Self-love In Practice

Last time, we looked at the theory of self-love. Today, I want us to consider the practice—how it works in action. I think we often fail to understand self-love because we lack role models who truly embody it. Today, I want us to look at Jesus as a model of self-love. Yes, Jesus—who gave His life for us on the cross—presents one of Scripture’s clearest examples of what healthy spiritual self-love looks like.

In a previous class, we explored how love is composed of six essential elements: knowledge, commitment, trust, respect, care, and responsibility. These qualities together form the structure of mature love—the kind of love that is not merely felt but practiced. Today, we’ll move from the inner life of self-love—what Jesus knew and trusted—to the outer life, how He respected, cared for, and set boundaries for Himself.

I’ll go through each of these elements and describe how Jesus may have embodied them in His life.

1. Knowledge. Jesus knew Himself intimately. He said, “I know where I came from and where I am going” (John 8:14). Because He knew His identity, He could resist temptation in the wilderness. Each of the devil’s offers—power, spectacle, control—was met with truth and self-knowledge: “You shall worship the Lord your God and serve Him only.” That knowledge kept Him steady in the face of confusion and manipulation. Even when His disciples misunderstood Him, He stayed rooted in His Father’s love.

True self-love, like His, begins in knowing who I am before God: beloved, chosen, and sent—not in how others perceive me.

2. Commitment. Jesus’ life was an unbroken act of commitment—to God, to His mission, and to His own being. He did not abandon Himself in fear or resentment. His obedience, even to death, was not self-negation but self-fulfillment. Throughout His ministry, Jesus remained faithful to the path laid before Him, even when that path led through misunderstanding, fatigue, and suffering. Even when His closest friends fell asleep or denied Him, He returned to them again and again. His constancy revealed that commitment is not about perfection but perseverance.

On the cross, His final words were an act of trustful commitment: “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” That was not despair but self-offering. He loved Himself enough to surrender Himself wholly to Love, confident that the One to whom He entrusted His life would not abandon Him to death. To follow Jesus’ pattern of commitment is to stay faithful to our own becoming. Self-love does not mean avoiding struggle—it means refusing to abandon ourselves when the way gets hard.

3. Trust. At the heart of Jesus’ self-love was trust—a secure confidence in the Father’s goodness and in the sacredness of His own life. “The Father loves me because I lay down my life,” He said. “No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.” That trust allowed Him to rest when others panicked, to forgive when betrayed, and to accept His fate even when abandoned.

Trust freed Him from the need to control outcomes or defend Himself. He could remain silent before Pilate because He knew His worth was not on trial. In Gethsemane, when His closest friends fell asleep and His arrest drew near, He faced His fear without fleeing: “Not my will, but Yours be done.” Such trust did not spare Him from suffering, but it transfigured it—it made peace possible in the midst of anguish.

4. Respect. Jesus respected Himself as one beloved and sent by God. He never denied His words or calling to appease others. He allowed Himself to be honored by John’s baptism in the Jordan, by the disciples’ loyalty, and by Mary’s anointing before His death.

He respected His emotions, too. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb, felt compassion for the crowds, and expressed anguish in Gethsemane. Jesus also respected His body as part of His divine vocation. He accepted touch—both in giving and receiving—as a sacred act. He touched the leper, and He also let the bleeding woman touch Him, affirming that the human body is not a barrier to holiness but a dwelling place for it.

As a human, He grew tired, hungry, and sore from walking long roads, yet He never despised His limits. For a man living in a patriarchal culture, He expressed far more emotion and freedom in emotion than most men do even today. None of this weakened Him. On the contrary, His willingness to be moved, to grieve, and to cry out, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” shows the deepest self-respect—the courage to bring His full humanity before God.

To respect oneself as Jesus did is to recognize that my body and emotions are not obstacles to spirituality but instruments of divine love.

