Ever since the pandemic started, I’ve been on prayer calls with three friends. Well, er, they started out as “let’s pray together for 10 minutes” calls and morphed into “let’s catch up for an hour and pray at the end of the mega chat-a-thon.” (Yup, get four like-minded women in one space with almost no agenda and the possibilities – and the stream of words – are endless. Much to my dear husband’s incredulity.)

The thing is, before these video calls, I hadn’t actually spent gobs of time with these lovelies. But earlier this year, one of the ladies boldly reached out to the three of us with the prayer call idea.

In the months of being socially isolated, our chats helped us walk in community. We’ve been there for each other when loved ones were sick, when dreams came to an abrupt halt, when work was painfully intense, when there was absolutely nothing else to do, when one of us moved to a new country when we were frustrated by our get-fit journeys, when we couldn’t pray alone, when things were confusing and hard. Simply put, we were there for each other in the daily and in the disruptive.

We’ve sent each other flowers and homecooked meals and pick-me-up text messages and virtual hugs and inspiring books. But more than that, we quietly entered each person’s personal “space” – and in doing so we created strong community.

And none of it would have started without that one ‘put myself out there’ text message from one of the ladies initiating the, ahem, “10-minute prayer” calls.

While I was reading about Jonathan and David in the book of 1 Samuel, I caught another glimpse of real, raw, vulnerable friendship.

David is hiding out from Jonathan’s dad Saul in a desert when Jonathan heads over to meet him (1 Samuel 23). In the midst of Saul’s maniacal pursuit and David’s daring escapes, verse 16 simply says: “And Saul’s son Jonathan went to David at Horesh and helped him find strength in God.”

I just love the two simple life lessons from this.

First: Jonathan went to David. Jonathan didn’t wait for a convenient time. He didn’t wait for David to come out of hiding so they could head to a more relaxing location and grab lattes together (although I suspect David was more a double-shot espresso type guy). He didn’t send David a text saying “If you need anything, feel free to reach out.” Jonathan did the reaching out. Jonathan didn’t hide behind “I’m sure he needs his space” excuses that I sometimes resort to because it’s simply too unsettling to deal with another person’s mess on my time. Jonathan went to David. He sat with him in his desert hiding place, where David most likely faced intense loneliness and uncertainty.

Second: Jonathan strengthened David in God. Sometimes it’s tempting to take on the mantle of superhero when someone needs help. Pride unwittingly creeps into our hearts as we put ourselves at the center-stage of their drama. So often I’ve let this crazy embarrassing thought take hold: Look at me – I’m shrink, confidant, planner, and wise-advice-doler all rolled into one. But Jonathan didn’t cast himself as David’s crutch or emotional punching bag. Neither did he dispense the whole you-got-this-pal rhetoric. He didn’t just help David. Nope. Jonathan helped David “find strength in God” – the only inexhaustible, permanent, perfect source of help.

Which brings me to the question: What kind of friend am I?

Do I prefer to sit with my own struggles and insulate from the messes of others? Do I justify it by saying I have enough on my plate already – and then get on social media because being a virtual “friend” is infinitely less painful? Have I bought into the idea that saying “I’m praying for you” is enough to get me off the hook and give me ample time to nurse my own wounds and heartaches?

When I do enter into the fray of someone else’s brokenness do I tend to don a cape and act like I’m some kind of superhero come to the rescue? Or do I point them to the only One who can rescue them from their situation? Because being someone else’s demi-god is pressure none of us need right now.

Friends, this isn’t ‘question hour’ to pile on the guilt. It’s simply our need right now. My need and yours. We all need authentic community. And it starts with allowing ourselves to risk friendship. To be made uncomfortable. To allow ourselves to be woefully inconvenienced.

Let’s be the kind of people who will sit with us in the dry and dusty spaces with our friends and help them find strength in God.

 

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Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash