Tag Archives: friends

Gospel Friends

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Most who know me—at least those who know me well—will affirm that I’m a people watcher. Though I spend much of my life standing in front of rooms, I’m far more comfortable sitting in the back, watching others in motion. I might contribute to the conversation on occasion. But more often than not, I’m content to absorb rather than radiate.

This past Thursday, I was given the chance to do just that.

Our Savior’s Stewardship Committee hosted its first-ever Golf Outing and Silent Auction at Dunham Hills Golf Course in Hartland. If you weren’t there, I mean it when I say—you missed something extraordinary. Not just because the food was good or the auction items impressive. Not even because the day couldn’t have been sunnier and the venue more beautiful. But because something profound happened, and I was privileged to behold it.

Let me start by saying I don’t play golf. I’ve been known to tee up with the kids and launch a few into the wetlands behind our house. In truth, it’s been almost 25 years since I’ve stepped foot on a course. It’s not that I wouldn’t. It’s just that golf is an all-day thing, at least it is for me, and I don’t usually have all day for anything. And besides, knowing my abilities, folks should consider themselves blessed that I didn’t sign up to be on any of the teams. I’m with Mark Twain, who said something about how a round of golf is the best way to ruin a walk in the woods, which is where I’d most likely end up.

So, in short, I didn’t play this past Thursday. But I did attend the banquet afterward. Indeed, I am far more skilled with a fork than I am with a sand wedge. And it was with a fork in hand that I did what I do best: observe. While watching, I absorbed something far more meaningful than a hole-in-one ever could be.

First, a casual glance around the room revealed people I simply adore. And I don’t say that lightly. I would die for the people at those tables. That may sound dramatic, but I mean it. “Greater love has no one than this,” Jesus said, “that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). It was that kind of room, and it was that kind of evening. We’ve been through a lot as a congregation over the years. And yet, there we were, laughing across tables and recalling our togetherness with joy. Even better, as familiar friendships were celebrated, and in some cases rekindled, I watched newer church members (and some non-member guests) welcomed into the family as though they’d been there for decades. That alone was extraordinary.

I should say it doesn’t surprise me. Our Savior in Hartland is that kind of place to begin with.

In the meantime, I think a second, more important thing I took from the event was that I saw a number of individual “teams” come together as a single team and dedicate themselves to something important: our tuition-free school. They were there, not for the self, but rather, they were all in for something and someone else—namely, to preserve the Gospel’s legacy for children they might never even meet.  

That kind of selflessness stands in stark contrast to the culture swirling around us.

In most corners of the world, it seems people don’t often gather with selfless intentions. Unfortunately, I can say this is true, even in the Church. I’ve noticed it at conferences. Some, not all, but some gather to compete. They gather to be seen. They gather in a posture of self-promotion. Beyond such things, you can certainly see it on social media, where platforms meant to connect now primarily serve as stages for applause. I’m a member of a few Facebook groups relative to Linden schools, and from what I can tell, too often the driving force isn’t mutual care but mutual comparison.

I didn’t see any of that on Thursday.

There were no cliques. No undercurrents of competition. No one was keeping score of who contributed what. In fact, I heard more golf stories akin to Paul’s “Chief of sinners” theme. In other words, I believe that for everyone in the room, there was only one scorecard that mattered—and it wasn’t in anyone’s pocket. It was being carried in the hearts of people who gave, not to get, but to build and preserve something lasting, something sacred, which is precisely what we have at Our Savior in Hartland.

Again, that’s not how the world typically works. You know as well as I do that the world teaches that fulfillment often comes through accumulation. Gather wealth. Stack your achievements. Build your platforms. Be more important than everyone else. But Christ moves His people in an altogether different direction. “Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:43–44).

That’s what I saw at Dunham Hills. It was true greatness, and it was forged in humble faith.

I suppose that’s why the event grabbed hold of me enough to write about it this morning. As a pastor, I’m forever concerned for the spiritual strength of the people God has placed into my care. In fact, I thought a lot about it while on vacation the last two weeks. So much so, that I spent time formulating some new Bible study ideas instead of leaving that all behind me until I returned home.

Then I came home, and the first church event I was privileged to attend was the “Fairway to Heaven” golf outing. Wow.

In a world of algorithms and noise, of hustle and burnout, of spiritually draining clutter, I returned to something infinitely more powerful. Sure, we talk about our churches and the friendships they naturally accommodate. But here it was for real. The friendships I saw weren’t just byproducts of church membership. The Gospel created these friendships—made them family—and it gave rise to a far better byproduct. It was and is the kind that can stand at the gate, lock arms, and be generous with its muscle. And not for anyone’s own glory, but for the sake of the same Gospel that established it, and from there, for the benefit of parents and children, we may never know this side of heaven’s fairway.

I suppose to close, if you have a moment, take a look at the promotional video we made a few months ago for our school. You can watch it here:

I’m sharing it because a few lines from it were shared before the meal. I’m glad they were. They were more than appropriate to what I was seeing.

