A group of thirty Canadians held a prayer retreat at the Bonnevaux Centre for Peace near Marçay, France, last summer. Of the half dozen people who live there permanently, one of them stood out for me. And to this day I’m still pondering how it is this person’s presence with us made such an impact on me.

Because this person wasn’t the charismatic and articulate leader of the retreat. He didn’t guide us expertly through the sessions. Unlike the other half dozen permanent residents, he didn’t provide AV support for the presentations, nor did he organize us for mealtimes or get us clean towels when we needed them. Neither did he lead in singing the liturgies. He wasn’t extroverted and the type of person keeping us in stitches all the time. He certainly wasn’t ‘the life’ of the party. And his face wasn’t plastered over all the glossy hand-outs promoting the retreat house.

Well, then, you ask, if he wasn’t all these things, who was he, what did he do, and why was he there?

When he was being introduced to us at the beginning of the retreat, I learned that Tomas was an organic farmer who lived in a tiny house on the other side of the forest with his wife. He farmed a small portion of the 160 acres belonging to the Bonnevaux retreat centre. I suspect he provided much of the produce we ate at mealtimes.

But there were only a few times during the week that I actually saw him: And that was whenever the whole community gathered for prayer in ‘the Barn’—a large gathering place and central meeting hall at Bonnevaux.

Wearing his work clothes, Tomas attended the daily prayer times with us, obviously joining us in the midst of a busy workday. I could tell by his dishevelled manner and muddied work boots that he was literally coming directly from working on the fields.

Tomas is a cherished member of this small community, even though his role wasn’t clearly defined. He just showed up to pray. And yet, of all the residents there, his presence at prayer made a lasting impression.

Tomas was there. And he continues to have a good, relationship with the community. After all, he and his wife were married in the ‘Barn’ the year previous.

Just showing up. I remember the advice of a seminary professor who counselled us newbie pastors decades ago: He said that at least 50% of doing something valuable in relationship-building is just showing up. If you show up, without saying or doing anything beyond that, you have already accomplished the most significant part of restoring, healing and even initiating health in a relationship. Because if you don’t show up, there isn’t even a chance something good can come of it.

Mary showed up. Mary and Elizabeth present one of the most beautiful friendships in all of scripture.[1] They are relatives, but you get the feeling their relationship runs deeper.

What does the scripture reveal about the nature of their friendship? The emphasis in Luke lies on qualities such as humble trust and surrender to a greater mission. The emphasis is on their honesty and unabashed joy. There is, to cap it off, Mary’s faithful response to God which begins by sharing the news of the angel with her friend.

In this relationship, there is no mention of any moral worthiness, social position, nor achievement. I don’t get the impression that Mary, nor Elizabeth for that matter, were prepared for their special encounter. There is no performance principle in operation here. They are not there to prove themselves to each other, or show-off their new maternity clothes. They are not in competition with each other. There’s no agenda.

There is just this simple, in-the-moment vulnerable trust, mutual love, admiration, and respect. In their interaction, they listen to each other, and affirm one another. Their minds, bodies and spirits are caught up in the love and joy of the moment.

At Christmas, the relationships and friendships especially within our families—whether good or not so good—are exposed for what they are. And if there is any kind of hardship in those relationships, you feel it.

It’s just that for most of the year, we can avoid certain people in our extended families, and go about our lives. But that’s what makes Christmas challenging for many: Because we are confronted with the question of whether we will show up this time, or not.

Maybe showing up means we will argue politics. Maybe showing up means we will renew old debates that have caused rancor and division in the family. Maybe showing up means more hard feelings. And, therefore, we will not show up.

We don’t know the background story of Mary and Elizabeth’s extended family relationships. It’s safe to assume, like in every family, there were tensions and personalities that clashed.

There is nevertheless something simple and ordinary about what they share in that one moment, that one interaction. The good happens, because Mary just shows up. And, as a result, their hearts become joyful for the gifts they both receive.

And maybe that is why Tomas is important for the community at Bonnevaux. He just shows up to pray. And that’s what we are doing today and every time we gather together, to pray. Simple, ordinary and different lives. Trying to make the best of it. But still, just showing up. Giving it a shot. And, sharing something special.

