in your time, your energy, your very being. Christian perfection, at its core, is about extending that same level of complete dedication, not just to a task, but to the divine.
Early thinkers, like those whose writings influenced the Methodist movement, wrestled with this idea. They saw that simply going through the motions, or even dedicating a significant portion of one's life to religious practice, wasn't enough. The crucial element, they realized, was the heart. It wasn't just about outward actions; it was about the inner disposition, the "simplicity of intention, and purity of affection." This meant having one overarching design in everything you did, one desire guiding your every temper and thought – the desire to love and serve God.
This wasn't a sudden revelation for everyone. For some, it was a gradual unfolding. Reading influential works, like those by Mr. Law, brought a stark realization: you couldn't be "half a Christian." The call was to be all-devoted to God, to give Him your entire self – your soul, your body, your possessions. It sounds radical, doesn't it? But the question posed was a simple one: what less is due to the One who gave Himself for us than to give Him ourselves, completely?
As the study of scripture deepened, so did the understanding. The Bible became the ultimate standard, the model for pure religion. This led to a clearer vision of the necessity of having "the mind which was in Christ" and walking as He walked. Not just in some areas, but in all things. Religion, in this light, was seen as an unwavering following of Christ, an entire inward and outward conformity to the Master. The fear wasn't of striving too hard, but of bending this ideal to personal comfort or the experiences of others, of allowing even the slightest deviation from that perfect example.
This pursuit culminated in powerful expressions, like a sermon on "the Circumcision of the Heart." This wasn't about a physical act, but about a deep, habitual disposition of the soul – holiness. It meant being cleansed from sin, from all impurity, and being filled with the virtues of Christ. It was about being "renewed in the image of our mind," striving for a perfection that mirrors our heavenly Father's.
At the heart of it all was love. Not just a fleeting emotion, but the fulfilling of the law, the very essence of all commandments. To love God with your entire being – heart, soul, mind, and strength – became the ultimate good, the one ultimate end. This meant desiring nothing for its own sake except the experience of God, seeking union with Him, and having fellowship with the Father and the Son. Every action, every thought, every affection was to be directed towards this singular purpose: the enjoyment of God, both now and eternally.
This is the essence of Christian perfection: a life lived in continuous offering to God, a "living sacrifice of the heart." It's a commitment to let no creature share His throne, to have no design or desire that doesn't have Him as its ultimate object. It's a return of the spirit to its Giver, fueled by flames of holy love, a path walked by those who, though gone, still inspire us to live for His praise.
