The Best Sin: Loving Yourself
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”
Major news update: I’m no longer obsessed with the Enneagram (sorry if you thought I’d be posting more depressing news about COVID-19. Not in the mood for that). Well… the personality theory is no longer at the forefront of all my thoughts, interactions, feelings, and decisions. It’s now floating in the middle, arising as often as the NBA (oh how I miss it), movies (I miss going to the theater already), Jesus (still not a spiritual giant yet), and how I listen to too much Sufjan Stevens (but do I really?).
Yet while the Enneagram is lagging behind the forefront, the “l” word still lingers around quite a bit in my head. And no, I’m not talking about love. I’m actually talking about loathe.
Now, I don’t often ever say to myself that I loathe myself. But the subtext is always present. Always invasive. Always insidious.
“Once you find this person, I will stop whispering you’re unlovable.”
“Once you find that job, we will take a break from saying you’re unworthy.”
“Once you get this recognition, we think you will have arrived and found significance.”
“Once you change who you are at the core, you won’t hear these voices anymore.”
They don’t actually say these exact words, but again, like the word loathe, they all float around the surface of my mind and heart, communicating subtle messages that keep me operating from a point of deficit, not of abundance. I am convinced there’s a scarcity within, rather than an abundance within to be shared with others. I assume love comes only when I’ve been proved lovable rather than believing in my place in the Beloved, the fruit of which comes a deep love for God and for others.
All of my heroes and idols struggle with the same demons I do. This I would argue is true for all people. In a Typology interview, two of my heroes (both enneagram 4s like me… ok, no more enneagram plugs) discuss the wild nature of nonstop self-critique. John Mark McMillan, the wizardly songwriter who blesses so many people with his wonderful voice and chords, cites how he often “entertains negative feelings for recreation” and also that, when he is bored, rehearses “weeks of his own mistakes.” Probing into that notion, Ian Cron, the modern day Gandalf, asks the songwriter who is his heroes are. In other words, the sort of people McMillan aspires to be like. The artists he looks to and says, ‘this is who I want to be associated with.’ Afterward, he asks him who his anti-heroes are. Who he doesn’t want to be resemble at all. Who he doesn’t want to be associated with.
I’ve asked this question to many friends and have heard many answers. What is interesting, at least in regard to “who are your heroes,” is that usually my friends 100% remind me of what or who they describe as their heroes. If I know a sweet, tenderhearted person, often they cite a famous sweet, tenderhearted person as their hero. If I know a strong-willed go-getting entrepreneur, they remind me of a strong-willed go-getting entrepreneur. Who we think about becoming is who we become. Of course, we have to adopt habits, adopt lifestyles, adopt actions. Thinking isn’t synonymous with doing.
Our thoughts, however, inform everything we do. In fact, often they inform what we feel too. And even coming from a sensitive, heart on sleeve poetry writing empath, I do not often think about how what I think about impacts me. Impacts others. Impacts my relationship to God and His voice speaking into my life.
If I want to love others well, I have to love myself well. And in order to love myself well, I have to believe I am loved well by a Being who requires nothing of me. Who has kept me in the place of Beloved from my mother’s womb and who will continue to keep me there even unto and after my death.
I gave this the title The Best Sin because, to be honest, the Christian world doesn’t teach Christians how to love themselves well. In an implicit way, I’d argue, it even covertly teaches us that such notions are sinful.
And I get why. The Bible rails against selfishness. Quite a lot. Rightfully so. Working with children has given me quite the crash course of the very uncute selfish antics of little ones trying to “get theirs.” Exacerbating this is the ASD population (autism spectrum disorder) I work with and the type of reality they exhibit. To be clear; it’s not that autistic kids are more selfish; rather, since their emotions are delayed and their capacity to “walk in someone else’s shoes” is also delayed, their selfishness is more evident. This gets dicey when the emotions, actions, or words of their peers bother, threaten, or impede their desires.
The flip side, however, is the kindness they bestow on others is extra genuine. I say extra because all love and affection from children is genuine. But from the kid whose radar is extra fixated on survival? On “getting his?” On literally and always physically harming others when his amygdala is “flipped?”
