Loving Oneself

There was a flipside, however. The anger and hatred I had once allowed escape and outward direction became cause for my own constant condemnation of self. I don’t mean to be oblique—I didn’t start hurting myself physically or anything that would necessarily alarm anyone else. This was a more private phenomenon. I didn’t necessarily become constantly sullen or inaccessible. Over time, I simply began to find that I had difficulty liking my own actions. I might feel some pride when I helped someone (a problem all its own), but would become overcome by my own weakness whenever I couldn’t talk to a friend in need, or when I passed a homeless person without giving him or her some change. When I recognized my own faults in a disagreement, I would become disappointed. If I failed to fill an obligation, I would come down on myself, and often agree with others, even when they came to their conclusions perhaps somewhat unjustly. In other words, I had become so good at not lashing out at others that I couldn’t help but berate myself as the responsible party whenever anything negative happened.

I don’t think this is a terribly uncommon experience. I have known people who would not finish assignments for school on time and then would avoid handing them in out of a sense of embarrassment—only making things worse, crippled by their own disappointment with themselves. I’ve heard from colleagues of students crushed by negative feedback given un-constructively. Sometimes this anger at oneself can even become its opposite, ironically (in my case anyway) getting projected outward at others, leaving me back where I started.

And that’s where the words of the liturgy come in. Christ loves mankind—all of us, everyone. No one is excepted—not even me! That last part is perhaps a bit difficult to accept, yes, but it must be kept in mind that, as the liturgy indicates, God is merciful. He is patient. He has given me a life in which to improve upon my failings, to see myself as clay in His hands, made more pliable by every disappointment of which I repent. The Psalms are clear on this:

Praise the LORD, for he is good;
for his mercy endures forever;
Praise the God of gods;
for his mercy endures forever;
Praise the Lord of lords;
for his mercy endures forever.
(Psalms 136:1-3)

Again, simple words mustered to great effect. He is God and His mercy is great. He loves us, and so why ought we not love ourselves? True, we must repent. We cannot love ourselves in the mundane sense—appreciating every desire we have, allowing ourselves to succumb to some self-constructed self. The Lord loves us whatever detritus we have allowed to coat us; He stays with us because He has made us, because His mercy endures forever.

St. Bernard reminds of something quite similar:

Again I think that your own experience reveals to you the meaning of those psalms, which are called not Song of Songs but Song of the Steps, in that each one, at whatever stage of growth he be, in accord with the upward movements of his heart may choose one of these songs to praise and give glory to him who empowers you to advance. I don’t know how else these words could be true: “There are shouts of joy and victory in the tents of the just.” And still more that beautiful and salutary exhortation of the Apostle: “With psalms and hymns and spiritual canticles, singing and chanting to the Lord in your hearts.” (Sermons on the Song of Songs)

This dovetails nicely with the Psalms as well as with the songs we sing during Liturgy. Psalm 148, for example, often rings through the Church while the faithful line up for the Eucharist:

Praise the LORD from the heavens;
praise him in the heights.
Praise him, all you his angels;
give praise, all you his hosts.
Praise him, sun and moon;
praise him, all shining stars.
Praise him, highest heavens,
you waters above the heavens.
Let them all praise the LORD’s name;
for he commanded and they were created,
Assigned them their station forever,
set an order that will never change.
(Psalms 148:1-6)

It seems, then, that St. Bernard and the Psalms bring us back to the liturgy; they bring us back to the idea of praising God. His goodness yields our goodness. His love yields our love. Is this not a way to love ourselves even in our disappointments, to keep praises on our lips even when there are tears in our eyes?