Tag Archives: friendship

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.

A True Friend

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I learned something about friendship last Saturday while driving to give a presentation in Plymouth. I suppose I already knew it innately. However, I’d not yet formed the thought in a graspable, and therefore shareable, way.

Essentially, I had to be up and doing (as Longfellow would say) before everyone else in my home that day. And so, I crept through my morning routine lest I awaken the multitudes who’d finally been granted a Saturday morning to sleep in. Having showered and dressed, the sun just beginning to share its intentions, I kissed my still-sleeping wife, Jennifer, and left. I returned to our bedroom several minutes later to retrieve a forgotten item. Jennifer was now awake and scrolling through her preferred newsfeed. I grabbed the overlooked item, kissed her screen-lit cheek, and left for the day.

About fifteen minutes into my journey, I called Jennifer. The conversation went something like this:

“Hello?”

“It’s just me,” I said. “I took a chance you hadn’t gone back to bed.”

“No, I’m awake,” she replied. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m glad my first visit with Chris Pratt was in Guardians of the Galaxy rather than watching him in Parks and Recreation with you and the kids.” The night before, my family and I had just finished the final episode in a several weeks-long binging of the mentioned television show.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I become endeared to characters I like and the people who play them,” I explained. “And then I expect certain things from their performances. If I had known the character Andy Dwyer before Star-Lord, I would’ve expected certain behaviors from Star-Lord, and I might not have enjoyed Pratt in the role as much. Instead, I brought Star-Lord to Andy Dwyer and not Andy Dwyer to Star-Lord. I guess I’m saying it was just better for me that way. It was better to meet Star-Lord before meeting Andy Dwyer.”

“Okay,” she said hesitatingly, yet still sounding just as happy to be an audience for my relatively useless observation as she is with the more essential aspects of my life. “I can see how that might be true.”

“Yeah, so that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Well, be careful on the road.”

“I will.”

“What time will you be home?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll call when I’m on my way.”

The conversation became a tender goodbye, and I continued my drive.

So, what does this have to do with a lesson in friendship? Well, Jennifer once again showed me that she’s more interested in simply talking with me than in the content of the conversation. I had absolutely nothing of value to share, and I could’ve just as easily kept my thoughts to myself. Still, I wanted to call her and tell her what I was thinking, even if it was ridiculous. Something assured me I could. In a simpler sense, it’s not necessarily the subject that matters between genuine friends. It’s the friendship itself that matters. When that’s true, hearing the other person’s voice can easily become so much more important than what they say.

But there’s something else about genuine friendship that I’ve learned along the way with Jennifer. Sometimes, what’s said (or done) must eclipse that comfortable sentiment. One of friendship’s chief responsibilities is honesty. Far too many unfortunate proverbs are being shared about how a true friend accepts you for who you are. When I see a decorative wall print that says something like that on the shelf in a store, I tend to turn it around backward or hide it in a stack of nearby pillows. No one needs to see it. Unrestricted acceptance of any and all behavior is not the definition of a true friend. Genuine friendship cares enough to communicate truths that you may resist acknowledging on your own. A genuine friend—someone who truly cares about you—will risk everything, even your wrath, to steer you toward truth. Indeed, “faithful are the wounds of a friend” (Proverbs 27:6). Knowing our world and the ever-strengthening gravity of its dreadfulness, none of us should be without such a friend.

All of this came to mind because as I reached for a book on my shelf this morning, I accidentally bumped a nearby greeting card, which resulted in several toppling over and cascading to the floor. Rather than putting them back, I gathered more from across multiple shelves, eventually putting them into a box in a cabinet where I keep such things. When I opened the box’s lid, a handwritten note from a former friend was on top. I won’t share the details, but just know the friendship ended badly. What I will say is that its final discussion had to happen. I made the painfully necessary phone call. He needed to hear that he’d wandered too far beyond the borders of faithfulness to Christ and was teetering at the edge of a dangerous ideological cliff. Ultimately, he cursed my concerns and jumped. It’s been several years since we’ve spoken. I sent him a note a few years back, but nothing came of it. Likely, I’ll never hear from him again. Admittedly, when I discovered and read the note, I could hear his voice behind its scribbled words. I realized I missed it. The content of our conversations was vast and sometimes pointless. But when he spoke, I listened, not necessarily because of what he was saying, but because I liked being his friend.