One time Charlie was working with me in class. He had had a rough morning up to that point. Smacked my colleague, probably smacked a few kids while we weren’t looking too. The usually funny but vehemently annoying antics of Charlie. A day in the life of a paraeducator. Yet in this moment he was focused on cutting. Focused on glueing. Focused on getting an Exceptional Eagle ticket from yours truly and my colleague.
Impressed with his turnaround, I knelt down and looked him right in the eyes. “Charlie,” I said. “Thank you for turning it around. You really are a smart and nice kid,” and there was his ticket, with his name on it, and the initials CK swooshed on the right.
With the confidence of an Olympic gold medal winner, he stood up and put his name in the ticket drawing basket (where the little ones can earn goodies later in the week if their names is drawn), and sat back down. I absentmindedly went on my phone, scrolling through social and letting that “l” message speak and hearing the whisper of “I’m not good enough.” All of a sudden all of Charlie was at my chest and I dropped my phone as he placed his arms all the way around me. Twice.
“Woah, buddy, big hug.”
“Because I like you, Mr. Caleb.”
Sure, I just gave him an eagle ticket. Sure, he associates me as the gatekeeper of getting the goodies. Sure, because of his ASD he loves the pressure of physical touch and wants hugs frequently.
As I reflected back, however, honestly pondered what just transpired, dwelt on again on the precious divinity of the moment that I witnessed and acted in, I saw that what just happened was real. Better than real, actually. This was the kingdom of heaven. This is how I participate in the kingdom of heaven. This is the population who receives the kingdom of heaven through what I do every day. This is what God sees long before I got the hug from Charlie and long after.
This is the action of the son with whom Father God is well pleased. This is the heart of the son with whom He delights. And, as my biological father would say, this is the hug received and given back by the son whom God the Father has a picture of in His wallet.
Yet I blind the eyes to see it. I mute the ears to hear it. I blunt the heart yearning and hurting and bleeding and longing to receive it.
Because I don’t love myself well. But God isn’t finished with me yet. And loving yourself for the sake of yourself, the sake of others, and, most importantly, for the sake of God, is a journey, not a destination.
Back to the heroes thing, one of mine is Henri Nouwen. He was a priest, taught at Yale, and wrote a lot of easy to read books with deep messages and implications. Was he a type 4 on the Enneagram like almost all my life heroes? I could see it, but I could also see him as a type 2 (plus, it’s probably good to have some heroes who vary a bit with you). Regardless, the man was brilliant. And his book Life of the Beloved was a huge source of inspiration for this piece.
Yet, the notion of self-love and its spiritual implication is evident in all of my heroes, particularly the other “spiritual giants” I love to read. Here’s a thought from Thomas Merton:
Finally I am coming to the conclusion that my highest ambition is to be what I already am. That I will never fulfill my obligation to surpass myself unless I first accept myself, and if I accept myself fully in the right way, I will already have surpassed myself.
Word. Here’s one from Brennan Manning:
Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion.
Radical indeed. Now from a spiritual mother, Madeleine L’Engle:
A self is not something static, tied up in a pretty parcel and handed to the child, finished and complete. A self is always becoming.
I could continue this Google search, continue to quote or cite or draw from all of my favorite artists, clergy, pastors and ordinary heroes to show you (yet really me) how important it is to work toward loving yourself well.
Yet while I wrote about the difficulty of attempting self-love from a culturally Christian perspective, the other “worldly” perspective is no less helpful. As we begin to redefine success, status, and satisfaction in our postmodern world, this has not brought on an increase in self-love. And while self-care may become the latest and greatest buzz word in the self-help world, it is just a “snack” in the whole meal of genuine self-love.
As of January 2020, according to the World Health Organization, globally more than 264 million people suffer from depression. Additionally, it is a leading contributor to the overall global burden of disease (further, these stats don’t even consider the ongoing mental instability brought on by social distancing due to the corona epidemic). According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America (ADAA), 18% of Americans experience an anxiety disorder in any given year. Of that number, only a third receive any sort of treatment of how to cope with (and perhaps overcome) symptoms.
