http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/16993935/friends-come-and-friends-go

“It was nice knowing you.”
The words didn’t come from a sneering supervillain, nor did they contain a hint of sarcasm. Up until that moment, I’d heard the phrase only in action movies and comedy skits. But there I was, standing before not just a real-life person but a longtime, eighty-year-old friend. She was smiling, reaching out for a hug, and telling me with the utmost sincerity, “It was nice knowing you.”
I returned her warm expression and embrace, but my speech faltered. It was nice knowing me? I was switching churches, not countries. Sure, our family planned to move out of the neighborhood at some point, but not now. Wouldn’t we see each other around? At the very least, we could keep up via text and exchange Christmas cards. We were still friends, weren’t we?
Yes, we were friends — but also human. Limited creatures with limited resources. And sometimes it takes veteran saints to bring social media savants gently back down to reality: in a fallen, finite, and seasonal world, friendships come and go.
Every Friend a Seed
Consider likewise the counsel of King Solomon, whom God granted great wisdom and a long life spent pondering “everything that is done under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 1:14). In Ecclesiastes 3:1, he utters the poetic equivalent of my elderly friend’s words: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” I imagine Mark Zuckerberg frowning. Facebook thrives on friend requests that are casually, endlessly accepted — not on people who know that relationships, like a garden, take careful, selective tending.
In any garden, seeds yield crops because the gardener minds the seasons. Seed in spring, water in summer, harvest in fall — and then, in winter, make a plan to begin all over again. There is “a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted” (verse 2). Part of creating and sustaining a new life is knowing when to move on from an old one, and the gardener who scatters a thousand seeds yet watches and waters none is no gardener at all.
So it is with friends. Whether it’s a change in church, city, or country, a new job, marriage, or child, as our lives naturally move and morph, our relationships must shift with them. But who among us likes letting good things go — especially when those good things are people we love, perhaps for years on end? As hard as the thought can be, what’s even harder is attempting the impossible. Deep relational roots — the kind most ripe for abundant gospel fruit — cannot be maintained across a thousand people (though an online profile may attempt to boast otherwise).
For real and rich friendship to develop, we need time and the wisdom to know whom to spend it on. And on this side of eternity, our time is limited. What do we do when cell phones, Wi-Fi, and economy airlines conspire to make the number of friendships we could “keep up” feel virtually limitless?
Every Gardener a Creature
For one, we recognize that faith working through love (Galatians 5:6) — not emojis working through texts — is the warp and woof of Christian friendship. “A friend loves at all times,” says Proverbs 17:17, “and a brother is born for adversity.” The more we tether realities like love, time, brotherhood, and adversity to friendship, the more we will refine our concept of what constitutes real friendship, and the more we will see friends as people we commit to and regularly invest in. Sharing posts does not sharpen us; iron does (Proverbs 27:17).
For another, we remember that each day holds no more than 24 hours, and in humility we sleep for approximately a third of that time. There is only one Man whose capacity to love and befriend has no constraint (Ephesians 3:18–19), and that’s because he’s also God. So, instead of attempting the impossible, we praise his all-sufficiency, we confess our limitations (including our blindness to our limitations), and we ask him for wisdom in our relationships.
“If Jesus never lost sight of the deeply human need for deep human friendship, neither should we.”
Which friendships should we continue to water? Perhaps a few older friendships have not flowered for some time, as they lie too far from life’s regular reach. Would our love and time be better spent on people God has newly planted in our lives, especially those beside us in pews and on park benches? Maybe we should spend some time, as a gardener does in winter, laying out our life before the Lord of the harvest and asking him, “O God, where should I labor?”
And not only where but how. No two plants are exactly alike. No two people have exactly the same needs and desires, capacity and personality. Do they need soup tonight, or do they need a few hours to pour out their soul? Over time, some friendships become like pine trees: the roots are deep, the needs few. The evergreens in our lives, some scattered a thousand miles away, help to make room for us to care for the roses out front. “Father, grant me the wisdom to know which friends are which right now!”
As we ask and answer such questions about others, we also do well to consider the weather conditions in our own lives. Do our spirits feel dry? Is marriage under heat? How dark and thick are the clouds of suffering? Now may not be the time to scour the neighborhood for new friends but to lean into the support of old ones. When the storm came upon the twelve disciples, they turned to each other and especially to their Lord (Matthew 8:23–27). But in other seasons, we may feel more like Joseph, standing in the midst of seven years’ worth of sunshine, peace, and plenty. Our hands freer, our sleep deeper, it’s probably time to work the relational plow.
Christ the Friend
More than any other saint, we see this dynamic present — perfectly so — in our Savior. Watch him in the Gospels. Jesus welcomes people both by name and in masses. In one moment, he’s drawing four fishermen to himself (Matthew 4:18–22); in the next, he’s ministering to “great crowds . . . from Galilee and the Decapolis, and from Jerusalem and Judea, and from beyond the Jordan” (4:25). He teaches friends who sit at his feet (5:1) and heals strangers who kneel before him (8:2–3). His public ministry in full bloom, Jesus could be found saying, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven” (19:14).
But as hatred for him thickens, the circle around him grows smaller. The night before his crucifixion, Jesus is dining not with tax collectors but with the twelve (26:20). Then, in Gethsemane, we can count on one hand the friends on which he relies: “He said to his disciples, ‘Sit here, while I go over there and pray.’ And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled” (26:36–37). The tighter the spot, the greater the need for his tightest friends.
Even then, as one disciple after another abandons him, Calvary does not keep Christ from making rebels into friends. (Indeed, we know the very opposite is true!) Cross at his back, blood spilling from his body, Jesus spends what little time and energy he has left on earth to welcome a thief into paradise (Luke 23:42–43). When it comes to the Son, no season of suffering is so desolate, no heart too barren, for his voice not to call forth a field of evergreen friendship (Isaiah 55:10–11).
And the Spirit of this otherworldly Friend of Sinners dwells among us, lives within us, longs to use us! Whatever season we find ourselves in, however unskilled we feel at nurturing relationships, the risen and reigning Christ can and will wield our lives for his glory and the good of others. Where we are weak friends, he is the strong and all-satisfying one.
Abide, Invest — and Wait
There is a reason why, in his life on earth, Jesus didn’t call twelve hundred disciples. He called twelve. Then, within those twelve, he drew still closer to three. Oh, he would lavish compassion, conversation, and teaching on anyone near and willing enough to receive him! Yet he would abide in the relationship he cherished most (with his Father), and he would invest in the relationships he considered choicest for bearing fruit (with his disciples).
If Jesus never lost sight of the deeply human need for deep human friendship, neither should we. When my friend smiled and said, “It was nice knowing you,” my knee-jerk reaction was to feel surprised, even insulted. But far from being uncaring or pessimistic, she was being humble and wise — and Christlike.
Couple a biblical vision of friendship with a clear-eyed sight of our creaturely limitations, and we see that friendships don’t endlessly come. Sometimes, friendships prayerfully, kindly go. Contrary to the times I’ve tried to keep every old friendship, I now wonder if the gardener most loyal to her modest plot of earth is the one who ends up most pleased with it.