5. Care. As we said, Jesus honored His human limits. The Gospels record at least eight occasions when He withdrew to a solitary place to pray and rest. Scripture does not present these moments as incidental—they are essential to the structure of His life with God. “He often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”

This withdrawing was not escape; it was returning to the Source. If even Jesus cherished rest and solitude, then I must also learn to do the same. His reverence for rest appears vividly when He sleeps through the storm on the Sea of Galilee.

I think we often underestimate the importance of solitude, imagining it as merely the absence of others. But solitude is where Jesus returned to the Father to remember who He was. Without this practice of self-grounding, we approach others hungry and dependent, asking them to supply what only God can give. In solitude, love becomes something we can offer, not just grasp for—and that’s important.

Jesus also accepted hospitality. He shared meals and allowed others to care for Him—from Martha’s home in Bethany to the woman who anointed His feet with perfume. These are not trivial details; they reveal a Savior who tended to His own soul and body with reverence.

Ask yourself: can you sit still and accept care from others without feeling anxious or compelled to give back? I often struggle to let others care for me, to receive love, to admit need, to rest, to be held. Yet Jesus had no hesitation in doing so. To pour Himself out in love, He first allowed Himself to be filled—by the love of others and by the love of God, who spoke over Him at His baptism: “You are My beloved; on You My favor rests.”

Self-care is not indulgence. It is an acknowledgment that my life is a vessel of God.

6. Responsibility. We often imagine Jesus—and by extension God—as the great “yes man”: endlessly accommodating, always available, never refusing anyone. Since Jesus gave His life for us, we assume His answer to every request must have been a resounding yes. Yet the Gospels tell a very different story. You might be surprised how many times Jesus actually said no.

These moments are vividly portrayed in Scripture and show us what true responsibility to oneself looks like—knowing one’s boundaries, abilities, and calling, and remaining faithful to them. Responsibility to myself and my boundaries means I do not perform, perfect, or please others in order to be loved.

Let me briefly recount some of the moments when Jesus said no. He said no to His family when His mother and brothers came wanting private access to Him. He answered, “Who is My mother, and who are My brothers? Whoever does the will of My Father in heaven is My brother and sister and mother.” Jesus refused to let family obligation define His mission.

He also said no to constant crowds and unmet demands. When people came looking for Him and tried to keep Him from leaving, He replied, “I must proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent.” He refused to be defined by others’ expectations of His availability.

He said no to being useful or impressive. After performing a miracle, when people wanted to make Him king by force, Jesus withdrew to a mountain by Himself. He refused to allow others to determine His identity or purpose, even when the offer was glory.

He said no to urgent need when He was resting. The Bible says, “Very early in the morning, Jesus went off to a solitary place.” Simon and his companions went to look for Him and exclaimed, “Everyone is looking for You!” Jesus replied, “Let us go somewhere else—that is why I have come.” He refused to let urgency override calling.

He also said no to manipulation and emotional control. When Peter tried to dissuade Him from the path of suffering, Jesus turned and said, “Get behind Me, Satan. You are a stumbling block to Me.” He said no even to a loved one when that influence threatened His mission.

This is not to say that Jesus didn’t say yes. His yes appears most clearly in His actions—and what I find fascinating is that He often said yes when people didn’t ask. He healed the untouchable, restored the excluded, listened, ate with those others avoided, forgave, blessed, and welcomed.

His no was always to manipulation, control, ego, misuse of power, emotional pressure, false identity, and the temptation to be defined by others’ expectations.

Love without boundaries is not love—it is confusion. Responsibility to self and to calling requires discernment, knowing when to say yes in love and when to say no in truth.

When we see Jesus through this lens, self-love stops being sentimental and becomes concrete. It is a disciplined awareness that my life, like His, is where God chooses to dwell. To love myself as Jesus did means tending to the body that carries God’s breath, honoring the work entrusted to me, allowing my emotions to speak truth, standing firm in my identity, remaining faithful to what I am called to do, and trusting that love—not fear or shame—has the last word.

So, if Jesus practiced self-love through care, responsibility, respect, knowledge, commitment, and trust, what might it look like for us to follow Him in our own daily lives? Which of these elements do you find hardest to practice, and why?

