On the grief of losing the love of a beautiful friend

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends. (Martin Luther King Jr., Trumpet of Conscience)

Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself. Yourself as you were seen, as you were judged to be. Lover or enemy, mother or friend, those who know us construct us, and their several knowings slant the different facets of our characters like diamond cutter’s tools. (Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet)

I have, of course, broached this subject in other ways, but never, I think, with the same weight that I now carry in my heart. What encourages me to continue writing these little essays, which have taken on a more discernibly urgent mood in recent times, is not only the wonderful support with which you have received them, but also the knowledge that I am speaking to realities common to the human condition. Indeed, many of you will have lived through experiences much like those I have described and, in many cases, have addressed them far more eloquently than I could hope to do. And, yet, it is good that we speak to one and other in such ways, meeting in those places of vulnerability where so much of our hidden truth resides.

There is a suffering that can, for those who live with chronic pain, go deeper than the ache felt in the bones. It is the grief of being rejected by someone we love. These are the people whose faces fill our photo albums and with whom we have shared some of the largest moments of joy and sorrow in our life. Their absence can leave a wound that could seem impossible to heal. The relationships we had with these souls are of different degrees, and each loss brings with it a discrete sorrow to the heart. Here I will reflect on the loss of a like-minded friend, one who had for a season stuck closer than a brother (Prov. 18:24). The importance and archetypal beauty of friendship has been celebrated throughout the arts, and magnificently in the great epic narratives of Homer, to the searing confession of St. Gregory Nazianzus on the loss of his friend St. Basil the Great, and the notable essays on the same subject by C. S. Lewis:

For a friend with an understanding heart is worth no less than a brother. (Homer, The Odyssey)

Do not leave me here;  / Do not, I beg: I swear upon your tomb, / Never will I forget you and move on; / I could not, if I wanted. (St. Gregory Nazianzus, Poems)

Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities. (C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves)

Friendship is also attributed to our Creator and is a recurring motif common in the Scripture, and in Buddhism it is considered essential to one’s spiritual growth:

And the scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” and he was called God’s friend. (Jm. 2:23)

The friend who is a helper, the friend through thick and thin, the friend who gives good counsel, and the compassionate friend; these four are friends indeed. The wise understand this and attend on them carefully, like a mother her own child.  (The Buddha, Sigalovada Sutta)

When Jesus Christ himself, was abandoned by his closest disciples during the hours of his most gruelling testing, at the Gethsemane temptation when they would fall asleep (and no less than on three occasions), and then on Calvary where outside of John they all would later flee, he allowed for the frailty of the human condition and freely gave of the benefit of the doubt knowing that: “[t]he spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matt. 26:41). Later he would build his Church on St. Peter “the Rock”, the one who had also denied him three times at the courtyard of the high priest. This is what a great benevolence a friend can deliver to another by crushing the silence and allowing for love and compassion to lift the other to their most utmost potential. Yes, as friends, we, too, do possess such ‘godly’ power to raise the other by not too quickly extinguishing the prospects of reconciliation. This was the same with Saints Peter and Paul, strongly antagonistic the one towards the other, to eventually reconcile and then to lay down the first foundations of the Church. So we do not give up hope. The seed that once gave birth to the oak though now made complete, lives on in the acorn. Friendships that were originally built on love are rarely completely extinguished, we sometimes only need but a little distance to allow for nature and for the deeper humanity to take their course.

One common trap in our grief is to deny that these individuals were true friends in the first place, and so we start to look for those ‘obvious’ patterns that might now prove it. Every previous slight or let down take on another more sinister connotation. Such counsel is short-term comfort and in the end doomed to failure. It can only contribute to an ongoing agonising. To begin with, it seems to me, to be self-contradictory. Such a negative perspective could suggest the same for ourselves. That is, were we too, then, not true friends? Relationships built over years of genuine concord and treasured experiences cannot be pretended. It does not take too long for fakery to manifest itself. And so, they were true friends to us, as we were to them. For this precious gift alone, it is good to be thankful. It is a difficult truth, especially if we have been deeply wounded, to accept that in almost every instance there was a strong love between the two souls. It is only natural when the pain goes deep, to look for any way out that might alleviate some of that suffering. Halfway through one of the most fabulous violin performances of Vivaldi’s “Winter” strings from Ray Chen’s bow broke. He continued to play. The music did not suffer and it went its course. Despite this visible disruption, the beauty of the score was not diminished.

