Faithful are the wounds of a Friend
What's this? A post other than a Webcomic Update or a Storyblogging Carnival? Well, last night I gave a talk for our Thursday night homeless ministry, and I thought I'd share it here. It turned out fairly well. Of course, technically this isn't the version I actually shared. As is usual in these cases, I had everything written out, but I set it aside and winged it when the time came to speak. This version is what I would have said if I had actually said what I initially wrote.
In case you're skeptical, I will say that the story is true, and I've recounted it as faithfully as I could. Which is not to say that I'm 100% certain all the details are correct.
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.” That’s from Proverbs 27:6. A more modern interpretation might be “A friend’s criticisms are for our own good, but an enemy’s flattery only hurts.”
Back when I was in school, I had this bear of a senior project I had to do. I remember staying in the lab until two or three in the morning pretty much every night for months on end, trying to get this robot I had built to work. It did, too. I was proud of the work I had done, about how well it did its job. Then came the day of the demonstration: its performance that day would decide whether I passed or failed my class. I hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, making sure it would work. So I placed my robot on the table and told it to retrieve the little metal balls, and for some reason, it failed. It did terrible that day, dying the first two trial runs. The third run, it finally managed to do what it was supposed to, which was just enough for me to eke out a passing grade in the class. Barely.
I was devastated. I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and for some reason—what seemed to me to be merest chance—I had done terrible. I went home, and lay down in bed, trying to get some sleep. There was a knock at my door just a moment later.
Grumpy, not wanting to deal with anyone, I opened the door to find my roommate standing there. He had heard me come in, and had deduced, probably from all my foot-stomping and door-slamming, that I was upset. He asked me if I wanted to talk about it.
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. Whenever I’m upset, I need time alone. And right then, I was exhausted… I needed to sleep. So I snapped at him. I’m not sure what I said exactly, aside from telling him to leave me alone and let me sleep. I do remember what he said to me, though. He told me that he was trying to be compassionate. That that was what real Christianity was about, not about knowing a lot of stuff.
I’m not sure whether he stalked off before I managed to slam the door in his face or not.
I couldn’t believe it. Had my roommate just accused me of not being a real Christian? After all, I was the one with the reputation for knowing a lot of stuff, for being knowledgeable about the Bible, knowing the details of archeology and history and religion. And here I was, depressed, miserable, and exhausted, and my roommate was being “compassionate” by telling me I wasn’t a real Christian. It was ridiculous. He was being hypocritical. I had some nasty things I could say about his faith. But, this small nagging voice insisted, what if he was right?
I wasn’t really doubting my salvation. What I was doubting was whether I was acting like a Christian. And the simple truth is that I wasn’t.
I had always been introverted, but while I’d been working on this project, I’d become positively reclusive. I had neglected everything else for this: my church, my friends, my spiritual life. What compassion I had—and I was far from the most compassionate person in the world—had been shunted aside, along with whatever sense of responsibility I had to my friends, my family, my classmates. If ever there was a time in my life when I had not acted like a Christian, this was it. Maybe the failure at the end hadn’t been merest chance, but God’s way of getting my attention.
So I did the only thing I could do: I prayed for forgiveness. I asked God to help me rebuild those relationships that I had let waste away, to restore me to a right relationship with him, and to not let me ever again sacrifice those things on the altar of the all-consuming project. And once I’d done that, I was finally, blessedly able to sleep.
My roommate later apologized for his words. Maybe he should have: I can’t judge the attitude of heart with which he spoke. I also apologized for mine. The simple truth, though, is that I needed to hear those words. I needed them much more than any comforting words he might have spoken. Despite my initial, angry reaction, I had received precious correction.
We all like to hear nice things said about ourselves. Flattery is something we all respond to. And because our friends like to hear nice things too, we like to say nice things to them. It makes our friends happy, it makes them like us more, and it encourages them to say nice things about us. Unfortunately, it’s usually what they, and we, need least.
The truth hurts, but when we’re doing something wrong, when we’re harming ourselves and others, we need to hear the truth. Human beings are very good at lying to themselves: they don’t need help from their friends. Nor do they need their friends talking about them behind their back. We always prefer gossiping to confrontation, because gossiping is easy, and confrontation is hard. Yet when we gossip about someone, we’re demonstrating that we know someone has a problem, but we don’t respect them enough to be honest with them. Instead, we go behind their back and find someone else to talk to.
