Just Friends

I barely knew what hit me.  I was sitting in church with some of my favorite guys and girls, young interns in a discipleship and leadership academy here in Swaziland.  An elderly white preacher from the states stood before us speaking on the love of God.  “The Love of God...”  One of my favorite topics.  The preacher began to share the idea that one manifestation of love is giving, and we reflected on verses like John 3:16 as some vocally affirmed the thought with “Amens.”  The white preacher from the states then went on to explain that we cannot really understand this concept (you know, how “God so loved that He gave...”) until we are put in a position of neediness; when we are the ones who have nothing, and yet we find that in great love and grace, someone who has more than us gives to us what we could never give to them in return.  

I should have seen it coming.  I should have seen it, but I didn’t.  So when the white preacher from the states asked all of the non-Swazis in the crowd to stand - I SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT COMING.  In a moment of awkward obedience, the white preacher from the states asked every missionary and visiting guest to stand to their feet, and then the white preacher from the states asked all of the Swazis (aka, the black people) in the audience to applaud what was basically a sea of white people who he was apparently now using as a visual to drive home his point: God loved so much that He gave... 

Just like we, the white people, loved you poor black Swazis so much that we gave?  

We came to you, we sacrificed to serve you, because we love you.  

So now, Swazis... applaud us?  

Applaud the white people from the states that loved you so much that they gave... ?

I was mortified.  As soon as I heard the word “applaud,” I shot back down to my seat and nestled as close to my Swazi friends as possible.  I hoped they knew that I didn’t feel this way about them or even myself.  I didn’t feel that I was better than them, or that they were soooo blessed that I came to them.  I hoped they understood that I understand: I am not the Messiah.  “What are you doing?!?” I thought.  “The last thing I came here to do is to separate myself from these people.”  Well-intentioned or not, this was one of the most degrading, humiliating, missing-the-point moments I’ve ever experienced in church.  

That night I wondered if my Swazi friends were as irritated as I was at this man’s incredibly poor choice of illustration.  Maybe I was feeling offended for them when they didn’t even take offense themselves.  I could only hope that the moment quickly came and went without taking root in their hearts.  As I lay in bed that night, I thought about what was making me so angry.  I realized that somewhere along the way, I grew very, very weary of applause.  I can’t say I am so holy or pure hearted that I don’t sometimes feel that lure for ovations and praise.  I do.  But beneath it all, something inside of me burns to still the applause, pull down the curtains and hide behind that very love of God.  I don’t want to be seen or noticed or applauded.  I don’t need to be applauded.  I need to be like Jesus.  Applause insinuates that I’ve done something extraordinary, something note-worthy.  But things that are natural; things that are obvious don’t gain applause.  And loving like Jesus should be natural; it should be obvious, not a great surprise, and certainly not applause-worthy.  In fact, it’s something more like cross-worthy.  

Still, I wondered more and more, why was I so heated over this stand-ovation for the sea of whites and their “great gift of love?”  I soon remembered a passage of Scripture that had recently struck me in a profound way.  It was sandwiched in one of those “I can probably just skip this part” sections.  1 Chronicles 27 details a list of the leaders of the tribes of Israel, saying things like, these people were over the herds, and these people were over the oil and the vineyards; these people were over the donkeys and these people were stewards over the King’s property.  It goes on to say in verses 32-34:

“Jonathan, David’s uncle, was a counselor, being a man of understanding and a scribe.  He and Jehiel the son of Hachmoni attended the King’s sons.  Ahithophel was the King’s counselor, and Husha the Archite was the King’s friend.  Ahithophel was succeeded by Jehoida the son of Benaiah, and Abiathar.  Joab was commander of the King’s army.”

How important is friendship?  So important that as Scripture lists the names and duties of those most important to the work and health of the King, they make sure not to fail to mention the one who was simply the King’s friend.  Placed purposefully between the mention of the King’s counselor and the commander of the King’s army, we find the quiet, humble statement: “...and Husha the Archite was the King’s friend.”

I can hear the important others asking Husha now: “What are you over?”  And Husha responds, “What am I over?  I am the king’s friend.  I am not over anything; I am beside.”

For the past 9 years of ministry, I have been “over” a lot of things and a lot of people.  It has been good, beautiful, redemptive, and I have loved the privilege of those days.  But returning to southern Africa this year, I felt a subtle urge not to be over anyone, but simply to be beside.  As I prepared for this trip, I asked the Lord to lead me wherever He saw most fit; all I hoped was that He let me build genuine relationships with people, walking and growing together one day at a time.  After three months in Swaziland, I couldn’t be more thankful to look around me and discover: the Lord brought me here, not to be a counselor or a commander, but to be a friend.  

And I don’t need any applause for that.

Let's talk about you...

When serving others, check the status of your own heart.  Knowingly or unknowingly, are you serving from an attitude of superiority?  If you were to get really honest with yourself, do you somehow feel that you are doing people a favor by loving them?  Let us never forget the greatest favor that was done for us.  The Father so loved that He gave His only Son to come and be Emmanuel to us - God is with us.  God is beside us.  He gave us, forever, a Friend.  Wherever God has placed you today, ask Him to reveal how you might serve beside like Jesus.  Beware, though: applause runs short under the weight of this cross, and rightfully so.  After all, it’s only natural...

There is great value in this ministry of friendship; this gift of “beside.”  Isn’t it lovely that when Jesus came to us in the flesh, He said, “I do not now call you servants, but I call you friends.”*  He, too, embraced the calling that stands beside. 

Now Jesus, make us friends like You...

*John 15:15