Initially, the video was created and then sent to me with some text overlays—short theological and educational phrases that appeared intermittently over scenes with music. It was nice. But as I watched, I sensed it needed more, a clearer heartbeat. So, I sat down and wrote a short script—a few minutes to scribble a few lines that I felt captured what our school truly is. I recorded it in one take using my computer’s microphone. Nothing polished. Nothing flashy. I didn’t intend for it to be used exactly as it was. It was just my tired voice from an already long day of orchestrating and maintaining what the video would eventually promote more publicly. Still, I wanted others to know why it mattered so much to me, to the people of Our Savior—why so many of us pour ourselves into the work and then give it away to the community for free. Because, make no mistake, the world doesn’t give its content away. Whether it’s entertainment, education, or influence, there’s always a price. You pay for it, and increasingly, the price is your soul. But the Church, when it’s actually being the Church, flips that economy on its head. We give it away—truth, grace, the love of Christ—not because it’s worthless, but because it’s priceless.

The video’s director ended up using what I sent. He didn’t change anything, except to have his audio team clean up my less-than-quality recording.

Again, if you have a moment, watch it. It’s only a minute and thirty-five seconds long. If you listen closely, I think you’ll hear elements of the same theme that filled the banquet room at Dunham Hills: selflessness. You’ll hear me say how we’re doing all we can at Our Savior to lift up generations of children who know something better than what the world gives, and with that knowledge, are equipped to go out and be the kind of people I saw gathered at the golf outing on Thursday.

I saw Christian people who know what is objectively and immutably true. I bore witness to human beings shaped by the Gospel trying to make it so others could be, too. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, not for applause, but for a Godly purpose. For a people watcher like me, it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in a long time, and I can’t wait for next year’s event. I have a feeling it’s only going to get bigger and better.

Unguarded

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Even though summer doesn’t technically arrive until mid-June, for many, it has already begun. School is out. Graduations are underway. Schedules become shapeshifters ready to consume each newly liberated hour the season promises. I don’t know what this means for you, but for the pastor of a church with a school it means arranging my day in a way that gets me to the office much earlier in the morning than usual with the hope that I can find my way home by mid-afternoon. Doing this allows time I don’t normally have with the family before needing to venture out for anything church-related in the evenings.

As it is every summer, I intend to use a portion of the morning’s quiet time for reading. Hardly moved by the criticism of my fellow pastors, I rarely spend much time in the summer with anything distinctly theological, but instead, whatever is enjoyable in the moment. Although, technically everything is theological—or better yet, Christological. I’ll give you an example.

I’ve already started my summer wanderings by picking away at a collection of letters from Charles Lamb, an essayist and poet of remarkable style from the late 18th and early 19th centuries. I stumbled upon the compilation in Google Books while looking for something else.

One thing is for sure, you can learn a lot by reading from a historical character’s personal correspondence. Not only do you discover the superficial things relative to culture—such as favorite foods, pastimes, manners, colloquialisms, and the like—but you learn quite a bit about the person’s hidden qualities. For instance, a rather famous Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote a letter to Lamb, one in which he described summer setting in “with its usual severity.” Coleridge’s point was to complain about England’s unfortunate (but not unusual) coolness in May and June. Apparently, he didn’t like it. Interestingly, Lamb didn’t acknowledge Coleridge’s complaint in his reply, but instead carried on about how the painter who’d recently completed a portrait of Lamb had captured him in “one of those disengaged moments… when the native character is so much more honestly displayed….”

From what I know of Coleridge, which is that he was a delightfully expressive man, one who could hardly be characterized as a complainer, Lamb’s words to his friend seemed almost out of place. Or better yet, if they were intended as a subtle response to a very wise Coleridge, then they were pointed. In other words, they appeared to suggest that just like everyone else, the real Coleridge could be betrayed by an unguarded moment. For as beloved as Coleridge was by the public for his eloquent appreciation of all things, his secret dislike for English summers slipped through to Lamb.

Whether or not this was Lamb’s point isn’t exactly clear. Still, I have the nagging sense it was. Either way, like everything else in life, it can be viewed through theological lenses. In this circumstance, it first serves as a reminder that no one is perfect. It’s also a lesson to the would-be narcissists among us. For as complete as one might appear to be, the unguarded moments eventually come around, and when they do, our incompleteness breaches the surface. And this is a good thing. It brings about the opportunity for honest confession—the opportunity to recognize one’s need for rescue from Sin’s deathly grip.

Lamb wrote something else of interest in his reply to Coleridge. Having included a small facsimile of the portrait with the letter, he scribbled, “Whatever its pretensions, I know it will be dear to you, towards whom I should wish my thoughts to flow in sort of an undress rather than in the more studied graces of diction.”

Did you pick up on Lamb’s inference? He offered two things that, if thinking theologically, are likely to resonate with Christians. The first is that no matter our failings, we can be counted as dear to one another. This is true because God’s grace is holding us together as the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27). With this as the connective tissue for our friendships, the second thing Lamb said becomes incredibly clear. He notes his hope for genuine honesty between he and Coleridge—that the things troubling, worrying, or haunting either of them can be made bare, rather than remaining guarded by a “studied” carefulness with words. This means as brothers and sisters in Christ, we don’t need to hide our real selves, as though needing to project an image of having it all together. We don’t even have to exist in a way that stays within the easy boundaries of cordiality. Instead, we can be real friends—folks ready to walk together through both the complete and incomplete parts of life.

