What A Friend

Come, walk with me this morning.
I had a good sleep last night. How about you? For a week I have been fighting sleep starting at about 7 PM—like you do when driving late at night and your eyes keep fending off micro-bursts of sleep. Last night I gave in and “went under” at 8 PM When I woke it was still pitch dark. I listened for sounds that would clue me what time it was. I didn’t flash the light at my watch for fear it would show 1 or 2 AM as it had other nights. So I lay there listening for clues. Diwali fire crackers (still the wee hours), the wren in song (close to dawn), or the early traffic out on the Kulhan Road. No sounds at all.
Nothing.
I hate to get up when it’s the middle of the night, don’t you? It re-starts your brain so that it’s hard to get it back into sleep mode. But there was no putting it off. Up. "Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to go I go." Consult the watch. 5:30 AM! I couldn’t believe it. I actually slept nearly 10 hours!
So let’s go! Find shoes. Take key. Sling the stretch cord around my neck. Out the door.
The hills are etched against the sky to the east, north and south. Look—there’s Orion’s famous belt. We must be looking southwest. It’s cool but not cold. Walk faster, we’ll warm up soon enough. I flex the squeezers on the end of my exercise stretch cord. Keep those hand and arm muscles toned. Use it or lose it. At my age if I lose it it’s not coming back!
Night lights on the buildings blink off—must be dawning. Lights in the Women’s Hostel appear. Its 6:00 now—time for their corporate devotions prior to breakfast.
Wash up. Dress up—long sleeve shirt today. Breakfast at 7:15. Grab a Bible. Over the ups and downs of the men’s walkways (girls take a different path and enter the Chapel through a different stairway to sit in the women’s block of seats) and into the new chapel.
Not a sound can be heard even though there are already over 100 present. This chapel is so huge compared to the first chapel, which is now used for music classes. If they roll in more plastic “Walmart” arm chairs over 1500 can be seated, as for a graduation.
Not a sound as we sit in the faculty/staff section and read from the Bible or meditate upon the rising day.
A bell sounds a single tone. The music team files onto the platform to pick up their guitars or to stand at the mics for singing. The speaker and his interpreter take their stations at the pulpit.
This month the seniors are doing the services by turns. A tiny video cam stares at the podium. The ministry professor will do a re-run in preaching class later in the day. But now we are here to worship not critique.
He begins—as they all do—thanking the professors, his sponsors, the founders of the college—but he does not mention his parents. He also thanks his fellow students, since as a freshman he felt lonely and now he has seen how many have befriended him. (This is significant—hang on.)
Our preacher, after we sing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” announces his text from John 11, the raising of Lazarus from the dead. His sermon is Jesus as Our Friend.
Do you notice how hard it is to get his meaning? English is his second language and he has a long way to go. But having every sentence paused by the rhythm of the translator gives us time to dig out the words from the sounds we have just heard that pretend to be English. God must be helping us, because we can follow his train of thought.
His simple message reminds me of the one I preached as a candidate for the pulpit at West Congregational Church on October 25, 1959—Christ, Our Redeemer the title. So also our speaker has the three obligatory points early pulpiteers are encouraged to adopt before they get experience enough to be more creative.
Jesus is a friend. Jesus is a good friend. Jesus is a mighty friend—three points.
Jesus loved Lazarus, Martha and Mary. He was always welcome in their home as a haven from his stressful ministry. Martha loved people by action, serving them. She goes out to the edge of town to meet Jesus as he chats at the gate with the elders. Mary, the shy contemplative who loves by listening, has to be sent for. They all meet at the tomb, along with scores of neighbors gathered to help the sisters mourn.
Then the shortest verse in the English Bible—John 11:35. (In confirmation class at the Swedish church back in 1945, I recall how cousin Harry Carlson selected that verse when the pastor told us to come with a verse of our choice memorized next week.) “Jesus wept.” Jesus truly cares. He weeps not out of sorrow like the other mourners, but out of anger that death should despoil life when God created us to live endlessly in fellowship with him. Yes, Jesus is a good friend.
Then he raises Lazarus from the dead and restores him to his sisters and neighbors. Jesus is a mighty friend. So when we go through sorrows and sufferings in life we know he has not abandoned us. “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear. What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.” He has us rise for a benediction. We are dismissed.
We have been truly blessed, don’t you agree? Sure, this word was plain, even homely. The speaker is a beginner and stretching to deliver his word in English. But God has spoken to our hearts.
Did you like his bit of humor? Always a good thing in any sermon.
This mullah is arguing with his wife at an ever-increasing decibel level that all the neighbors can hear. He demands she change her ways or he will divorce her. (Muslims can divorce a wife by simply saying three times, I divorce you.) A friend knocks on the door and is invited in. “How is everything going with you? How is the wife?” the visitor asks. “Just fine, thank you—everything is fine.” He tells his wife to prepare a cup of tea for their friend. “You are divorcing me, so get yourself a new wife and have her make your cups of tea!”
As we break up, I notice that the faculty and staff are not signing the attendance register today. The side desk is empty. There has been a bit of sickness going around so maybe the staff woman didn’t make it to chapel with the book. Last night four girls were stricken with stomach bugs—probably from some Diwali festival food brought in from off campus. In a few hours they were OK. We queue at the stairwell. (Can you imagine if there were an emergency how 1500 people would get out using two single-file stairways?)
I see Simon Samuel, the principal, and remark on the sermon. Did you catch what he said about the preacher’s background? This student had been brought as a small child to a Hindu temple and offered to the god. He was raised by the priests and never saw his parents again all during his growing years. He still suffers from the scars of abandonment, for even when he located his parents no relationship was ever established.
So when he preaches on Jesus, Our Friend, the community hears a profound testimony. There were tears in some eyes, Simon says. When he urged us to remember we have a mighty friend in times of sorrow and even death, he is not mouthing a platitude. The friendship of Jesus and of the community has changed his life. He now belongs to a Father who will never abandon him to some god in this world. He now has a beloved community of brothers and sisters who support him.
We descend the stairs in a thoughtful mood.
Once again God has spoken through the lowly ones. The more homely and halting the messenger, the more powerfully the grace and glory of God shine upon the hearers.
God chose Mary, not some princess, when he came into our world. He chose to send to us a Savior via a peasant home in a hamlet, not a grand villa in upscale Jerusalem. He still speaks through halting speech to arrest our attention, not the slick oratory of the teleprompter.
God knew I needed to hear that. What about you?