Stop The Leak

Opening – The Dairy Queen Gospel of Perfection

Every now and then, I stop at Dairy Queen for a treat.

I order what they call The Perfect Parfait.

It’s the one with the soft-serve swirl that stands so straight you’d think Gabriel himself calibrated the nozzle.

The young worker rings it up, smiles, and says, “Perfect!”

I laugh every time.

It’s the same word I hear from interviewers, baristas, mechanics, and waiters: Perfect.

We’ve built a whole culture around that word.

It means everything and nothing at once.

You can spill coffee and the cashier still says, “Perfect.”

You can order onion rings and hear, “Absolutely perfect.”

Somewhere along the way, perfect stopped meaning flawless and started meaning fine by me.

It’s a word for convenience, not character.

But then I read Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:48—

> “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

And suddenly that little word doesn’t sound so casual anymore.

What does He mean?

Because I can manage ordering ice cream perfectly, but living perfectly?

That’s another flavor entirely.

---

A Scoop Without Sprinkles

It reminds me of a story about a boy in an ice-cream shop.

He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight.

He stepped up to the counter, a handful of coins clutched in his fist.

“Ma’am,” he asked, “how much is a scoop of vanilla?”

“Fifty cents,” the waitress said.

“And with sprinkles?”

“Sixty cents.”

He thought for a moment, then ordered the plain scoop.

When he finished, he left two coins on the table—a nickel and a dime.

She realized he had given up the sprinkles so he could leave her a tip.

That’s love in miniature—quiet, deliberate, sacrificial.

Not flawless. Not loud. Just pure.

He didn’t chase perfect presentation; he practiced perfect kindness.

And that, I think, is closer to what Jesus meant.

When He said “Be perfect,” He wasn’t talking about polish; He was talking about love that gives up the sprinkles so someone else can smile.

---

Perfect’s Twin

You ever notice that Perfect has a twin?

Its name is Whatever.

They live on the same shallow street — a smooth little cul-de-sac where nothing runs very deep.

“Perfect” smiles politely; “Whatever” rolls its eyes.

They sound different, but they mean the same thing: “I’m done caring.”

But that shallow street has a speed bump — and it’s made of Scripture.

Right in the middle of our comfort cruise, Jesus drops a line that no one can drive over without feeling it:

> “Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect.”

You can almost hear the tires screech and the oil pan scrape as the car runs over His words.

Every false version of perfection — the plastic smile, the polite “whatever,” the self-righteous checklist — grinds against the pavement of His command.

It’s jarring. It’s noisy. It slows us down.

Because Jesus refuses to let love stay shallow.

He wants to rebuild the engine, not just polish the hood.

He’s not calling for cosmetic religion; He’s calling for a transformed heart — one that loves like the Father loves.

---

What Jesus Meant by “Perfect”

When Jesus said, “Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect,”

He didn’t use the Greek word for “flawless.”

He used teleios — a word that means whole, mature, complete, brought to its intended end.

Teleios isn’t about never making a mistake.

It’s about having a heart that’s growing toward wholeness.

It’s not about polishing your reflection in the mirror — it’s about being reshaped to reflect the Father’s character.

The Sermon on the Mount builds toward that one word like a slow climb up a mountain.

Step by step, Jesus names what love looks like in motion:

blessing those who curse you, forgiving those who wrong you, giving to those who can’t pay you back, praying for those who don’t deserve it.

Then He says, “Be perfect.”

He doesn’t mean be flawless — He means be like that.

Be complete in love the way your Father is complete in love.

Let your heart grow up into the shape of His mercy.

---

The Difference Between Perfect Performance and Perfect Love

The trouble is, most of us hear that verse through the wrong filter.

We grew up in a world that prizes performance perfection — where “perfect” means straight A’s, polished smiles, tidy reputations, and Sunday-best religion.

That kind of perfection looks good on paper, but it leaves the soul exhausted.

Performance perfection asks, “Did I do enough?”

Jesus’ kind of perfection asks, “Do I love enough?”

Performance perfection is about control.

Love’s perfection is about surrender.

The first kind wins trophies; the second kind wins people.

---

When Wholeness Feels Impossible

That question — “Do I love enough?” — can land heavy, can’t it?

Because if we’re honest, the answer most days is, “No, not yet.”