The word concord comes from the Latin concordia (meaning harmony or agreement), which is built from con- (together) and cor (heart). Literally, it means "hearts together". It entered English through Old French (concorde) in the 12th century to mean peace, union, or friendly agreement. (Wiktionary)

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The grief we live through, this intense emotional sorrow ordinarily associated with mourning, is caused by the "remembrance of things past," to recall Marcel Proust. A photograph; a song; a road; a scent; a Christmas gathering. A laugh you hear in the shopping mall that you would swear was your friend. Then you see the beloved. It IS them. They walk straight past or worse, they turn their back on you. These are excruciating moments should you experience them. These souls inhabit big pieces of our life. One can hurt from a difficult disease but the pain at such a blatant rejection can stay with you for years. It can cut in places deeper than that ache to the bones. So what happened? A miscommunication? An innocent mistake? A misplaced word spoken in anger? Not being there at a needful time because you could not. Ultimately, not being that ‘perfect’ friend. Who can be—and who has been able to measure up perfectly to that ideal? Yet, here is the archetypal form of the brother friend, to accept the one and other within the full realm of the graces, to be wise enough to at least accept, that we are all liable at some unforeseen moments in our life to fall short of the mark.

How can one respond to this unspeakable pain of a beloved’s silence? The recognition that we are all fragile and broken in the secret places, goes some way towards not only battling this grief but to also have compassion for our friend, they, too, are carrying their own cross in life. We are all looking to be loved and to be rescued from those burdens that haunt our hearts the most. Spending the remainder of our lives blaming the other for their silence will ultimately prove annihilating. Being the first to reach out requires both courage and vulnerability, and some friendships are worth the risk of a second rejection. That said, repeated attempts are not good for either of the souls. One might become more hardened in spirit, while the other could plunge further into grief. So there will come an hour when we must accept that things are unlikely to change. It will be the time to stop interrogating ourselves and the past in search of answers. This will be the moment when we have to make our own closure and not wait indefinitely for the other to deliver it. Our worth and dignity are not diminished when we are rejected. Self-identity and selfhood are not dependent on another’s perception of our presence and value in the world.

Our life’s journey and the gifts that we can offer to others and build on already existing meaningful friendships, do not all of a sudden come to an end because we might have been “ghosted”—and such a terrible word. Though very difficult at first, this rejection which in the beginning could appear to us to be impossible to overcome, will open the door to not only a profounder awareness of the self, but also to the founding of new friendships—and oftentimes in those places we might not have expected—on a city street in the middle of a downpour or in the corridors of a hospital ward. These new friendships will play their own significant part in carrying us through to the remainder of our lives. When our final days arrive, whenever that might be, we will be surrounded by those who have truly loved us, who have recognised the good intentions of our hearts, and who have inspired the best in us. As difficult as it might now be to believe, this terrible pain inflicted by those who were once dearest friends will, at that last hour be entirely forgotten, for they too would have by this time entered even more deeply into our hearts.

Questions that we can only answer under the firelight

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” (Rom. 12:18)

“For others, in spite of myself, from myself.” (Emmanuel Levinas) 

I recently received one of those beautiful letters from a friend that lifts your spirits and reminds you not only of the vital importance of friendship, but also that the world contains far more tender-hearted people than we might imagine. The letter, an email in truth, was sent to encourage me during this season of my journey. These wonderful words rich in compassion were to be understood as a sign of love and affection from a gentle and discerning soul. I reflected on this letter for some time and I have turned to it often, and to others of a similar humanity. What strikes me above all with such compassionate expressions of solidarity is something all of our true friends have in common, and this is not only the depth and elevation of their souls, but also their practice of giving others the “benefit of the doubt.” What is the benefit of the doubt? And what does it mean in the context of friendship but also in our broader communion with other people, or in other words, the Levinasian “Other”.

These oftentimes, life-giving words “the benefit of the doubt,” are, unless I am mistaken, a direct evolution from the legal principle “of reasonable doubt.” As flawed human beings ourselves we are severely limited to the truth, and could possess only a skewed perspective on reality. To give the benefit of the doubt will not rarely mean to dramatically change a life, to affect generations, and to even save a soul. It is to accept in ‘good faith’ that the other’s intentions were not malevolent or intended to cause harm, that whatever actions we might have misread as wrong were unintended or yes, even a mistake from a place of a momentary weakness or lapse of judgement. It is, of course, a lot easier for older souls to practise this precious charity on account of their familiarity of the human condition with all of its fragilities and contradictions. And the fact, that they too, have been the recipients of this grace, and are now paying it forward. One of the more significant reasons why this grace is withheld is its closeness to the ideal of forgiveness. Ordinarily, it can be difficult to distinguish between the two, though forgiveness is typically much harder, since it involves a reciprocal movement of humility and self-knowledge.

