In praise of a friend

"Every time an old one dies, a library burns to the ground."

Does this gloomy African proverb strike a chord in you? I daresay it should. Just think back to the last time you attended a funeral for an outstanding friend. Recall the overwhelming sense of loss and sadness as you listened to the eulogy and watched the coffin being wheeled out the door. Never again in this life will you hear a greeting in that familiar voice that brought you instant respite from your cares. Never again will there be another human on the face of the planet who can delight your soul in his unique way. The funeral ordeal was like – painfully like – part of your own heart being ripped out and buried alongside your friend.

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Somehow, we seldom appreciate a treasure till it's gone. And then those invisible emotional ties light up like neon, and we are brought near to tears again and again by what C.S. Lewis called, "The Joys That Sting"...

... in a life made desolate
It is the joys once shared that have the stings.

To take the old walks alone, or not at all,
To order one pint where I ordered two,
To think of, and then not to make, the small
Time-honored joke (senseless to all but you);

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To laugh (oh, one'll laugh), to talk upon
Themes that we talked upon when you were there,
To make some poor pretence of going on,
Be kind to one's old friends, and seem to care,

While no one (O God) through the years will say
The simplest, common word in just your way.

Unless you have a steel-plated lifestyle or cocoon yourself in a sheath of cynicism, you can hardly escape the wounds of losses, even those of great men and women whom you never knew at all. Again quoting Lewis:

Have you not seen that in our days
Of any whose story, song, or art
Delights us, our sincerest praise
Means, when all's said, You break my heart

I suppose we could reply to the African proverb with the fact that fresh new libraries are being raised every day. They tell me that children and grandchildren are joys that comprise a whole raison d'etre for life. I wouldn't know. But I do know that comparing the unripe potential of a beautifully budding life with the sickening loss of an irreplaceable friend is a fool's chore. Life on earth was never intended to be anything like a zero-sum game in which the best we can do is to score more successes than sorrows. The world and its many wonders were designed by the Father to revolve around his Son, and that powerful creative force we call life is something that flows through the Son to love us back to the Father.

Jesus himself said, "... strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leads to life, and few there be that find it." Even in "Christian" America, most funerals are for people who never found it. But does that mean we should devalue those who are gone? No. Even in the tawdry life of a career criminal there is always some good, and we can celebrate it by going to weep with his friends. Goodness must never be despised.

At the same time, we must train ourselves to love most strongly the brand of goodness that flows from the Throne, the solid-gold kind of goodness that keeps pouring out joy, peace and blessings even in the face of adversity. Friendship and camaraderie among friends is good. It is the stuff of life. But sadly, it may not survive death. What will survive – and flourish – are the friendships joined in heaven by three-strand, silver threads that cannot be broken.

My cousin Tom Rutz was a star athlete, but that didn't deter the ALS-crazed cells that invaded his body. He fought hard, but finally lost out, even while encouraging an endless queue of friends who came by to encourage him – and always left with far more than they brought.

Fourteen hundred sorrowing friends turned out for his funeral. Yet Tom wasn't the town's mayor or anything; he was a high-school athletic coach. But he had a lot of those silver ties, formed on the rough-and-tumble playing fields of Lincoln, Neb.

A strong, born-again Christian, Tom had an edge over most folks in his ability to make lasting, loyal friendships. But all of us – saved, doomed or teetering on the edge – can take a tip from his life:

God, make me worthy of my friends.

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