Lamh Books Themes: Friendship
I’d like to share a short series of blog posts about the themes I have woven, and hope to weave, into my stories. These are complex ideas I am always mulling over and seeking to discover anew in my life and relationships. Many of them are deeply connected to my faith as a Christ follower, and some are philosophical in nature. My hope is that these posts can serve as way-markers for myself and others, as my books slowly make their way from my imagination to bookshelves.
FRIENDSHIP
Truth makes a great measuring stick, but a poor friendship bracelet. (By truth, in this post, I am meaning anything we are convinced is factual.)
What makes us put up defenses and cover our true self with a mask? Fearing the revelation of our insecurities. What keeps us from gazing long into the mirror, or if we do, only while wearing a deep brow crease and a frown? Seeing the evidence of old age, or perhaps personal shame. What causes the heart to ache in the sharp focal point of conflict, longing to slink back into a comfortable, indestinct status quo? Truth told without mercy.
We shrink from it, because by it we are broken, or measured and found wanting. In the Christian tradition we refer to a specific type of truth—the Law. And the purpose of the Law, in the words of Paul (Romans 7), is to teach us that we sin. The inevitable effect of the Law is that it brings death. In this sense, truth kills.
What does truth have to do with friendship, you might be wondering? Think about the ingredients for an intimate relationship between two people—common interest, compatibility, generosity, forgiveness, forbearance, honesty, trust, mutual respect, gratitude, empathy, selflessness, laughter, vulnerability, time. The best friendships, I believe, are born of two people knowing themselves well enough to not take themself too seriously, while possessing a genuine desire to deeply know another person, treating that journey of discovery like a fascinating treasure hunt, celebrating each gem of relational communion. At some point along the line, true words will be spoken, true feelings bared, and beliefs shared. But raw, unfiltered truth-speaking doesn’t lend itself to a warmth of companionship and trust, rather it throws up our defenses. Much like the Law, it makes us aware of our short-comings, of the doubts we try to avoid thinking about, of our insecurities.
I think this is why friendship has become rare and precious in our society. Many religious people don’t understand how dangerous truth is and wield it without concern for the harm it can do. I recognize that this is where I’ve come from, and I’m working to become a more compassionate listener. For many Christians, friendship might feel dangerous because it requires more humility, more selflessness, and more compassion than we’re comfortable or used to offering. (I can’t speak to friendship outside the church, because that is not an arena I have much experience with, though I imagine there are other roadblocks to friendships in society). But what I know of the church stirs in me a longing to see us throw down our walls and open our arms, regardless of what our measuring stick says about someone. Who are we to judge anyway?
What I really want to capture, both in my life and my writing, is the secret ingredient to true, lasting friendships. This is a mystery to me, and one I feel I’ll continue to learn about for all my life. But in the past few years there have been a couple of breakthroughs, and I think this comes through in my book, A Voracious Grief , and the friendships it depicts.
We have Godfrey Foxe, a man of much vulnerability and gentleness. He is a good man, not because he’s a priest, but because he knows himself and by that knowing, has something loving and life-bringing to extend to others. He does speak truth to Ambrose, when the time is ripe. But with few words and much faith lived out by careful, intentional action. He is the bosom friend of legend. The Sam to Ambrose’s Frodo. And he does all this while grieving his own losses.
Tothill is a matriarchal sort of friend. A companion of moral support whose unshakeable faith is placed not only in her religious beliefs but also in Ambrose himself, which makes absolutely no sense to Ambrose. He knows himself—he thinks—and he’s not worthy of anyone’s confidence! But Tothill represents the friend who sees us with clearer vision than we see ourselves, especially when we walk through a dark time and our vision is clouded by pain. Tothill holds a well a faith in reserve for Ambrose, offering him refreshment when he has nothing in himself.
Anna Holm is a relatively new friend for Ambrose, but I love the story of their meeting and “hitting it off” because in life we sometimes stumble across someone like that. Someone who has an internal spark which ignites a mirrored flame in our heart, and we don’t even know how that’s possible or where it came from or what it means. We just feel it, and it’s profound right from the beginning. These friendships are especially rare, and I think some people describe them as soul-mates. Anna’s friendship imparts the most truth to Ambrose, not because they are already close, but because he recognizes in her the mark of wisdom and the mark of someone who knows what he’s dealing with, and so he seeks out the truth she possesses.
But Anna doesn’t just mete it out like buckshot, which would have left Ambrose with more emptiness than he started. Instead, she gently tells him he’s not in a good position to hear her truth. Even what she does share, she insists should be taken with much caution, because she doesn’t know him well yet. He gives her permission to advise him, and instead she shares his lostness, and leaves him feeling understood, but no clearer on what to do. She offers Ambrose something more valuable than the truth, in that moment—compassion.
Truth is good, objectively. And the gospel truth of Christ sets sinners free from the death the Law brings. But I take care not to think this is a license to let loose “my truth” at every opportunity. Even Jesus avoided answering many of the questions put to him directly, preferring instead to tell stories—parables—which cut to the heart of the matter and softens the conscience.
What is more valuable than telling someone what they need to hear? Making them feel you care. And sticking around to listen when their problems and feelings don’t just evaporate overnight. Being with and knowing, just as Jesus did. Opening yourself to hurt that doesn’t belong to you, and crying alongside someone you love. Sitting in silence when there are no answers, and letting your presence rest like a kiss on the forehead, like a mother whispering “it’s going to be o.k.” Practicing the discipline of self-oblation (the offering of oneself sacrificially). Imaging Christ.
The moment to speak actual words will come. If you’ve done the groundwork, you just might be ready to recognize it. In that way, your offering can be seasoned with mercy and bring life instead of harm to the listener. I suspect these might be some of the secret ingredients to the best of friendships we humans can have.