I also wonder what you think of this topic of self-love. I found last week’s conversation very interesting—the very idea of self-love seemed challenging. I’m still eager to hear your thoughts on that.

C-J: I think this topic is so critical at this time in history. I’ve been studying complex PTSD, and I think Jesus certainly lived during a time of great turmoil. To realize the purpose God gives each of us—and how that purpose is expressed—requires discernment. It needs to be filtered, protected, and honored.

I was listening to the Secretary of Defense this morning on PBS, talking about being infinitely and optimally prepared for war. I thought about that both in the concrete world and in the spiritual world, and this discussion dovetails beautifully with that.

Kiran: In America, we’re encouraged to say no to others’ expectations. But in many societies—Islamic, Indian, or other Asian cultures—you’re expected to live in harmony with others. Your individuality doesn’t matter; harmony does.

In such cultures, your relationships and responsibilities to society and elders take precedence. You live up to those expectations. The idea of asserting one’s individuality doesn’t even arise. I’m wondering, how does this play out across cultures? Here in the U.S., we’re linear—we define our boundaries and move accordingly. But in relational cultures like China, Japan, India, or Islamic countries, the expectations of elders and society dominate and often overrule personal ones.

Carolyn: I think personality plays a big role too. Some people are natural pleasers—we want to please God and people—and that creates constant conflict. We start questioning whether we’re doing things to please others or because it’s right. I think our personality and upbringing shape that struggle.

Don: I think you’re both right—culture and personality both come into play. Like Michael confessed earlier, I also struggle with accepting graciousness from others. During my illness, many people wanted to visit me, help me, or support me in various ways, and I always felt uncomfortable. I thought they should be helping someone else instead.

Michael’s words help me think differently about accepting love from others—as a form of loving oneself. By allowing others to care for us, we demonstrate that we value ourselves as worthy of love.

Kiran: I personally struggle with the truth aspect of what Michael said—knowing who I am and what my purpose is. I grew up with a misunderstanding of grace and an expectation that God demanded perfection. You can deal with people’s expectations, but if you love God and want to please Him, and you think His expectations are just the Ten Commandments, that’s crushing.

Convincing people of grace—and helping them see God’s expectations differently—is essential. Without that truth, it’s hard to see ourselves rightly, and if we don’t, how can we love ourselves? This was a very interesting talk.

C-J: I think shame and guilt are the human condition. We struggle with grace, love, and the sense that we are worthy to enter God’s presence. Like you said, it goes beyond the Ten Commandments. We don’t trust ourselves or others—and that extends to not trusting God, because He isn’t tangible.

It really is about waiting on God and letting Him transform us. That’s the most difficult part—returning to the Garden, so to speak—and believing again that we can have a whole relationship with God.

Sharon: One part of this discussion on self-love really links to our need for interdependence. I agree—it’s one of the hardest things, especially the thought of becoming dependent on someone else as we age.

I can pay people to help me, and that’s fine. But the idea of truly needing someone’s care is frightening. In that context, realizing that none of us are whole but that we’re interdependent is so important. We’re taught independence, not interdependence. Yet we need each other to become whole.

What Michael shared spoke to me because it shows Jesus as a model of healthy interdependence—not codependence shared but interdependence with clear boundaries. If I really love myself, I must be humble enough to let others care for me in meaningful ways. We were made to depend on one another.

In our society, that’s far less visible than in many African cultures, where people’s daily survival depends on each other. I’d rather have a flat tire in Africa—where 20 people will stop to help—than on an American freeway, where I might wait an hour before anyone stops.

So yes, there are cultural and personality differences. But in God’s design, self-love includes recognizing that we are part of a greater interdependence with others.

C-J: When we honor people according to hierarchy, status, age, or religious instruction, there can be real benefit—but also resentment when there’s no voice.

Jesus had both power and authority, and He used them to speak to people who were under oppression—not only spiritual oppression in their inner lives but also social oppression in a hijacked society. I think it’s important to remember that we always have a voice before God, and we should guard that voice in our dealings with others—whether they’re transactional, reciprocal, or freely given.

God constantly asks us to examine ourselves: What’s your motivation? Why are you doing this? Is it really your mission? We need to lean into God the way Jesus called us to—trust, faith, surrender, truly saying “Thy will be done” because He knows the beginning and the end.

Those are hard lessons. And as Don said, when we are ill, or as Sharon mentioned, when we’re weak or dependent, we learn a different kind of trust in God’s grace—emotionally, physically, spiritually. We come to understand the difference between needs and desires. God is always working at that deeper, spiritual level, transforming us from within.

Carolyn: I had a conversation this week about reincarnation, and I’ve been thinking about how that ties into our self-worth, heaven and hell, and why we do what we do. Sometimes I have to stop and ask myself, “Why am I feeling resentful right now? Am I trying to please someone else? Am I doing this because I want to go to heaven—or because it’s what Jesus would do, and I love Him?”

There are so many little question marks that arise. Some faith traditions teach that if you do good, you’ll be rewarded by coming back as something better. But I just know I want to love myself in a pure way—more humbly, more truly. And figuring out how to do that, the way Jesus did, is a challenge for me.

Reinhard: I see culture as closely tied to tradition—they’re almost synonymous. I think about Jesus confronting the Pharisees (Matthew 15:3–6), “Why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?”

At that time, the Jewish tradition emphasized giving to the temple, even above helping one’s own parents. Jesus rebuked that, reminding them that honoring one’s parents is also a command of God. Because of their tradition, they prioritized temple offerings over compassion.

To me, this shows that the Word of God transcends any cultural or traditional framework. Wherever we live—whatever our background—love can penetrate every aspect of life. If we approach situations with compassion and mercy, we can overcome traditions that stifle love.

For example, in Indonesia, it’s still common for children to care for their parents at home. Here in America, it’s more usual to entrust that care to professionals. Maybe that’s a result of modern civilization and busier lives. But even so, what matters is how we apply God’s love in each circumstance.

When we see someone in need—on the freeway, in our neighborhood, anywhere—the Holy Spirit will nudge us if we’re open. We may or may not be in a position to help, but we can listen and respond with care. That, to me, is what God calls us to do.

David: This is a deep discussion, and perhaps it’s my Daoist leanings showing, but I wonder whether self-love is even the right term. Maybe self-assurance would be better.

By self-assurance, I mean the confidence that one is on the right path—the right way. Carolyn raised that concern earlier. I think it’s our lack of self-assurance that makes us follow people who seem assured, those who say “I am the way”—whether that’s Jesus Christ or Donald Trump. We tend to latch onto them because we feel uncertain ourselves.

In Daoism, there’s a different kind of assurance: the assurance that we don’t need to know the Way. In fact, we can’t understand the Way—but we trust that there is a Way, and that it will take care of us. That’s enough. It removes the need to follow anyone claiming special knowledge or power.

In my case, I see Jesus’ way as the closest we can come to understanding that truth. But ultimately, it remains a mystery. So I’ve drifted a bit from love into assurance, but it’s because “self-love” still sounds like something we shouldn’t be doing—it feels self-centered.

Self-assurance, though, feels more balanced. Yet even that is risky, because it can slip into pride—into saying “I am the way.” Jesus could say it and mean it; the rest of us can’t.

Carolyn: I love that term—self-assurance. People who niece in reincarnation try very hard to do good so they can come back as something better. We, in contrast, think of heaven. And the difference, I think, is between doing good because we fear the alternative and doing good because we love God.

That’s what I was trying to express. Self-assurance, to me, helps us make that distinction. It lets us act out of love rather than fear.

Kiran: This whole idea of self-love depends on knowing that God is abundant in His love, that He freely gives it to us. But since that’s so hard for many people to understand, I wonder—Michael, do you think this kind of love is something people eventually discover at some point in life, or can it be taught from a young age?