Nothing spectacular about the scene. Except for the gift of ordinary, simple love. Nothing to boast about. Except for what God is about to do in the hearts of simple, ordinary friendships.

God shows up – comes to us – as Friend for life, a friend who is faithful through it all, who meets us where we are, in the ordinary even unexpected moments.

[1] Read the entire first chapter of Luke to get the whole picture.

Let’s start the sermon today with a little quiz to test your knowledge of the Ottawa region. The photo below, I took in December of 2020. Where is this? Your clue: It is Sunday morning driving distance to the church, at 43 Meadowlands Dr West in Nepean (west-end Ottawa). At the end of the sermon, you will find the answer.

The Christian calendar makes times for Advent. Advent is an important season before Christmas starts. It’s important because in the wisdom of early Christians, people of faith have acknowledged that our deepest longings must have time and space for expression, without rushing headlong into celebration.

That’s why, here in the sanctuary at the church even though the Christmas Tree was put up a couple of days ago and decorated yesterday—we will refrain from turning on the lights until Christmas Eve.

This time is important to name our longing for connection, relationship. That is why we reflect in this sermon series on friendship from faith’s perspective. We have already identified aspects of true friendship—first, that friendship is for life; and second, that enduring friendship can stand the tests of disagreement and difference.

Today, we ask: Where do we find our friends? Where?

²⁸This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing—the concluding verse from the Gospel text for this Third Sunday of Advent.[1]

I wouldn’t say the interactions recorded in the scripture today scream “friendship”, let alone true friends. In fact, the dialogue carries undertones and overtones of scrutiny, confrontation and cross-examinations. The priests and Levites are sent by the Pharisees to question John the Baptist, just like they would later try to dismantle Jesus with their combative language.

The Pharisees don’t know who John the Baptist is. Is he Elijah? Is he the promised Messiah? Is he some other prophet? Who is he? They send their minions into the desert. But they are not really ‘there’; they are not present to the moment and the situation. They come with an agenda, a strategy.

In short, the Pharisees are lost in their heads, in the realm of abstraction and ideas, trying to pin John the Baptist down, pigeon-hole him into some preconceived construct, trying to defend what is ‘right’ in their minds.

And that’s why they don’t understand. If they would only open their proverbial eyes and actually go and see who is standing before them, listen to him. It can be none other than John the Baptist, preparing the way of the Lord by the river Jordan, crying out in the wilderness. Literally.

We would not normally go into the wilderness to find our friends for life. And yet in all the scriptures we are reading this Advent about John the Baptist, we know that “people from the whole Judean countryside and all of the people of Jerusalem”[2]—very large crowds at least—travelled into the desert to be baptized by John.

They were drawn by this charismatic figure, to what he was doing and saying. And it’s a reasonable assumption to suggest there were friends among the crowds.

Where do you go, and where did you find your friends?

In this third sermon on the theme of friendship from faith’s perspective, we are drawn to the place where relationships happen. And the Gospel stories leading up to and including the birth of Jesus draw our attention on the specific place where all the holy happened—beginning in the wilderness and then in Bethlehem and the surrounding countryside.

In this sermon series I’ve also related the theme of friendship to my experience on a prayer retreat I attended last summer at the Bonnevaux Centre for Peace located in a sprawling valley near Marçay, France. At the centre of the valley lies a cluster of renovated buildings including the original abbey.

In the months leading up to the trip, I wondered, “What is Bonnevaux like?” I had a vision of some ideal, monastic setting, a pastoral vision of rolling fields, stained glass, cathedral ceilings and peaceful waters.

When I saw pictures online of the main building—called ‘the barn’— where our Canadian group would gather for the talks, for meditation and prayer, I formed a mental image and feeling of what it might be like to be in that space with others. Expansive. Ethereal. Set apart. In other words, ‘ideal’.

