Acts 10: 44-48,
John 15:12-17
Years ago when I had realigned myself to be in relationship with a local church, I found myself unable to attend worship one Sunday morning and then calling the pastor early that afternoon asking if I could talk with him that very same afternoon. Mind you, I was quite active in the church; I wasn't an unknown quantity in the church. But being active in a church does not equate necessarily with knowing the kind of schedule a pastor has; I may have even thought that a pastor just works on Sunday morning. Now, I'm not sure I would have called and made such a request! Realizing perhaps how audacious that act might have been I am not sure I would have done it. But this pastor was most gracious. And agreed to speak with me and even offered to come over to see me.
Actually, I had been unable to go to worship because I was upset. This was at a time when I had gotten my life more or less back on track. I had moved away from a career path that was unrewarding to me; I had moved out of a tumultuous, life-threatening marriage. I had a job that I loved: teaching and mentoring; I was well regarded within the private school. I was beginning to furnish my dormitory apartment (I was a dormitory mom to about 20 teenage girls.); I had my own first car – totally on my own. I was not in a great of debt. I went on hikes in the White Mountains . I was involved in a study and a choral group at the church. So what could possibly be so upsetting on this Sunday morning that I would call my pastor!
The only thing I remember from that conversation with the pastor was what I finally had the courage to blurt out: ‘Even with all I have, I feel so isolated. I feel so alone.' And I remember equally well his short response that came out in a kind of question. Did you ever consider that you are the one creating the isolation?
I have to tell you, I didn't go, “Mmmm. That's interesting.” The internal response was more like, “I create the isolation! How dare you say that!”
Gregory Boyd came across this challenge in a slightly different way. We share in both being introverts – we enjoy being with other folks but find we need our quiet space in order to be re-energized. We share in both being pastors. Greg was challenged by his wife who wanted, like most normal people, to make friends with other couples. This was fine with Greg theoretically. But when it came to actually doing it, it was hard work. Only with time and great effort did he actually discover that people are interesting, that he enjoyed visiting folks rather than remaining in his, what he refers to as a, cave of books. Over time and with folks, he actually discovered that he needed people. There discovered a vacancy which he wasn't aware of before, that was filled by being in close relationship with people.
Now, I can't help but think that there are many who sit or ride or play, while thinking, “I am so alone.” I can't help think there are many who live surrounded by neighbors and yet do not interact with them or know them by sight much less know them by name. Perhaps those seem like extreme examples. But I can't help but think of the many that are on tracks going straight down the line toward success defined by position or possession or purse. I can't help think there are many couples who are married, yet they do not know each other. They are busy individually and together yet they do not know each other. How many divorces arise out of an inability or an unwillingness to know one another, to be in real relationships? Oh, perhaps we do interact, perhaps we do engage with others because of our work or our children or our common project of creating a derby box car or a deck. And yet, deep within, we still feel like we're stranded on an island; we are creatures very much individuals making it on our own. I was only too aware as I went through the path toward my discovery to hear all the ‘I's'. We have a passion for control and thinking we are the ones who accomplished this or that; control drives relationship to the back porch.
Over the years – 16 to be more specific - Greg and his wife Shelley have formed deep abiding relationships with four other couples. Once a week they get together. They pray, worship, minister to people in the neighborhood. They go to the movies, play games, eat, dance, just hang out together. Over the years they have fought, laughed, cried, made up, shared hopes and dreams, and shared disappointments, too. They have been there when one has lost a job; they have vacationed together, helped raise families together, and worked on each other's cars together. They even decided to all move from the suburban like area to an urban area and live near each other where they now share even more together. And in the mix, you can imagine, Greg and Shelley have also deepened their own relationship – having to be honest and open with each other while they share their lives with others.
A line in our gospel reading reminded me of our isolated/isolating lives that's in contrast to the importance of real relationships. Jesus is speaking to his disciples and he says, “You are my friends ….I do not call you servants any longer...but I have called you friends.”
No longer servants. Jesus reminds his followers of who they are not employees who take instruction and do as they are told but confidents and intimates. They know Jesus and he knows them. They are bound by mutual affection and concern for one another. Their relationship is built not on contracts but with strong bonds of friendship.
We may be busy; we may be with others, and yet, are we friends with one another? Do we know each other? Do we really care for the other because we know him?
I heard the other day on the radio that women are more prone than men to depression and to anxiety. The commentator went on to say that women – though they tend to be the gender that is relational – are less apt to check in on themselves about who they are and what their own needs are. I am reading for fun right now: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In it, at one point, Gilbert describes herself similarly as a friend observes that she, Elizabeth, looks different now. “When you were married, you looked like your husband. Now, you look like the one you are dating. Who are you?” (I paraphrase what is quoted.) Elizabeth Gilbert explains that she may know the other so well rather than experience that person as an individual she became a part of that other person or mimicked that one. But that is not a friendship or relationship that is reciprocal where each knows the other intimately and maintains one's own identity; that's more like melting and fusing into the other.
Gilbert also observes in her book Eat, Pray, Love “…Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure. Ours is an entertainment-seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure-seeking one.” We spend billions to keep ourselves amused – but that is not the same as quiet enjoyment. I think we try to relax in the same way we pursue life in general: we are on some track that should get us from here to there, from A to B, from less to more. That just may not be living fully or in relationship with oneself or in friendship with another. We are a purpose-driven people and that tends to take real relationships out of the mix.
I think that was what my pastor from many years ago was suggesting to me. I had chosen not to stop, not to share myself and not to take care and time and effort in really getting to know others; and so, even the reverse would be hard to happen as well.
Being in community: Gregory Boyd suggests in a recent article in the Christian Century that this is what we were created for. This is how Jesus lived and it's how his followers are called to live.
We have an ideal of individualism here in the US . Individual rights and privileges and freedoms set the standard and define us. Why even our church choosing is based on this individualistic, consumerism enterprise – where can I get what I need? But in traditional cultures people are defined by their community. ( Cuba , Nigeria.) Our worth is our buying power; this is over and above cultivating deep committed relationships. Relationships take time, and time is the one commodity we have conditioned ourselves to believe we never have enough of. I repeat that: We have conditioned ourselves to believe we do not have the time. This all undermines our desire and capacity for meaningful relationships. We have in a way disposed of real relationships. And yet, deep within, we hunger for them. So what do we do about it?
Can we look to Jesus' example? Can we hear how he cut across the powers that be in his time in order to fight against the disintegration of relationships? For him it was not acceptable that widows would be left to fend for themselves with all the odds against them. No longer was God available only to some. Can we hear how he worked with his followers? Can we hear how he encouraged the women? Can we hear how the men were energized to spread the word even after, most especially after, he died? Can we hear how the church spread because folks formed community – in homes, small groups? Do we have the time to do this? They gathered together to learn, to support one another, to love in Christ's name, to be joyful, to listen to one another, they disagreed with each other, and yet they were there to lift one another when one was hurting. Can we afford not to do this and still call ourselves healthy and loving? Their focus, though it was justice for which they stood, it wasn't to get ahead, it was to be in real relationship, to know one another, to know God, and be there for one another and to offer the love of Christ for one another.
Do we dare to take the time? Do we dare to turn to the one next to us and say, “Hey, I care about you. Tell me your story”. Can we do the same with a neighbor? Or do we dare to ask our spouse in the evening after a day's work, “Tell me what's on your heart and mind?” Do we dare to say to our child out of the blue, “Let's go fishing.”
Mind you, this might take more time than you think you have. Mind you, it might give you more time and peace than you ever dreamed possible. It's your choice.