Don: That’s an excellent question. It’s a bit like Alcoholics Anonymous—we almost need a twelve-step plan to embrace self-love! There’s this sense that we must do something—think properly, study properly, behave properly—to achieve it. That can be overwhelming.

But maybe, as someone here has said (I can’t recall who), this isn’t something we achieve through effort. Maybe it’s a gift—something that comes from accepting God’s grace.

Michael: Accepting God’s grace is part of accepting love itself. As Dr. Weaver has often said, grace is such a huge gift—but precisely because it’s free, we find it hard to accept. It feels too easy. We want to earn it, but we can’t.

Carolyn: And that’s what makes it sound like work. Unless we truly perceive it as a gift, we’ll keep striving. Grace is God’s love, freely given—but we still have to learn how to receive it.

Michael: That’s why I started leading small discussion groups on love. They’ve become quite popular, actually. What we’re doing here feels similar, though this group is more explicitly spiritual. I’ve found that honest conversation about love—rather than just reading about it—has extraordinary power. It’s transformative.

Love is a mystery, very much like the spiritual life itself. We may never fully understand it, but talking about it together brings it alive.

C-J: Even though we’re separated by distance, this kind of discussion brings us close. It’s almost like sitting together at the dining room table, exploring love, obligation, responsibility, discernment, and timing—without having to tell every personal story.

Our culture has failed to give that kind of conversation to the younger generation. We haven’t taught them how to be responsible adults by letting them overhear wise, respectful discussions like this one. I think those of us here grew up with that kind of experience—hearing adults talk about faith, community, and accountability.

Kiran: Are you saying that in Western culture, parents don’t do a good job teaching children that they’re loved—or how to love?

Michael: I don’t think it’s just this culture. Bell Hooks wrote that most parental love is expressed as care—but often without other elements like respect. Parents may know their children’s likes and dislikes, but they rarely treat them as autonomous beings.

We tend to view children as property, expecting obedience simply because “we know better.” Respect is often missing. Love becomes reduced to care—providing food, safety, and education—but it lacks the respect and trust that nurture a whole person.

Kiran: That’s true for Indian culture too. But here in the U.S., I’ve noticed that parents generally treat children with much more respect. They talk to them like equals and are conscious of how their actions affect them. That’s been transformative for me as a parent.

My son thinks he’s a grown-up in a small body, and once I started treating him that way—really listening—the relationship changed completely. In Indian or Chinese families, parents care deeply but often live their own unfulfilled dreams through their children. In contrast, I see American parents trying to respect individuality far more. It’s like night and day.

C-J: I think it’s partly generational. My generation grew up in a world more like Kiran’s—where you simply did what you were told. Parents were caretakers, often barely adequate, but you didn’t question them. Women had no voice either.

Today, with social media and new ideas, children express their feelings and expect to be heard. They say, “You want me to be this, but I’m not. I want you to love me for who I am.” That’s powerful—and painful. I’ve heard children as young as five or seven say that. It breaks your heart, but it also gives hope, because it shows they trust enough to speak.

When a child says, “I didn’t see you before; thank you for seeing me,” it’s a profound moment of grace—a lifetime of trust opened in a few words.

David: There’s a universal love—a universal way of love. Every culture, every race loves its children in fundamentally the same way. Culture can distort or corrupt it, but the root is the same.

What culture does is shape, embellish, or sometimes restrict that universal love. The challenge is to look beyond the layers of culture and focus on that core—the love Jesus called us back to. If we could stay centered there, culture and self wouldn’t lead us astray.

Reinhard: I believe that’s true. Every family, in every culture, ultimately seeks happiness—and happiness only comes when there’s love between all parties, between children and parents alike. But today’s world makes that harder.

Technology—social media, constant distractions—reduces the time families actually spend together. Parents are busy; children grow up absorbed in their screens. Relationships weaken. It’s not just in America—it’s happening in Asia too.

That’s why I keep returning to Jesus’ teachings. Take the parable of the Good Samaritan, in the context of Jesus’ commandment to “Love your neighbor as yourself” and the question: “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan overturns our assumptions. The priest and the Levite—the respected, “righteous” people—ignored the wounded man, while the Samaritan, despised by the Jews, stopped to help.