Simply put, the love of self is directly inhibited by anxiety and depression, of which, I’d argue (and the stats trend toward), is most of the people reading this. I myself don’t feel anxiety as heavily, but you bet I deal with depression. Hard. Couple this with the ever-increasing stats of time spent on social media, binging Netflix, YouTubing, using porn, and swiping on dating apps without actually dating, and we have an entree of greasy food without vegetables, a smidge too much gluten, and an overabundance of sugar and sodium. If self-care is a healthy “snack,” the nonstop instant gratification and numbing habits we absentmindedly form are destroying our “spiritual” stomachs.
If many methods of dealing with the chaos of modern life are unhealthy, feeding our souls with spiritual “junk food,” how do we find healthy food? How do we say no to that extra “cookie” of yet another binge, yet another masturbation, yet another comparison trap? Which sort of “chef” provides fuel to nurture a healthy soul? A healthy spirit? A healthy love of self?
That food analogy was a little cringey to write, but I think it fits well. We don’t often think about how what we consume with our minds and hearts affect our minds and hearts, but it’s easy to tell with what we consume for our bodies.
I love beer. Like, low-key high functioning alcoholic adoration for delicious microbrews. IPAs, especially hazies? “Get in my belly” as the now culturally insensitive Austin Powers caricature would say. Yet I have learned I need to pace myself. Not just due to the mental or emotional coping scrumptious beer provides. I don’t want a beer gut. It is, indeed, a low-key fear of mine that five to ten years from now I will get one.
And so, as a response, when I go to the gym, I hit the crunch machines hard. I do sets of my own workout routine at a reasonable, non-getting “swole bro” but still averagely toned manner. Yet my stomach is always what burns most after I frequently (but not frequently enough) go to the gym.
Why are our souls, our hearts, our minds any different? From Jesus Himself:
Don’t you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body? But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts—murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what defile a person; but eating with unwashed hands does not defile them.
Expanding on this, what if the evil thoughts, which we normally think we directly only at others, we also direct at ourselves? What if it is our thoughts that cause us to commit murder to our hearts? Adultery against our own souls? Steals our joy? Slanders our own character?
What if the voice inside we think protects us actually destroys us? What if our humility is false and actually a ploy to reject affection? What if we have agency to change our hearts to hear the voice of God calling us to our true identity as His Beloved?
Here’s Henri Nouwen’s thoughts on it:
[My] inner convinction [is] that the words “You are my Beloved” reveal the most intimate truth about all human beings whether they belong to any particular tradition or not.
I am Beloved. So too, are you, the reader. We have been adored since the moment we lied in our mother’s wombs and we will be adored all the same when our final day comes by the One from the beginning and who will surpass the end. There is no lie, no deceit, no failure, no voice, no curse, no treachery, no sin that might remove this reality over your life. No greater power exists than the love of God as Father.
You might choose to ignore this. Choose to operate from a lack rather than a surplus. Think this voice, the voice we all know and hear and ignore and quiet, is wrong. That it just doesn’t understand the real you. Doesn’t comprehend the extent of your brokenness, your weariness, your hurt, your pain. Would never, ever love you at your most unlovable.
This is a lie from the pit of Hell. This, I’d argue, is its own variation of Hell. And this is not the kingdom of Heaven Jesus taught. This is not the kingdom He came to show, to reveal, to offer to any and all people, even the lowest of the low.
I’ll write it again. I need to say it out loud after I write it.
I am the Beloved. You are the Beloved. We are the Beloved. We are seen, acknowledged, cherished, nurtured, sustained, and loved infinitely by the infinite God with whom we call Love. So then, by loving ourselves and loving ourselves well, by trusting in the voice calling us the Beloved, we are confirming this Belovedness. Not to earn it or achieve it. To confirm that this Love created us and created us well. Before we rise, before we take our morning breath, before we do anything at all, we are absolutely and fundamentally defined by our Beloved place in the heart of God.
This is reality. This is the truth. This is who we are long before we were told who we were by the world.
So then, what happens after we begin to love ourselves and love ourselves well? What changes in our life?
We begin to see the Belovedness of others.
The Best Sin, Pt. 2: Loving Others After Loving Yourself.
Coming soon.