Friend, Interrupted

I once had a friend, to whom I wasn’t much of a friend at all.

He was amazing; a young leader gifted with insight, passion and astonishing charisma. I first met him in 1971 when he was leading a home Bible study, and though he was barely twenty one years old at the time, he taught with an authority years beyond his age. I hooked up with his ministry team, and began what was, at first, an incredibly joyful season.

Within three years, that home Bible study had grown into a sizeable ministry, and things changed. My friend’s style, once humble and funny, became increasingly flamboyant and bossy. He began treating his staff worse than most secular bosses would have dared. Tensions flared, but though everyone realized it, no one – myself included, for sure – would say anything.

Like the others, I knew there’d be the devil to pay if I said anything. Experience showed that my friend would never countenance criticism, so rather than confront, I appeased, refusing to speak up even in the face of  lies, abuse,
and manipulation.

I finally slipped away, quietly and peacefully, no fuss. But it was a false peace, because I’d helped build a ministry, then stood by and said nothing while it morphed into a tragedy. He was my friend. I should have interrupted him.

There’s a place among friends for honest feedback. The Biblical concept of friendship, in fact, calls for it:

“Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.  Open rebuke is better than secret love.”  (Proverbs 27:5-6)

Enemies kiss when they should correct, and how easy it is to love secretly, to see something seriously wrong in someone and say nothing, risking no tension but abdicating brotherly responsibility.

Now, I’m no man’s babysitter, so I won’t make a buddy’s life harder by nit picking him. There are plenty of flaws my friends cheerfully tolerate in me, and vice versa; we’ve not interest in scrutinizing each other.

But when we accommodate someone’s ongoing sin let’s not call it love, because passivity isn’t a fruit of the Spirit.

If my friend clearly is drifting into the wrong beliefs or the wrong behavior, that’s my cue. Members of the Body, after all, don’t just get along. They nurture each other, building each other up cooperatively under the Head’s guidance, gentle correction being a part of the bargain.

Of course, someone I care about can and may ignore my concerns, in which case I’ve done my part. The goal of a loving confrontation is to inform, not necessarily to persuade, though persuasion’s preferable.

But when it’s all over and God asks me, “What kind of friend were you to the people I brought into your life?”, I’d like to say I loved them, served them, and was honest with them no matter the outcome.

I’ve said some awfully stupid things in my time, and no doubt will repeat the crime. But at this point, I have more sorrow over things I should have said, than over things I actually said. Silence in the face of error isn’t golden. It’s sin.