Imperfection in Charity, Grace, and the Withholding of the Self

In spiritual and moral discourse, it is common to hear reference to “imperfections in action” that hinder growth in charity. The phrase is not incorrect, but it is often imprecise. When presented without sufficient anthropological grounding, it risks reducing charity to correct behavior and sanctification to moral optimization. A more careful examination reveals that what most often hinders charity is not defective action, but the partial gift of the self. Charity does not stagnate because actions are imperfectly executed, but because the person withholds something of himself when grace invites a fuller response.

To see this clearly, we must first recall what charity is. Charity is not merely kindness, benevolence, or ethical correctness. It is the supernatural love by which a person is united to God and, through that union, ordered toward the good of others. Charity is infused with sanctifying grace and belongs to the very life of God shared with the soul. As such, charity is personal before it is procedural. It is not first about what is done, but about who is given.

Because charity is rooted in sanctifying grace, it is not something we manufacture through effort or technique. It is a participation in divine life. Yet grace does not act in isolation from the person. Sanctifying grace heals and elevates the human faculties, but it does not bypass them. Growth in charity therefore requires cooperation. Grace draws the person outward toward love, and the person must consent to that movement.

If charity is understood as self-gift made possible by grace, then growth in charity is measured by the degree to which the self is actually offered in response to grace’s invitation. Perfect charity does not mean performing actions flawlessly, but giving oneself without reserve according to what the situation truly calls for. The decisive spiritual question is not simply “Did I do the right thing?” but “Did I allow grace to draw more of myself into this act of love?”

This perspective clarifies what should be meant by imperfection in charity. Such imperfection is not primarily a technical flaw in the action itself. It is the choice, often quiet and habitual, to give less of oneself than grace made possible. A person may act justly, fulfill obligations, and avoid sin, while remaining guarded, detached, or inwardly resistant. The action is externally good, but the interior response to grace is restrained.

This kind of imperfection frequently goes unnoticed because it is not sinful in the strict sense. There is no violation of law, no rejection of grace, no deliberate turning away from God. Yet it still hinders sanctification. Sanctifying grace is ordered toward transformation, toward the gradual conformity of the person to divine love. When the soul repeatedly cooperates only minimally, grace is not rejected, but its fruitfulness is limited.

In this way, imperfection in charity is best understood as resistance to the full work of grace rather than as moral failure. Grace invites the whole person, not merely the performance of correct acts. When one habitually chooses the lesser gift of self, one forms a disposition of restraint. The will learns to preserve comfort, control, or self-protection rather than to yield to love. Over time, this constrains the soul’s capacity to receive and respond to grace.

This also explains why spiritual stagnation so often occurs in otherwise upright lives. One does what is required. One avoids serious sin. One fulfills duties faithfully. Yet charity does not deepen. The reason is not lack of grace, but lack of full consent. Grace continues to be offered, but the soul has learned to cooperate only to a measured degree.

Framing imperfection in this way also avoids a common spiritual distortion. When imperfection is understood primarily as flawed execution, the result is often scrupulosity or discouragement. The person becomes preoccupied with mistakes, technique, or emotional adequacy. Yet one may act awkwardly or unsuccessfully and still cooperate fully with grace. Conversely, one may act competently and efficiently while interiorly withholding oneself from love.

The true measure of charity is not polish, but presence. How much of the person is actually offered in response to grace?

This becomes clear in ordinary life. A parent may provide materially for a child while withholding patience or attentiveness. A spouse may perform acts of service while remaining emotionally guarded. A minister may fulfill duties while protecting personal comfort or reputation. In each case, grace is present and active, but the self is only partially surrendered. The imperfection lies not in the action itself, but in the refusal to let grace claim more of the person.

None of this implies that charity demands imprudence or emotional excess. Self-gift must always be appropriate to one’s state in life and the concrete situation. Grace perfects nature rather than destroying it. The imperfection is not found in legitimate limits, but in limits imposed out of fear, pride, or desire for control, when grace is quietly inviting a deeper surrender.

Seen in this light, sanctification is not primarily the refinement of behavior, but the gradual relinquishing of self-possession. Growth in charity always involves cost because it always involves surrender. Comfort, efficiency, autonomy, and self-protection are slowly yielded as grace draws the person into fuller participation in divine love. This is why charity is inseparable from sacrifice. Grace expands the soul precisely where the self consents to be given.

Ultimately, imperfections in charity are not best understood as failures of performance, but as refusals of fullness. Charity grows not because actions become cleaner, but because the person becomes more fully available to grace. Sanctity does not consist in doing everything right, but in allowing grace to claim everything that can rightly be given.

If this is true, then the path forward is not anxious self-correction, but deeper consent. The spiritual question that remains is both simple and demanding: Where is grace inviting me to give more of myself, and what am I still holding back?