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Long
ago, in a time before time, God had a creative itch and decided
to make a world. God scooped up a handful of dust, rolled
it in his hands, blew breath into it, and out came a man that
God placed in a beautiful garden filled with everything man
needed to live. One day God found Adam skipping stones over
a pond while trying to have a conversation with a monkey,
and like a cook who knows a new dish is one ingredient shy
of being complete, God knew something was missing. "It's not
good that man should be alone," God said.
Notice that God did not say,
"It's not advisable for man to be alone," or "It's not practical
or convenient for man to be alone." God said it is not GOOD.
Everything God had created to this point, Genesis says was
very good, but not Adam without Eve. Eve wasn't provided
for company for Adam, nor had she come to just provide companionship.
It was not good for Adam to be solitary. He was meant to
be complete. And to this end God created within Adam, and
God has created within each of us a craving for relationship.
America was settled by adventurous
people called Pioneers. In the early years of this nation,
our government encouraged westward expansion by giving away
quarter sections of land to homesteaders. Upon their arrival,
the homesteaders task was to build a home. They usually
built it in the center of their quarter plot, so they could
feel pride from looking in all directions at land that was
theirs. But they also discovered an old truth. It is not
good for people to be alone. Photographs taken during this
period show stressed, depressed, haunted looking people.
It didn't take long for the homesteading families to move
to the corners; to live close to three other families with
whom they could share their lives.
"No person is an island,"
the old verse goes. Those who live an island existence avoid
the misunderstandings and the messiness of maintaining friendships.
They discover that freedom from others becomes a sentence
in the prison of self. To remain solitary is not a serene
life. It is a shrunken life.
Our faith presses this truth
upon us as Christians. We were created as relational beings.
We hunger to be connected with something beyond self. We
know, when we are thinking most clearly and honestly, that
nothing and no one can ultimately be counted upon, save
God. In the end, God is all there is. But it is not just
our need of God. God needs friends, too. God can't be a
friend to himself. We want him to be with us. But is also
true that God wants us to be with him.
In Exodus and again in Isaiah,
the Bible says that Moses and Abraham spoke with God as
a friend. That we can have a friendship with the creator
of the cosmos is too fantastic to conceive, but not through
the eyes of faith. But even among those who believe and
worship and serve God, friendship only with God does not
seem to be enough. Yet God gives us a gift of grace. God
has not only created us for himself, but also for each other.
The intimate bonds of friendship we share with one another
are an indication of the intimacy that God feels for each
of us.
There is a treasure trove
of wisdom in a barely read portion of scripture called Ecclesiasticus,
or, The Wisdom of Jesus, the Son of Sirach. It's in the
portion of scripture called the Apocrypha, a collection
of 14 books that were placed between the Old and New Testaments.
Chapter six speaks of true and false friends. "Gain friends
by testing," it says. "Don't trust hastily. Some are friends
when it suits. They sit at your table, but won't stand by
you in trouble. When you prosper, they are at your side.
If you are brought low, they hide. Keep away from enemies,
and be on guard with your friends."
As I read this I thought
about the tale of a half frozen bird a farmer found in his
barnyard. The temperature was near zero. The farmer pitied
the poor bird and wasn't sure what to do. He then saw a
fresh, steaming cow pie. He pushed the little bird into
the manure. In just a little while the warmth brought it
back to life. The bird felt so good and so grateful it broke
into song. The farmer smiled. But just then the barnyard
cat heard the singing, pulled the bird out of the pile and
ate it. The moral is this: "Not everyone who puts you in
it is your enemy, and not everyone who pulls you out is
your friend."
"Whoever finds a faithful
friend has found a treasure." Ecclesiasticus says. "Faithful
friends are life-giving medicine, and those who fear the
Lord will find them. Those who fear the Lord keep their
friendships in repair, for they treat their neighbors as
themselves." As I meditated upon these words, it occurred
to me that the closer I feel to my friends, the closer I
also feel to God.
As I worked on this sermon,
I got a call from my best friend. He called for no reason
in particular. One of those "just because" calls. Vaughn
and I have shared a lot of life together...36 years to be
exact. We went to the same school together. We played music
together. We got in trouble together. We were best men in
each other's weddings. I conducted his father's funeral.
He spoke at my father's funeral. No one can make me laugh
like Vaughn. He tells me the truth, even when it hurts.
We have been mad at each other. We have forgiven one another.
Now we look back and see how God was at work in us for the
other when we needed the other most. I know just what the
author of Ecclesiasticus means when he says, "Faithful friends
are life-giving medicine."
To be healthy and whole requires
the elixir of faithful friends who are always there, who
accept us both for who we are and in spite of who we are;
who allow us to be ourselves and with whom we can share
the deepest secrets of our lives. Jesus is that sort of
friend. He was not just a legend who inspires. He is a companion
with whom we can connect. "Can we find a friend so faithful
who will all our sorrows share?" Yet as primary as our relationship
with Jesus is, it has conditions attached to it.
"You are my friends," he
said. "if you do what I command. If you love one another
as I have loved you." Scripture says, "The fear or awe of
the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." But it is also the
beginning of friendship. We have something to share with
each other which God has shared with us. Our text says those
who fear the Lord keep their friendships in repair. Friendships
that matter most take time and effort to nurture. It usually
is not the big things which break up a marriage or dissolve
a friendship. It's the neglect of the little things...the
grease that lubricates the wheels of relationship...little
things like making time to be together; making a call, sending
a card, or telling someone, "I appreciate you," "I love
you." It's letting another know, though they know already,
that they matter to you.
Faithful friends are a treasure
from God that reflect the depth of intimacy God has for
us. This was impressed upon me the week I just spent in
the Taizé community in France. In 1940, Brother Roger
formed a community of Protestant and Catholic brothers who
dedicated themselves to prayer, peace, and reconciliation
among the people the world had torn asunder. Every year
tens of thousands of young people flock to Taizé,
not just to experience the beautiful worship and music,
but to encounter God and discover new meaning for their
lives.
When I arrived, I didn't
know what to expect. At first it was extremely disorienting
to be surrounded by people from so many countries and cultures
speaking many languages I did not understand. But strangers
I could not understand at the beginning of the week became
friends I could understand at week's end. At 10 a.m. each
morning, Brother Hun Yol, a Taizé brother from Korea
who was fluent in seven languages led a Bible study on John
21. Afterward we met in international study groups where
we discussed questions posed by Brother Hun.
I was in a French English
group comprised of two American pastors and two professors,
a Mennonite social worker from Holland named Tischka, Sister
Chizelle, a nun from Belgium, Lorenze, a doctor's wife from
Belgium, Mikel, a middle aged French man who had spent the
past two years visiting religious communities in India and
Europe, and our facilitator Genevieve, a delightful Catholic
woman who was mayor of a town in France. She had been coming
to Taizé with her husband every year since they were
29...forty years ago. As the week went by we shared deeply
with one another about life and faith. Sometimes we had
to work hard getting through the language barrier, but the
result was rewarding.
A moment I want to share
with you happened in worship. At Taizé, each Friday
is Good Friday. Saturday night is the Easter Vigil. Sunday
morning celebrates the resurrection. The final act of Good
Friday worship is when the brothers carry an icon cross
of Jesus to the center of the sanctuary, lay it on the floor,
and place candles on it at the head and hands. People then
begin streaming to the cross. They form a circle around
it, kneeling in prayer, touching their foreheads to the
cross. 200 + people were around it, and one by one they
slip into the inner circle to pray.
It was a moving moment as
a thousand people sang, "My soul is at rest from God alone;
my salvation comes from God." After 20 minutes of watching,
I made my way to the cross thinking about my daughter. The
day before I had shared with my group about the turmoil
she and we have gone through. "I feel emotionally numb,"
I had told them. "My tears have been cried dry," I said.
I rested my forehead upon the cross. After maybe a minute,
I felt two arms across my back. I turned my head left and
right to see who it was. It was Genevieve, the mayor and
her husband Jean Paul.
In that moment something
happened. It felt as if I was melting. The religious philosopher
William James used words like "numinous" and "ineffable"
to describe an experience words cannot describe. It was
as if for one brief second I could feel the pain of God
for his son and the pain I feel for my daughter, and I did
what I hadn't done in months. I cried. A little later I
stood and looked into the smiling faces of that beautiful
French couple who all week had pronounced my name Da-veed,
and I saw something as clearly as I do now. I saw Christ
in the beaming eyes of Genevieve and Jean Paul. In a moment
of absolute clarity I saw beyond theology, denomination,
perspectives about scripture, and the flimsy fence we put
around Jesus to keep others out. I saw not just a facet
of faith, but I saw its essence. I was struck by the realization...this
is what it's all about!
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