O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Every Thursday we’ll post something to do with relational or emotional concerns. Hope it helps.

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O Brother, Where Art Thou?

We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company. – Psalm 55:14

If you’ve known the joy of closeness with other believers who are on fire for Him, abiding, committed and full of zeal, then you’ve known joy unspeakable. I mean, really unspeakable. When we’re in deep communion with friends who are closer than a brother, we share so much, and so deeply. The moments of worship, laughter, shared dreams, ministry efforts, late night talks, and burdens borne together get etched into our souls and, with time, become chapters of life we bind in gold. Words really don’t do it justice; it’s beyond.

But so is the pain of learning that someone you were so bound together with is now away: backslidden into rebellion, deception, whatever. He was here; now he’s gone. It’s a knife in the gut, and a bewildering one, since it’s often unclear why someone chooses to stop abiding and start declining. Making matters worse is the fact that, so often, the decline began right under our noses but we couldn’t quite see it until it had evolved from a decline to a departure.

That’s when I want to ask, a la the famous Cohen Brothers film, “O Brother, where art thou?” Plainly put, Where’d you go and where are you now? And while I’m at it, a couple more questions arise:

First, did I let you down? Before walking away from closeness to Him, you must have had some sort of internal struggle going on, a struggle you finally gave up on and gave into, be it sex, drugs, greed, or just plain spiritual coldness. But why wouldn’t you tell me? Did you think I’d look down on you, judge you, berate you? Or maybe you thought I was a little too dense to understand what you were going through. OK, maybe I wouldn’t have fully understood, though I swear I would have given it my best. But wasn’t I a good enough friend that you could have at least tried me before giving up? I would have been there for you; maybe even had some words that might have helped. But at the very least I would have stood with you, held you up, cared. I wish I’d have had that chance. But if I wasn’t a good enough friend to warrant it, I’m truly sorry.

Second, have you stopped believing, or have you just stopped caring? I know some folks re-examine their beliefs and come up with new conclusions. Was that it? Did the Bible stop making sense, or did the basics of the faith stop seeming reasonable to you? Somehow I find that hard to believe. Considering how committed you were and how much fruit I saw in your life, it’s hard to believe you’ve so hugely realigned your thinking, but anything’s possible, so maybe you have. I’m more inclined to think you stopped caring. The markers we lived within – life protecting standards we agreed were for our good – might have become too restrictive, at least to your thinking. Was that it? Did God forbid something you craved, someone you wanted, something you felt entitled to but couldn’t have without admitting rebellion? I’ve been there, honestly, and I remember saying to myself, “This may be wrong, but I’m happy, so I simply don’t care.” Is that it? Because if so, could you take an old guy’s word for it that it will not, no matter how intense the payoff seems for now, sustain you in the end? I’m sure it seems good and feels great, for now. But let me beg you to consider the big picture. Can you say, with integrity, that this something you can peacefully live with? That this is the legacy you want? That this is what you’ll bank your eternal future on? If so, then frankly, I’m scared for you. But if not – and I’m holding out hope for this – let me beg you to reconsider where you are in light of where you’ve been, and what you know.

Please. Please?

I miss you. Yeah, I know we can still be friends and that our differences (ah! I hate using that word when we were so on the same page!) don’t have to come between us, but we both know the difference between friendly co-existence and communion. We may still love each other, but we’re headed in different directions, holding to different values, different priorities. I miss us together, in unity, serving Him, nudging each other to give our all for His kingdom.

Do you remember that? Does it seem unimportant now?

All right, enough. I respect you, and your free will, and there’s so much I still admire and value in you. But your old friend is heartbroken, and nothing short of you returning to your Father’s house in full submission to Him will heal that. And since I know I can’t make that happen, I won’t try. I won’t push or manipulate you, or nag or make a fool out of myself pushing you where you won’t be pushed.

But somewhere in the night I still see us, bound together by love for Him and zeal for His kingdom, and I smile. Then cry, then wait.