The benefit of the doubt might also challenge our own ethics, forcing us to confront uncomfortable truths about ourselves. This could in some instances prove frightening. We may come to believe that we are capable of what ‘bad’ we might suppose in others, and so we see in the other only that which we could perceive within ourselves. If we do not trust, we may begin to doubt our own capacity to be trustworthy. These are difficult questions that we can only answer under the firelight. What then are the enduring profits of presuming innocence and granting a second chance? In short, it can save a fellow human being from a lifetime of anxiety and anguish, and in some instances, as I have already written, literally save a life. An action of grace once seeded can bring delight to those who come after us and establish new friendships and communities of love; an action made in ‘bad faith’ can create enmities that once established will normally also replicate into the future. I must confess, despite my age and experience, I still cannot fully understand how someone can willingly punish another for a perceived wrong, knowing full well that in the end no good can ever come of it.

“As the Searcher of hearts, the Lord knows that men are liable to very frequent trespass, and that, having fallen, they often rise up again; therefore He has given us the commandment to frequently forgive trespasses, and He Himself is the first to fulfill His holy word. As soon as you say from your whole heart, ‘I repent,’ you will be immediately forgiven.” (St. John of Kronstadt)

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My own heart is a long way from perfect. I will stray and have strayed from my creed, the one I still dare to preach. I am still learning “the good” (the agathon), praying that as the days pass, I remove as many barriers as I can in the pursuit of this virtue. People are inherently compassionate and charitable, this too I have found, when you thirst and ask for a cup of water, by far the majority will offer you that cup. And if we might remember this truth, giving the benefit of the doubt, not forgetting how delightful it could be both to the one and to the other, the offering of this noble gift becomes much harder to withhold. If you could allow me one further point, especially for my younger readers, this does not mean to be naive to the darker aspects of the human condition. In time, you will come to recognise these landscapes of brokenness, and through them you will enter those deeper places where the harvest is more bountiful still, for you will be asked to practise even harder things. This is the road of Gethsemane, the journey into the profound mystery and movement of love and forgiveness. One of the greatest things we can do in this life, is to give hope to the “Other” and to release them from their anguish that they might not only flourish, but that they themselves will soon enough pay it forward. Invariably, it will also bring out the best in ourselves, we will come nearer to our true name. Yes, I am more and more returning to old places and familiar spaces, but it is in truth all I know that could be of any use.

People can be good to each other

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In recent months I have been travelling to Sydney from the South Coast more often than usual to spend as much time as I can with my mother. The grand old lady is progressively becoming lost inside that terrible thick fog of dementia. I cannot describe this disease any other way. It is a heartbreaking experience known to many homes. A few days ago I shared a story inspired by an unexpected encounter during one of these trips. I have been to visit Mother twice since that reflection to do with the seminary. Now back home I would like to share another meaningful moment with you which has left an indelible impression on me. It has to do with one of my favourite words and the charism found in those beautiful souls we encounter along the way—that is, compassion (to “suffer with”). I do know, I refer to this most important of charities too often. Yet, for some good reason, I am compelled to speak on it. We may not all be capable of sacrificial love, which Jesus might ask of us (1 Jn 3:16), but compassion is always within our reach.

Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human. (Henri J. M. Nouwen, You are the Beloved: Daily Meditations for Spiritual Living)

When we look at the world and observe many of the unspeakable horrors constantly rerun before us in various media platforms, it is not difficult to agree with Charles Bukowski that “people are not good to each other” (The Crunch). And, yes, to be truthful, he is not entirely wrong. Bukowski is one of my favourite poets, and though he is much underrated by the academe for a number of reasons, he has left behind confronting insights on the human condition. On this point, however, to do with people, I cannot agree with him without some strong qualification. There are many more good people in the world, who are “good to each other” than the other way round. If good people, those anonymous heroes, everyday saints I would call them, who go about their daily jobs to make sure we are not left without the essentials and that we are kept safe—where to begin and where to end—doctors; aid workers; nurses; hospice staff; plumbers; sanitary engineers; truck drivers; first responders; farmers; industrial workers; teachers; volunteers; and even our barbers who we trust to not cut our throats, were to suddenly stop delivering their grace, things would very quickly collapse around us. We do not often hear about these persons for we take such souls for granted until we need them. So it is the warmongers and the violence, for instance, which fuels our news broadcasts to fill us with our ‘daily dread’. And to be sure, they inflict untold and horrendous damage, but such saturation of evil makes it even easier to accept this darkness as normative and to sweep aside the majority, that is, the just and decent, who are, indeed, good to each other.