Well, this fantasy is only partly true. Because, in truth, it is a unique setting like no other. You can’t replicate it, in your mind nor on earth. Reality is not an abstraction. Experience is not a deduction. You have to start from the ground up. You have to place your body, physically, there.

When I first entered ‘the barn’ this summer, it was smaller than I had imagined. Moreover, I realized how close it was to the guest house, just across a cobbled-stoned path separating the two buildings. I was mindful and sometimes distracted by people coming and going through the barn’s massive and creaky doorways when meditating. It was still wonderful!

The Christian religion is rooted in the incarnation: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”[3] Christ is present in one, hidden moment and place in time. Incarnation is always specific and concrete, here and now.

Friendships are born in a place. It starts with where you are: Neighbours who happen to live on the same floor or street, colleagues working in the same office building, life-long buddies who meet at the curling rink, parents using the same childcare, members of the same church, students attending the same school.

We don’t start with a concept of friendship, or concepts of anything for that matter. We don’t need to go to convents, monasteries, churches or any other “holy” place to find the right friend for us. Like any practise of faith, friendship is not what you think. It’s what you experience, here and now.

We may be surprised where we meet our true friends. We start with what or who is with us now, in the flesh, before our own eyes. To find a friend is to discover the gift of one already in your midst, wherever you are. Reality like friendship is not ideal, nor perfect. We are called to engage not the ideal, but what is.

If you’re looking for a friend, and a true friend, maybe start with noticing and appreciating where you are right now. Look around you. Consider with whom you have regular interaction in the place you are, or where you are going to be.

And then, engage. Get to know them. Pray for them. God may be opening your eyes to the gift of a new friend.

[Ok, any thoughts on where the location is, of the photo above? Answer: Rosamond Street at Gillies Bridge over the Mississippi River in Carleton Place]

[1] John 1:6-8,19-28

[2] Mark 1:5

[3] John 1:14

Last Sunday in the first of the series of sermons this Advent on friendship, we reflected on the enduring nature of true, spiritual friendship.

Well, we can’t talk about true friendship without also talking about feelings. We may initially associate feelings of peace, joy, love with friendship. But sooner or later conflict arises in all relationships. The conflict arises from strong feelings in our hearts, including anger.

And often underneath the anger lies a deep sadness, a grief, from a sense of injustice. So, lots of strong feelings flow through us often clashing and erupting all around us like a surf pounding on the shore in high winds.

How do we grow in relationship where we can express honestly our feelings to another? Do we have friends with whom we can lament, who will listen and who will engage our feelings with us? How can we learn acceptance of what is, in the context of a trusting relationship, and move forward?

John the Baptist was one of the most colourful characters in the New Testament. He is mentioned in all the Gospels as the one who prepares the way for the Lord. But he’s a pretty rough, messy kind of guy. We might know him to be piercingly direct if not unrefined in his communication style.

In Matthew’s account, he yells at the Pharisees calling them “a brood of vipers”.[1] His insults thrown aggressively, John the Baptist was definitely not a people-pleaser. He was not afraid of confrontation.

Reflecting on John the Baptist, I wonder if good friends only appease one another all of the time? Or, will a friend also challenge you from time to time, speak the hard truth? I wonder if deep down what we seek in a lasting friendship is authenticity. What are some of his characteristics that made John the Baptist authentic in how he came across?

Two characteristics stand out: First, he was not attractive in a worldly sense. For example, he did not dress according to the norms. The gospel writer goes to some detail to show this. John the Baptist did not conform to the expectations of one who would herald the Messiah. One could even question, on that basis alone, his credibility for that messenger role.

It’s not how he appeared on the surface; rather it’s what he did and what he said that attracted others. It was his heart, his mind, unfiltered and real.

It is not about what makes us attractive to the world that forms the basis of our faithfulness. God wants our hearts to shine. God wants us to be authentic, “Just as I am” goes the gospel song.

And if we will talk about attracting people, we need to remember another characteristic of John the Baptist that comes through in this gospel: Not only did he know his role, he knew and respected his limits. People aren’t attracted to control freaks who over-function. People aren’t attracted to those who make it all about themselves all of the time.

