You, Too, Are Worthy
About a year ago, I came across a Substack essay by Celeste Davis titled “Why Religious Tools Don’t Work for Women,” which has stuck with me. The basic argument is that both men and women have inherent tendencies they need to overcome: for men, it is the inclination toward hoarding power and taking whatever they desire; for women, it is the inclination toward over-giving of themselves until they are exhausted and resentful. To overcome this, men have to let go of the self, but women need to build it.
Davis argues that because most major religions have been formed by men, most of the primary tenants of moral teaching focus on helping men overcome their sinful tendencies, but don’t speak as well into the things women need to overcome.
I think there is some truth here, although I also know men who have been so intentional about correcting for these masculine tendencies that they fall into the category of over-giving as well. Today’s second reading could be an example of the type of language that is not helpful in this context: encouraging us to “humbly regard others as more important than yourselves.” In today’s culture that emphasizes self-care, this could raise some red flags.
This is the type of thing that leads us to procrastinate getting a haircut for four months (not that I recently did that…) or to never use our vacation time at work, because someone else always needs something from us. It’s the type of thing that leaves women feeling lonely and undervalued, when they spend so much time worrying about everyone else's desires that they forget how to even recognize their own.
When we are already naturally inclined to give of ourselves, sometimes what we need more is a reminder that we, too, are worthy of this sort of love.
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? What St. Paul is describing here would actually be quite beautiful if it was lived out fully, by everyone, so everyone was on both the giving and receiving end. If everyone truly was “of the same mind, with the same love, united in heart” in how they think about others before themselves, then everyone would be taken care of. There would be no one-sided giving.
Marriage, at its best, is a wonderful example of what this could look like. I think about the times when my husband and I urge each other to go do things that we enjoy, even though it means a few hours – or a few days – of solo parenting for the other partner. Recently, as I got ready to embark on a weekend away, my husband went out to the car the night before and made sure the ezpass was in there and ready to go – something I surely would have forgotten the next morning.
But this sort of concern for others also can’t be confined to marriage, because expecting all of your needs to be met by one person is unrealistic. It should come from other family members, friends, neighbors, and community members. I imagine that is what heaven is like – a community of people perfectly loving each other.
Because we live in a fallen world, self-care is necessary. We need it to survive this epidemic of isolation and loneliness we have created. And I don’t know the right answer about how to balance this necessary self-care with the type of love Paul is urging us toward. But I don’t want to lose sight of the beauty of this vision where everyone’s Christ-like love creates a community where all are cared for.
Kelly Sankowski is a freelance writer and editor focused on amplifying the voices of women in the Church. She lives in Toledo, Ohio with her husband and two sons. You can read more of her work on her website or subscribe to her substack.
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