What brought this particular reflection into my heart these past few days? It was the deeply moving and selfless compassion of one young man quietly going about his everyday business. For the moment, lest I embarrass him, let us call him Zayan. I will do my best to explain below—and why I started on another private study on the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk. 10:29-37). There is a little corner shop not far up the road from where mother lives. I find it important to support these small family businesses and not only for the reason I grew up in such a shop. The young man behind the counter who was still observing Ramadan, was very polite and helped me locate the necessary things for my mother’s dietary requirements. I  complimented him on his courtesy and efficiency and asked him if was studying or working in the business fulltime. This is when my admiration for this young man moved to an enormous respect. He was indeed studying in a Sydney tertiary institution. He told me he was in his second year of a sports physiotherapy degree and was doing well. I suggested to him his career choice given the ubiquity of sport in our lives looked very positive and that he could even open up his own practice one day. Acknowledging these opportunities, he proceeded to share with me that this was not why he had enrolled in this degree.

Zayan went on to tell me the sole purpose of enrolling in this course of studies was to offer his services to those in need—and more especially to help his beloved older brother who suffers from cerebral palsy. These are the meaningful moments in life. The hours when you come face to face with the greatness of the human spirit and our capacity for God. I walked back to my car and never ashamed to admit, I wept. I shed tears for things which I could feel in my heart but could not put rightly into words. For those who are students of the Johannine corpus or have read Blaise Pascal you will get a more proximate sense of what I am grappling with here. Indeed in both instances the appeal would be to a coherent love from the one to the other—both in its original act in the first place and then afterwards in its communication.

When people are good to each other something wonderful will always happen. The goodness received is invariably paid forward. An Athonite monk I knew called this paying forward a “communicable disease”.  It was hard to forget this striking analogy. Our old friend Charles Bukowski was not entirely wrong when he spoke on the human condition but at times he could overshoot the mark.

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The most unmistakable expression of Love is compassion. If I do not suffer with the other or at the very least if I do not try to alleviate the pain of the other the best I can, I have done nothing. My art, too, it will mean nothing.

A friendship which demands ‘my enemies are your enemies too’ is one that needs to be quickly broken. It will destroy the one and rob the other. Do not permit for another to exercise any form of dominion over the arc of your embrace.

The world resists us all, both the righteous and the unrighteous. We are all subject to gravity and to the unbearable weight of grief and loss. There is none amongst us who desires to be hated more than the need to be loved. And in the middle of all this we shift between the states of lukewarm.

We make use of noise to numb us to our wounds. We are all wounded and seek out different ways to forget. This is one of the principal reasons why social media has taken hold of the world and choking it of its life-force. It has become increasingly painful to think and to swim upstream.

First the eye becomes corrupted then the heart. That is, the flesh first wages war against us and then should we lose this battle, it is the turn of the heart which is the seat of the soul. This is where the hardest of all battles are to be fought, that is, in the heart. Here it is where most is to be gained and most is to be lost.

Why is it we so quickly tire of carnality and become too soon bored with all manner of sensual pleasure? Is it not the case that we are for the most part looking for someone to speak to? To say: this is who I am, see me, in all of my nakedness and trembling.

The other of the great deceptions is that technology will solve most of our problems. But we have found that for every advance new problems are created. And even more alarmingly we are creating autonomous systems which will neither thirst nor hunger. On top of all of this, they will not forget.

And yet life really is beautiful, to be celebrated and to be lived out to its end. Satisfying your thirst with an icy glass of water; moments spent loving another human being; saying I love you for the very first time. For such simple pleasures as these and many more, life can really be beautiful.

Do not die without trying your best to become the man and woman you were meant to become. Aim for the highest in you and make that good reach towards the fullness of your capacity. For one day beginning with those moments just before your death, the man or woman you were intended to become will confront you for the last time. They will give you their hand and you will be left with no other option but to take it.

Few things are sweeter than the practice of forgiveness from a heart which overflows with the rivers of mercy. Few things are bitterer to the spirit than a forgiveness which is given but not forgotten. We find forgiveness difficult because we often confuse it as a pardon for the act itself.

At any given moment when you look into the eyes of your neighbor irrespective of their office in life, there you see the Christ before you. You will discern Him more clearly in the eyes of those who mourn (Matt. 5:4). To think too highly of ourselves is the surest way to becoming lost.

Rocks and pebbles exist in a community of cooperation. They do not discriminate in the presence of the other, nor do they heckle or shove for position. They wait in quiet offering shade and protection to the life around them. Some are under the soil, others covered in moss, and many are under the water shifting only under the draw of nature. They wait patiently to be discovered one afternoon as you recite the Beatitudes.

A thousand winters, written like this, could be no more than a week. All of a sudden, perspective is God.