John the Baptist knew, using modern day parlance, his ‘boundaries’—where he began and where another ended; and, where he ended and another began. He understood it wasn’t all about him. He had an important job, to be sure; he had a part in the great odyssey of God’s story.

But he understood that life wasn’t about him; rather, he was about Life. He was about something bigger than him. Therefore, he knew when to stop, and hand over the torch.

Being authentic is not about people-pleasing and trying to do it all. It is about being true to yourself, and about knowing and behaving in ways that communicate you are part of something bigger than yourself.

This past summer when I attended the Christian Meditation retreat in France, at Bonnevaux Centre for Peace, I went with a group of Canadian Meditators from all across our country. However, the Canadian community ran into some problems after the first day at Bonnevaux.

You see, there was one sacred rule: Silence. There were scheduled times and designated places for silence during the retreat: At the noon hour meal, and coming to and going from the main hall, for example.

But we were so excited to be in person together after only seeing each other online for many years. So, as you can imagine, there was much talking and laughter even during times we were asked to be silent—we obviously broke the sacred rule.

The leaders of the core community challenged us. I could tell early on they were upset, even angry, that we continued to talk during silent times. We had to work through our feelings on both sides, justified positions. But we did. Our relationships grew deeper as a result. We knew, by the end of the experience, that holy silence introduced us and connected us to something important together, something much bigger than our private, individual desires even when we weren’t always good at it.

Friendship is more than coziness and warm fuzzies and like-mindedness. A friend gives what is hard to give, does what is hard to do, endures what is hard to endure. A friend doesn’t abandon you nor looks down on you when you make mistakes, when you open your heart in all honesty and vulnerability.

The disciple, Peter, is another colourful character in the New Testament. Peter and Jesus endured a lot together. Yet, at one point in their friendship, sparks flew. Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me Satan! You are a stumbling block to me!”[2] It’s hard to believe, just reading this one verse on its own, that Jesus and Peter were friends.

But true friends they were. Not only did their friendship endure over time, but their friendship was forged on the anvil of healthy conflict, of getting through the rough patches, together.

Peter, even though he had a falling out with the Lord, was given the “keys of the kingdom”. Peter, even though Jesus called him “Satan” for misunderstanding the Lord, is the person on whom Jesus would “build my church”.[3] Jesus and Peter are good models for us.

Christianity, because it is founded on relationships, is a social religion. You can’t do Christianity by yourself. Practising our faith in a group is essential to personal growth. In community, the holy space that we share and hold together in prayer and song, word and sacrament, opens up regions of our hearts previously unexplored. Friendships in faith don’t endure because they are always ‘nice’, and no one ever fights.

A point of clarification: Conflict, disagreement, differing points of view do not, in the end, define the relationship. Because there is an underlying faithfulness and commitment to the friendship, to the community and to God.

Nevertheless, difference and disagreement don’t need always lead to division and break-up. Sometimes it does. But I think in the church just as big a problem we have are these assumptions that everyone needs to agree all of the time and always be the same type of people and always be nice to each other in order to belong.

There is room in a community of faith and healthy friendships to experience moments of conflict. And working through those disagreements is a hallmark of friendship from faith’s perspective.

“Will we be friends?”, even though we are not alike, even though we don’t come from the same ethnic background, or grew up in the same country or share the same skin colour? “Will we be friends?”, even though we disagree over politics and our favourite things. “Will we be friends?” Again, admittedly a rhetorical question. Of course, we can.

But rather than see conflict as an obstacle to true friendship, let’s see conflict as a tool to deepen and grow not only our friendship but each of us in our personal lives. Because sometimes the Lord comes to us in situations rife with conflict, as Jesus did the first time, in Bethlehem. God’s not afraid of conflict. Jesus didn’t deny nor avoid it.

In the coming weeks as we ponder Jesus’ birth and the coming of the Savior to the world, let’s not forget the context. It was a pretty messy 1^st century Palestine. But Jesus will come into those spaces and places of unrest and disruption, even in our own lives today.

[1] Matthew 3:7-12

[2] Matthew 16:23

[3] Matthew 16:17-20