I’m not saying you should be harsh. Given the choice, I think we all prefer gentle words. But harsh truth is better than gentle lies, and true friends speak truth. Better are the criticisms of a friend than the flattery of an enemy.
In case you're skeptical, I will say that the story is true, and I've recounted it as faithfully as I could. Which is not to say that I'm 100% certain all the details are correct.
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.” That’s from Proverbs 27:6. A more modern interpretation might be “A friend’s criticisms are for our own good, but an enemy’s flattery only hurts.”
Back when I was in school, I had this bear of a senior project I had to do. I remember staying in the lab until two or three in the morning pretty much every night for months on end, trying to get this robot I had built to work. It did, too. I was proud of the work I had done, about how well it did its job. Then came the day of the demonstration: its performance that day would decide whether I passed or failed my class. I hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, making sure it would work. So I placed my robot on the table and told it to retrieve the little metal balls, and for some reason, it failed. It did terrible that day, dying the first two trial runs. The third run, it finally managed to do what it was supposed to, which was just enough for me to eke out a passing grade in the class. Barely.
I was devastated. I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and for some reason—what seemed to me to be merest chance—I had done terrible. I went home, and lay down in bed, trying to get some sleep. There was a knock at my door just a moment later.
Grumpy, not wanting to deal with anyone, I opened the door to find my roommate standing there. He had heard me come in, and had deduced, probably from all my foot-stomping and door-slamming, that I was upset. He asked me if I wanted to talk about it.
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it. Whenever I’m upset, I need time alone. And right then, I was exhausted… I needed to sleep. So I snapped at him. I’m not sure what I said exactly, aside from telling him to leave me alone and let me sleep. I do remember what he said to me, though. He told me that he was trying to be compassionate. That that was what real Christianity was about, not about knowing a lot of stuff.
I’m not sure whether he stalked off before I managed to slam the door in his face or not.
I couldn’t believe it. Had my roommate just accused me of not being a real Christian? After all, I was the one with the reputation for knowing a lot of stuff, for being knowledgeable about the Bible, knowing the details of archeology and history and religion. And here I was, depressed, miserable, and exhausted, and my roommate was being “compassionate” by telling me I wasn’t a real Christian. It was ridiculous. He was being hypocritical. I had some nasty things I could say about his faith. But, this small nagging voice insisted, what if he was right?
I wasn’t really doubting my salvation. What I was doubting was whether I was acting like a Christian. And the simple truth is that I wasn’t.
I had always been introverted, but while I’d been working on this project, I’d become positively reclusive. I had neglected everything else for this: my church, my friends, my spiritual life. What compassion I had—and I was far from the most compassionate person in the world—had been shunted aside, along with whatever sense of responsibility I had to my friends, my family, my classmates. If ever there was a time in my life when I had not acted like a Christian, this was it. Maybe the failure at the end hadn’t been merest chance, but God’s way of getting my attention.
So I did the only thing I could do: I prayed for forgiveness. I asked God to help me rebuild those relationships that I had let waste away, to restore me to a right relationship with him, and to not let me ever again sacrifice those things on the altar of the all-consuming project. And once I’d done that, I was finally, blessedly able to sleep.
My roommate later apologized for his words. Maybe he should have: I can’t judge the attitude of heart with which he spoke. I also apologized for mine. The simple truth, though, is that I needed to hear those words. I needed them much more than any comforting words he might have spoken. Despite my initial, angry reaction, I had received precious correction.
We all like to hear nice things said about ourselves. Flattery is something we all respond to. And because our friends like to hear nice things too, we like to say nice things to them. It makes our friends happy, it makes them like us more, and it encourages them to say nice things about us. Unfortunately, it’s usually what they, and we, need least.
The truth hurts, but when we’re doing something wrong, when we’re harming ourselves and others, we need to hear the truth. Human beings are very good at lying to themselves: they don’t need help from their friends. Nor do they need their friends talking about them behind their back. We always prefer gossiping to confrontation, because gossiping is easy, and confrontation is hard. Yet when we gossip about someone, we’re demonstrating that we know someone has a problem, but we don’t respect them enough to be honest with them. Instead, we go behind their back and find someone else to talk to.
I’m not saying you should be harsh. Given the choice, I think we all prefer gentle words. But harsh truth is better than gentle lies, and true friends speak truth. Better are the criticisms of a friend than the flattery of an enemy.