Perhaps the better lesson learned from this morning’s rambling is this: Don’t throw away the friends who care enough to tell you the truth. Apart from the Lord and His Word, they’re your next greatest asset for navigating and enduring a world doing its level best to pull you toward destruction. With that, there’s a reason God’s Word commends friendship, offering that “two are better than one…. 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 4:9-10). There’s a reason Saint Paul encourages us to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). There’s a reason he rejoices in the mutual encouragement that comes from faith exercised relative to the self and others (Romans 1:12). There’s a reason Solomon writes so uncomplicatedly, “One who is righteous is a guide to his neighbor, but the way of the wicked leads them astray” (Proverbs 12:26), and that “oil and perfume make the heart glad, and the sweetness of a friend comes from his earnest counsel” (Proverbs 27:9), followed by the well-worn advice that “iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another (Proverbs 27:17).

We don’t need coddlers. We need honest friends. And if we’re so scandalized by the truths they tell us, ultimately resulting in us tossing them from our lives like spoiled meat, we’re likely the problem, not them. This means we need to have and be the kind of friend who is ready to hear others confess their faults and willing to let them show us ours. To be a friend like that takes the type of hardshell humility that only the Holy Spirit can bestow. By hardshell humility, I mean the meekness that can handle its own reflection because it understands its need while knowing the One who met it—Jesus Christ—the greatest friend any of us will ever know (John 15:12-15).

Confronting our failings is never easy. Ash Wednesday is this week, and if ever there was a time to confront our dust-and-ashes nature (Genesis 2:7, 3:19, and 18:7), it’s then. As you do, remember Jesus, the perfect friend. He steered straight into this world’s awfulness, risking everything, even His life, to make you His own. Any friend who’s willing to give up his own self-security to save you from something dangerous is precisely the kind of friend you need. A friend like that certainly isn’t disposable but indispensable.

Again, Lent is soon upon us. Many people give up something for Lent. May I make a suggestion?

Set aside the defenses you’ve constructed around your easily bruised ego, fear of the truth, and ridiculous fragility. Own up to your strayings and rejoice that God’s love was manifested to you by His Word given in the Scriptures and demonstrated through friends who care. His warning against Sin is an essential proof of His concern. Don’t write Him off. He didn’t want to leave you ignorant of your condition, and He has more to tell you. You are not lost. Christ has come. By His life, death, and resurrection, the debt of your sins has been paid. Through faith in Jesus, you receive the merits of His work and are set free from your failings.

A friend who deals in these things is a friend indeed.

Genuine Friends

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I know I’ve broached the subject of friendship before, but I’ve been wondering lately what constitutes a genuine friend. So many in history, most especially the philosophers, have attempted to define the term “friend.” Cicero called a friend a “second self.” Aristotle said so famously that a friend is a “single soul dwelling in two bodies.” I think his is one of the better depictions. This is about as close as it gets to what I was feeling when I asked Jennifer to marry me. I knew that without her, I was only half of what God made me to be.

Of course, the poets serve us just as well. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s reminder that “the only way to have a friend is to be one” has adorned the walls of elementary school classrooms for who knows how long. Jaques Delille insisted that while fate chooses our family, we choose our friends. There is great truth in that statement, along with the reminder that both fate (tongue-in-cheek) and free will have a sense of humor. Anaïs Nin wrote with incredible profoundness that a “friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” This is profound in the sense that so much of who and what we are, both good and bad, would never have been stirred into existence without the prompting of others. Perhaps that’s why Marie de Sévigné warned, “True friendship is never serene.”

If we’re willing to be honest, we can agree with her. Indeed, friendships can be a source for some of the most joyful times we’ll know this side of the grave. They also hold the potential for some of the most agonizing moments we’ll ever experience, some resulting in painful and penetrating wounds that injure in ways few other things can.