That’s the mindset Jesus wanted to break. The disciples were Jews; they looked down on Samaritans as impure, descendants of mixed marriages between Israelites and foreigners. But Jesus redefined neighborly love—not based on tribe, race, or social class, but on compassion.

It’s the same lesson Paul later echoed: “Consider others better than yourselves.” Love calls us to step beyond comfort, beyond prejudice, even when it’s inconvenient. God’s love pushes us past the boundaries of culture and comfort. That’s what He wants from us.

Donald: The word “love” is not theoretical—I’m trying to figure out what it means in my own life. I think of myself and my wife as seventy-year-old children. We talk about children as if they’re little, but the truth is we’re all children who still wrestle with what it means to love our parents.

I’ve heard so many people lately say, “I loved him,” or “I love you.” But what does that really mean? In the past twenty-two months, I’ve done everything I can to show, in tangible ways, what love looks like toward a dying (now deceased) relative—through my hands, through service. Two women, both in their forties, helped care for him with such selflessness that it humbled me.

Another relative, ninety-seven years old, is no longer the person she was even a few weeks ago, and we’re trying to figure out what loving her means in this stage of life. Can you say you love someone and disregard them? Or does love require constant presence, even when it hurts?

Another relative, ninety-nine years old, doesn’t know about our deceased relative’s passing, and I won’t tell her—there’s nothing to be gained. But it raises the question: how do we live love as adult children? How do we care without breaking under the weight of it?

Don: Michael noted earlier that one of Jesus’ great acts of love was His ability to say no. I wonder how you’ve found ways to do that—to set boundaries as an act of self-love, even while caring for your dying relative.

Donald: About two weeks ago, I finally realized I needed guardrails. My mantra became: He needs to be able to cope, and I need to be able to cope. Things had spun out of control—hospital, rehab, home, then back again, over and over.

I reached a point where I prayed, “God, if this fall has changed who he is, then give him peace. But if there’s still something left of the brother I knew, help me care for him in a way that brings dignity.” Eventually, I had to make the painful decision to move him to hospice.

We all have limits. My elderly relatives don’t live with us, nor do any other relatives. If they did, it might affect our marriage. So yes, boundaries are sometimes necessary, even in love. My wife and I will do whatever it takes—but not at the expense of everything else.

It’s been hard to talk about this because it’s so personal. But I think all of us will face it—aging, dependence, the struggle to be gracious as others care for us. My dying relative’s last words, “I’m okay,” really meant “Leave me alone.” But I couldn’t. It was like seeing someone stranded with a flat tire who insists, “I’m fine.” You still want to help.

So maybe that’s love too—refusing to turn away. Still, I wonder how self-love fits into all this. I’m not doing any of it to feel confident or to feel good about myself. When I say “I love you,” I mean it deeply—but it’s not a Hallmark sentiment.

In fact, that’s something I’ve been thinking about. Have we turned love into a Hallmark card? Into something impersonal? Now, people even use ChatGPT to write those words, and others say, “That’s not really you.” But it is me. I wrote it—I just needed help expressing what I meant. That’s still real. It’s better than a store-bought card.

Maybe that’s part of what this conversation is about—recovering the authenticity of love, the depth behind the words.

Every family has its burdens—aging parents, illness, loss. But most people keep silent because it feels too private. Maybe that’s something we should talk about more: how we carry these burdens together. What is our responsibility to one another as a community?

Don: How can we show self-love through saying no? It feels so counterintuitive, yet Jesus modeled it perfectly—stepping back from constant demands, resting, withdrawing to pray. That kind of self-respect is part of holiness.

Michael: What I find striking is that when people asked Jesus directly for something—when they tried to force or manipulate Him—He often said no. But when He saw need, when no one asked, He said yes without hesitation. That, I think, is His true “yes”—the spontaneous outpouring of love without coercion.

Don: So much to ponder. Thank you, Michael.

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