Over the last year or so, I’ve found myself walking with friends through all kinds of pain – depression, loneliness, unemployment, struggling with or losing faith, stress, poor health, financial worries, distress over sexuality and gender, you name it.
Add a heap of suffering and grief in our family and, as my generation says, it’s been a lot. There have been plenty of reasons to question what on earth God is doing or where he is.
I haven’t always responded to it well. Sometimes it’s been overwhelming and instead of turning to God with it all, I’ve sinfully tried to find my own ways to cope. I’ve been troubled when I’ve been cold towards old friends, or just not known what to say.
The biggest challenge in it all has been asking myself that old question, ‘What would Jesus do?’.
In many ways, the biggest challenge in it all has been asking myself that old question, ‘What would Jesus do?’. Jesus, who models self-sacrifice and a love that would have us lay down our lives for our friends.
When it’s been a long day and there are ten more messages from friends in need to reply to, I see my instinct to turn off the phone or throw it at the wall… and I have to admit Jesus would reply to them, full of grace and compassion.
When I’ve got one free evening in the week and all I want to do is read a book, but that friend I know is lonely messages and asks if we could meet… I can’t imagine Jesus saying no to them.
I don’t say any of that to toot my own horn. I’ve been a reluctant child digging in my heels and groaning as God has taught me some painful but beautiful lessons about friendship. I had to admire his sense of humour when, looking back at prayer requests with my small group from the previous year, I found I’d asked for prayer that God would help me be more selfless. Be careful what you wish for!
I thought Vaughan Roberts put it so well on our recent podcast episode, ‘Friendship and Jesus’. He spoke about how when we’re focused on Jesus, we’re a little bit less needy. Of course, we still need friends, but the more we recognise Jesus has given us everything we need, the more we’re able to selflessly give to others – even when it’s hard.
And boy is it hard for a selfish sinner like me. But what I’ve also come to realise is that it’s a privilege. It’s a privilege to be in a position to be a friend to these beautiful people, for them to feel comfortable being vulnerable and sharing their struggles, to be able to speak from some of my own experience of the things they’re going through, and, empowered by the Holy Spirit, to increasingly be able to say ‘yes’ to them when my heart screams ‘no’. Other friends have been there for me in dark times too, and now I get to pay it forward.
In those struggles is a chance for me to show some of God’s love and grace and patience, to lament with them, and to deepen our friendship.
Of course, I’d rather all their struggles would just stop, but in those struggles is a chance for me to show some of God’s love and grace and patience, to lament with them, and to deepen our friendship. And I’m constantly blown away by their love, generosity, kindness and care for me even as they go through hard things. Sometimes it’s needed to be a bit one-way, and that’s ok thanks to Jesus – but friendship is definitely a two-way street.
So I’ve also been challenged that I need to be honest about how I’m doing too – both with God and with my friends. In my pride, I’ve tried to bear the load alone and fix everything myself. But of course I can’t do either of those things, and trying to do so has only been destructive.
Which brings me to a final challenge and encouragement that Ashleigh reminded us of in that podcast episode – I’m not Jesus! That sounds obvious, but it was so liberating to hear. As much as I try, I can’t be there for all my friends at all hours of the day and for each moment they’re particularly struggling. I can’t solve all their problems or even find the words to say half the time. But Jesus can. He’s the one I need and they need, and I can take it all to him in prayer.
In my selfishness, life often feels like a battle between what I want to do and all the other demands that get in the way. I had grand plans of what I might do with my life, what God’s will for it might be, but slowly I’m learning that what matters is loving him and loving other people. At my funeral, people won’t talk about whether I ever wrote that novel or not – they’ll talk about the quality of my love for them. And I know that counts to Jesus too, the friend who sticks closer than a brother and commands us to love one another.