In short, Lamb implies what the rest of us already know by King Solomon’s words, “For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!” (Ecclesiastes 4:10). This is the epitome of Proverbs 27:17, which reads: “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another,” and certainly it’s at least a molecule in the Lord’s formula fueling the encouragement to “consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (Hebrews 10:24-25).

My prayer for you today, and always, is that you will remain part of a Christian church family that truly enjoys such collegiality. We can do no better than to be surrounded by genuine Christian friends as much as possible, knowing full well that a “friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity” (Proverbs 17:17).

Friends are Friends

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I’m sitting here wondering… who are the people in your life you trust, and why do you trust them? I know that’s a deeper question than it sounds. Each of us has people in our lives we’ll trust for one thing but not another. Still, there are those we keep close in everything. They are second selves in a way—people we’ll lean on no matter the circumstance.

I’m guessing that for many of you, it’s your family that best fits within the boundaries of this description. Speaking for myself, I can certainly affirm that my wife, Jennifer, is the one person I trust unreservedly with everything. She’s also the person I can trust to not pester me when there are situations happening that, while I need to keep them confidential, are clearly weighing me down. She never pries, but instead, does what she can to cheer me up, all the while encouraging me to keep pressing forward, especially when she can clearly see that I don’t feel like I can. This, again, is an aspect of her trustworthiness.

I have a trustworthy Bishop, too. He’s more than an ecclesiastical supervisor. He’s a friend. Even better, he’s a pastor’s pastor to all in the district. What I mean is that for any of the church professionals out there within reach of his supervision, if they have no one else to trust aside from Christ, they can trust him. I’m glad for that.

Since I mentioned the idea of confidential things, in contrast to those you’d trust, there are those around each of us who display a tendency for handling secrets in the same way they handle cash. They circulate them, using them to buy and sell with others. By the way, those folks are often the first ones to pester for secret information, ultimately betraying their lack of intention or ability for ever keeping to themselves whatever it is you may share. There’s another term for those people: Gossipers. For the record, I keep gossipers at arm’s length. In fact, anyone who knows me will know I have a tendency to come down hard on gossipers. Gossip is poison to the Church and it should never be tolerated.

Of course, keeping confidence isn’t the only thing that makes a person trustworthy. Again, speaking only for myself, the people I keep closest are the ones I know will receive my words honestly—easy or hard—and in turn, they know I’ll do the same with theirs. I hope Jennifer doesn’t mind that I’m repeatedly using her as an example, but this reminds me of something she articulated so wisely a few years ago. In fact, I mentioned it in The Angels’ Portion, Volume III. I may have shared it with you before. Either way, here’s what I wrote:

“‘Friends are friends until they’re not,’ my brilliant wife has observed. And the substance of her meaning is a direct outflow of her life as a pastor’s wife. She knows all too well that her husband is always just one decision, action, conversation, or sermon away from ticking someone off and seeing that which once was become a thing of the past. She knows all too well that if she shows up on Sunday and gets the cold shoulder from someone who only last week was as fresh and friendly as a springtime sprig, it’s because of something I did.”

Friends are friends until they’re not, which is why I’m guessing that like me, the people you trust the most are the ones who continue to prove the long-lasting nature of real friendship that can withstand being over-taxed by mistakes, careless words, or whatever else might cause division between people. Most often the first action of a trusted friend, at least the kind I’ve described so far, won’t be to attack you, but rather will be to seek peaceful ways to fortify his or her friendship with you through faithfulness to Christ.

I appreciate the phrase, “True friendship is never serene.” Marie de Sévigné said that. She was right. And her point: True friendships are not without turbulence. Still, I’m guessing they have something that other relationships do not: Humility and forgiveness.

Humility will always be a sturdy bridge for carrying heavier issues over from one person to another. And if forgiveness is there waiting on the other side, the friendship will be proven capable of withstanding what breaks all other relationships.

Christians, in particular, know these things very well. And why wouldn’t we? We know that even as we were God’s enemies, completely dead in our trespasses and sins, Christ humbly submitted Himself to death on our behalf (Ephesians 2:1; Romans 5:6). The forgiveness He won for us by His death is the foundation of our very identity as human beings. From this, we know without question that He is the absolute epitome of “friend,” having made clear to us that there is no greater love to be found among friends than that one would be self-sacrificing, that one would lay down his life for the other (John 15:13). When Jesus speaks this way, of course He’s referring to Himself as the only One capable of being the truest friend. And yet, He certainly gives this faithful Word in order to establish the same selfless relationships between His people, knowing that by the power of the Holy Spirit, we would be found emitting to each other in much simpler ways what He first demonstrated to us in the greatest of ways.

You may have other criteria behind your determining of trusted friends. I certainly have others I’ve not shared. Nevertheless, what I can tell you with relative simplicity is that when humility and forgiveness are present in a person, the rest of what we might consider to be not-so-likeable qualities are most often barely noticeable—which makes complete sense. It’s a lot harder to see the bad stuff when Jesus is blocking your view.