I mentioned at the beginning I’ve been wondering lately what makes for a true friend. Perhaps more precisely, I’ve been wondering which hurts more, a friend standing against me or a friend who deceives me.

I suppose before even arriving at such a question, it pays for Christians to be mindful of the caliber of the ones we’d call friends—that is, what they believe, the language they use, how they live, and so many other determiners. And, yes, this is being judgmental. Even Saint Paul warned pragmatically that “bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinthians 15:33). Paul had good reason to write these words, especially since one of God’s wisest—King Solomon—already insisted a thousand years prior with the same practicality, “Whoever walks with the wise becomes wise, but the companion of fools will suffer harm” (Proverbs 13:20), and “Make no friendship with a man given to anger, nor go with a wrathful man, lest you learn his ways and entangle yourself in a snare” (Proverbs 22:24-25). In other words, no matter how secure in your identity you might believe yourself to be, the ones we surround ourselves with will influence us. They will change us. Since this is true, let the ones we call friends be inclined toward righteousness, not unrighteousness.

And so, back to my question. It’s one worth answering, not necessarily in a theoretical sense, but because no matter how hard we try to do what Paul and Solomon suggest, we’ll always find ourselves in broken relationships. We’re human, and all humans are broken, which means practical self-analysis is always a good thing. In this regard, I’m still wondering which is worse, an opposing friend or a deceptive friend?

I’m of the mind that a lying friend is likely to generate the most pain. Being lied to or about harms in ways other sins cannot. On the other hand, a friend taking a position against me might be doing so for my good. Again, Solomon, having a good grasp on the nature of Godly friendship, reminded that wounds caused by a true friend are faithful and worthy of our acceptance (Proverbs 27:6). Having never read any of the books, that reminds me of something I saw in the only “Harry Potter” movie I’ve ever watched. An element of this truth found its way into a scene in which the character of Dumbledor, while awarding house points at the end of the film to a young boy, said something like, “It takes courage to stand against one’s enemies. It takes more to stand against one’s friends.”

Not as profound as Solomon, J.K. Rowling’s point is still a good one. Faith at work through genuine self-analysis will discern the dimensions of the offending friend. What he’s saying, is it leading you to Christ? If so, give thanks to the Lord for his courage. He cares enough to put himself in harm’s way, namely, the possibility of your rageful retribution. Now, repent and amend. On the other hand, is what he’s saying coming from ill-intent designed to lead you away from Christ and into harm? Are his words being crafted to give credence to his own Sin? If so, mark and avoid him. He’s not a friend—at least not in this particular episode.

By contrast, a deceptive friend—one who betrays or dupes those closest—is a completely different story. A deceptive friend has parentage, namely, the devil (John 8:44). Such a friend grows gross tendrils, all reaching out in countless directions with moldable excuses, all designed to preserve the self. I feel sorry for this kind of person. Self-analysis seems beyond his or her reach. I suppose I have equal sorrow for the people ensnared by such folks, especially since there’s little examination needed for deciding if the behavior is good or bad. It’s bad. If you can’t see it, then your deceptive friend has changed you, just as Paul and Solomon warned.

And so, what to do?

Well, for starters, align with truth, putting your trust in the One whom Solomon fore-described as sticking closer to you than a brother: Jesus (Proverbs 18:24). No one knows us like our siblings. No one knows us like the divine sibling, Jesus. Let Him be your lens for observation. Holding fast to Him, remembering His description of the truest compatriot (epitomized in Himself) as the one who lays down His life for his friends (John 15:13), you’ll have all you need for discerning a true friend from a false one. Finally, heartened by your friendship with the greatest Friend, Jesus, enjoy the newfound freedom for facing off with the sinful world around you. Enjoy the Spirit-endowed voice of faithfulness to call out and gather other allies into your collegium, shouting as Iachimo did in Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, “Boldness be my friend! Arm me, audacity!”

A friend with the bold audacity for faithfulness to Christ, no matter what, is the best kind to have and be. Although, if you find yourself averse to such people, it might be time for self-analysis, that is, if you haven’t been changed by others in a way that has made you incapable of such things (1 John 1:8-9).