[donaldscrankshaw] Donald: Faithful are the wounds of a Friend

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Posted by Donald:
Faithful are the wounds of a Friend
http://www.donaldscrankshaw.com/posts/1174015308.shtml


   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.
   âFaithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are
   deceitful.â Thatâs from Proverbs 27:6. A more modern interpretation
   might be âA friendâs criticisms are for our own good, but an enemyâs
   flattery only hurts.â
   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 hadnât 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 reasonâwhat seemed to me to be merest chanceâI 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 Iâm upset, I
   need time alone. And right then, I was exhausted⦠I needed to sleep.
   So I snapped at him. Iâm 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.
   Iâm not sure whether he stalked off before I managed to slam the door
   in his face or not.
   I couldnât 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
   âcompassionateâ by telling me I wasnât 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 wasnât really doubting my salvation. What I was doubting was whether
   I was acting like a Christian. And the simple truth is that I wasnât.
   I had always been introverted, but while Iâd been working on this
   project, Iâd become positively reclusive. I had neglected everything
   else for this: my church, my friends, my spiritual life. What
   compassion I hadâand I was far from the most compassionate person in
   the worldâhad 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 hadnât been merest chance,
   but Godâs 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 Iâd done that, I was finally, blessedly able to
   sleep.
   My roommate later apologized for his words. Maybe he should have: I
   canât 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, itâs usually what they, and we, need
   least.
   The truth hurts, but when weâre doing something wrong, when weâre
   harming ourselves and others, we need to hear the truth. Human beings
   are very good at lying to themselves: they donât 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, weâre demonstrating that we know someone has a problem, but
   we donât respect them enough to be honest with them. Instead, we go
   behind their back and find someone else to talk to.
   Iâm 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.