Think about your friendships that have lasted through the years. Isn’t there a sense of joy? Isn’t there comfort in knowing that someone is desperately wanting you to be well? that someone holds you in their prayers? that someone cherishes the stories of your lives that intersect.
I’ve been thankful that friendship doesn’t depend on:
- proximity
- absolute agreement on everything
- absence of mistakes
There really is such a thing as friendship that survives a move. I’m blessed to have friends who are scattered across the country — from New England to Malibu. The kind of friends who would hide you, who would pick you up, who would allow you to have a bad day.
Doesn’t this take us close to the secret of creation: that God made us to live in community with him and with others? Isn’t it a sign of the kingdom that is present and coming?
A friendship is safe, confidential, joyful, honest. It isn’t subject to the whims of moods. It laughs, cries, holds, endures.
I’m for it.
“There is one particular day in Western history about which neither historical record nor myth nor Scripture make report. It is a Saturday. And it has become the longest of days. We know of that Good Friday which Christianity holds to have been that of the Cross. But the non-Christian, the atheist, knows of it as well. This is to say that he knows of the injustice, of the interminable suffering, of the waste, of the brute enigma of ending, which so largely make up not only the historical dimension of the human condition, but the everyday fabric of our personal lives. We know, ineluctably, of the pain, of the failure of love, of the solitude which are our history and private fate. We know also about Sunday. To the Christian, that day signifies an intimation, both assured and precarious, both evident and beyond comprehension, of resurrection, of a justice and a love that have conquered death. If we are non-Christians or non-believers, we know of that Sunday in precisely analogous terms. We conceive of it as the day of liberation from inhumanity and servitude. We look to resolutions, be they therapeutic or political, be they social or messianic. The lineaments of that Sunday carry the name of hope (there is no word less deconstructible).
“But ours is the long day’s journey of the Saturday. Between suffering, aloneness, unutterable waste on the one hand and the dream of liberation, of rebirth on the other. In the face of the torture of a child, of the death of love which is Friday, even the greatest art and poetry are almost helpless. In the Utopia of the Sunday, the aesthetic will, presumably, no longer have logic or necessity. The apprehensions and figurations in the play of metaphysical imagining, in the poem and the music, which tell of pain and of hope, of the flesh which is said to taste of ash and of the spirit which is said to have the savour of fire, are always Sabbatarian. They have risen out of an immensity of waiting which is that of man. Without them, how could we be patient?”
- George Steiner, Real Presences, pp. 231f
“I don’t have the right personality for Good Friday, for the crucifixion: I’d like to skip ahead to the resurrection.” Anne Lamott, Plan B
“I find that Holy Week is draining; no matter how many times I have lived through his crucifixion, my anxiety about his resurrection is undiminished — I am terrified that, this year, it won’t happen; that, that year, it didn’t. Anyone can be sentimental about the Nativity; any fool can feel like a Christian at Christmas. But Easter is the main event; if you don’t believe in the resurrection, you’re not a believer.” John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
I didn’t grow up with the rhythm of Holy Week. Our church, like many Churches of Christ, leaned heavily on the truth that Christians celebrate the resurrection of Christ every Sunday. I appreciate that emphasis.
And yet . . . the wisdom of the larger Christian community prevails. There is something about the celebration of Easter that is life-changing. It calls forth hope out of bleakness; it suggests the possibility of wholeness even in the midst of brokenness.
Seek him with me this weekend, dear friends. There are so many things I was certain of when I was twenty-two that I’m quite uncertain of today.
But this I’m sure of — sure enough to stake my life on it: Christ, the Lord, is risen.
Tuesday was my day to speak for the Holy Week luncheon at First Baptist. What a perfect setting for my first message in this 45-year-old series because of my close friendship with Phil Christopher, the senior pastor there.
Today, Highland is hosting its first luncheon. Tom Lyda, pastor of First Christian Church, will be speaking.
What a blessing to have been invited by the other four downtown churches (First Baptist, First Central Presbyterian, First Christian, and St. Paul’s United Methodist) to join them.
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I am so thankful to live in the graces of good friends.
Lately I’ve been meditating on what it is that makes solid friends. Here are three things that have struck me:
1. A commitment to live for the wholeness of the other person. Even when that isn’t easy. You want the very best for them, and you promise to join them on the journey toward wellness.
2. A rugged determination to be honest. It’s so hard to find deep friendship when you don’t know when someone is shooting straight with you.
3. A sense that you aren’t inconveniencing the other person. What you’re thinking matters. You can tell they’re listening. A common bond of stories, inside jokes, and memories is formed.
What else would you add?
(By the way, here’s something I wrote on friendship and community for the Christian Standard.)
Oh, come on. You knew there would be more! (Still missing THE picture of Reese and her mommy. Will try to snag that later.)
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I did pick Florida, but I was way off on who they’d be playing. It’s been quite a school year for Florida sports!
Yesterday, I finally finished preaching through those three chapters on meat sacrificed to idols in 1 Corinthians 8-10. It took four messages (one of which Jerry Taylor preached). Here’s what I love: Paul knew that very often the deepest gospeled instincts of a people are not found in the big issues but in the smaller ones — the ones with a bit of gray area that need nuancing.
A family would make a sacrifice on behalf of some god or goddess at a Corinth temple. Some of the meat would be burned up at the moment of the sacrifice; some would then be used to serve a meal at the temple for the family and their friends; and then whatever was left could be sold by the priests at the city market.
So there were two questions: Could the Christians eat at the meals in the pagan temples when invited? and Could they buy the meat in the city market and eat it in private homes?
The questions could have been answered in a paragraph. Except that for Paul this was a perfect chance to discuss deeper themes of the gospel. Like:
- How love trumps knowledge;
- How a weaker brother or sister is someone for whom Christ died (8:11);
- How he himself is an example of choosing not to always use his rights on behalf of others (9);
- How the communion meal sets a direction for our lives;
- How love also trumps freedom;
- How Christians can receive the gifts of this life since all belongs to God the creator (quoting Psalm 24 in 10:25f);
- How the ultimate point of Christianity is to follow the cross-formed way of Jesus Christ (11:1)
Whew! All of that to say:
No, you can’t eat those dedication meals at the pagan temples. (We know there is no such thing as another god/goddess. But you have to flee idolatry, in whatever form it takes.)
Yes, you can eat meat from the city markets that may have come from the temples in private homes. (But, don’t do it if it will destroy a weaker brother or sister — meaning not someone who’s “offended” at your actions but someone who might actually be on a slippery slope. The meat itself might transport them back to an earlier time in life when they experienced the ecstasy of the pagan temples. They might head down a path of darkness as they recalled the powerful experiencing of the temple with their mystery and the pleasures [women and boys] lurking in the darkness, offering to heighten experience for a price.)
So today I’m wondering: in what ways do our smaller issues indicate that we are a gospeled people?