Marleen and I meet with a few other members of our church, Greenwood Community, a couple of times a month. Actually, we don’t really “meet”-we Zoom, what with all this COVID stuff. Our “small group” is one of several at Greenwood who meet to discuss the Bible and encourage a greater sense of community at our relatively large church.

A meeting or two ago, and for reasons I can’t put my finger on now, the discussion veered in the direction of the two Great Commands of Jesus. First, love God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength. And second, love your neighbor as yourself.

Pretty straight forward, right? Make God numero uno. And your neighbor numero duo. Or something like that.

If We Can’t Do It, Why Command It?

Now, it seems pretty clear that the first of those commands is just that: a command. Assuming that we have free will (which I do), it can either be obeyed or not. But, at least in my case, it’s a command that is much more readily honored in the breach than in the observance. In fact, it’s safe to say that I’ve never loved God perfectly. That is, with my whole heart, mind, soul and strength. That’s an impossibly high standard. And, in my book, the only person who’s ever measured up? Christ himself.

“But why,” you might ask, “would God command something that can’t be done?”

Great question. Here’s the simple answer: to demonstrate our need for the saving work of Christ on the cross.

Self-love? What?!!!

But what about that Second Command? The one about loving your neighbor as yourself? For the longest time, I believed that was just another command, very much like the first. And I think that’s often how Christians view it. In other words, a command to love your neighbor. But what about the second half of that equation: love yourself?

Can we just assume that we’ll love ourselves in such a way as to fulfill our duty to love our neighbor? I don’t think so. In fact, when I raised this issue at our meeting the other night, at least one person thought I’d gone badly off the rails, asserting that loving ourselves was the opposite of what Christ was commanding.

And maybe he was right. It’s not difficult to image self-love being twisted into an ugly, selfish parody of the second Great Command. But let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water; Jesus did say that we should love our neighbor as we love ourselves.

An Unbreakable Command

So, I’ve come to believe the Second Great Commandment is not so much a command that can be obeyed or ignored. It’s more like a statement of the way things are. In other words, whether we want to or not, we are going to love-or hate-our neighbor very much like the way we love-or hate-ourselves.

“Right,” you say, “now you’re just talking in riddles. I love some people. And hate others. Can I love and hate myself at the same time, all at once? Sorry, that’s a square peg that doesn’t fit in your round hole.”

I have no beef with that. We can pick and choose when we’re going to do what’s right. And the same with what’s wrong. And I do that sort of thing all the time. A friend I served with in the Colorado House was fond of quoting Emerson here: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” So, when it comes to loving my neighbor-or not-no one would dare accuse me of having a little mind. And those two very different outcomes can vary virtually day to day, person to person, and issue to issue.

So, Where’s The Bipolar In All This?

The wicked thing about bipolar is that it can put this “love yourself” thing on steroids. And the same with the flip side of that coin.

When I was in the throes of a manic phase, I didn’t love myself. I worshipped myself. For days, even weeks at a time, I could persuade myself that I was the cock o’ the walk. God’s gift to the world. And if you didn’t agree, there was hell to pay.

Like the time I got into it with Marleen about something-no clue what it was now and it doesn’t matter-which ended with me tossing a plate, frisbee like, across the kitchen where it shattered at her feet. No, I don’t remember what we were arguing about. But I can’t forget the look on her face as the plate floated across the room.

By the same token, there was hell to pay on the down side. But I was the one who’d pay. I shudder to think how I thought of myself. How I plotted to snuff myself. And this is how you love your neighbor as yourself? No. This is craziness. Pure and simple. And if you don’t think this cast a grim pall over my attitude toward other people, well . . .

There Are Masks. And There Are Masks.

Mention the need for masks in this season of COVID, we all know where our thoughts turn.

But before this bizarre era came down around our ears, mention masks-and what? Halloween? Not sure.

But what about airplanes? You know, the preflight routine where passengers are told to put on their own mask before assisting the kid next to them. And there’s a good reason for it. Like, life and death.

And although Christ never flew in an airplane, I think that preflight monologue would have made sense to him. So, you want to get your mind right toward your neighbor? Start with getting your mind right toward yourself.