Psalm 133
John 15:12-17
A Song of Ascents.
1 How very good and pleasant it is when
kindred live together in unity!
2 It is like the precious oil on the
head,
running down upon the beard, on the beard of Aaron,
running down over the collar of his robes.
3 It is like the dew of Hermon, which
falls on the mountains of Zion.
For there the LORD ordained his blessing, life
forevermore.
How good it is. “How
very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!” Once in a
while, it’s comforting to have a Bible passage that you immediately understand.
There aren’t a lot of difficult words to look up in the dictionary. No
mind-numbing theological concepts to pin down. This psalm proclaims it is a
beautiful thing when people get along.
The poet offers two
ancient illustrations to tickle the senses. When people live in peace, what is
it like? It is like the oil of an abundant blessing, spilling all over your
cheeks and dribbling into your beard. Ever the feminist, I'm sure Virginia
would have rolled the eyes at that one.
So what is it like?
How shall we describe it when everybody gets along? It’s like the morning dew
falling on the mountains, watering the thirsty soil, and dribbling down to fill
the stream. We don’t ask for the dew; it falls from heaven like a gift – just
like the oil of that blessing. And that’s how it feels to find that there are
people in your life who have been given to you as a gift.
That’s the heart of
what the Psalmist sings. It doesn’t matter if you translate the first verse
literally; in Hebrew, it reads, “How pleasing is the dwelling of siblings
together.” Or you can generalize and expand it; as Stephen Mitchell translates
the thought: “How wonderful it is to live in harmony with all people.”[1]
Either way the meaning is clear: it is a holy gift to have companions. It is a
blessing from God to have people who share your life. It is good and pleasant
to have sisters, brothers, friends, living together in peace. How good it is.
So, for a few
minutes, I want you to think of a face. Who is the first person that comes to mind,
when you think of good and pleasant company?
In one of his books,
writer Frederick Buechner describes his first real friend:
Like me, he was kind of oddball – plump and not very tall then with
braces on his teeth and glasses that kept slipping down the short bridge of his
nose and a rather sarcastic, sophisticated way of speaking that tended to put
people off – and for that reason, as well as for the reason that he was a good
deal brighter than most of us, including me, boys tended to make his life miserable.
But it was Jimmy who became my first great friend, and it was through coming to
know him that I discovered that perhaps I was not, as I had always suspected,
alone in the universe and the only one of my kind. He was another who saw the world
enough as I saw it to make me believe that maybe it was the way the world
actually was.[2]
How good it is, to
have a friend like that – somebody who sees the same world that you see. Can
you see a face? Can you see the face of some kindred soul?
Sometimes we discover
them out of shared interests or experience. We didn’t choose these people, but
suddenly we discover they are there. C.S. Lewis says friendship happens when
two or more people discover they have something in common. Up until that point,
each of them believes she or he is alone, bearing some unique treasure or
burden. Then comes the discovery, says Lewis, and friendship begins when one of
them says, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.”[3]
How good it is to
discover we are not alone! That we are never alone. That even if we talk
to ourselves and live by ourselves, we are always part of a larger company.
Surely that’s what the Psalmist is singing about.
And it resonates
with the Last Supper promises of Jesus. He calls us "friends" and
invites us to love and lay down our lives for one another. That’s the promise
the Psalmist is claiming. If you love God, if you honor God, if you move as a
lifelong pilgrim toward God, you can look around and see people that God has
appointed to join you on the journey. They will enrich your spirit and enlarge
your world, and they are a blessing that may surprise you. Can you see a face?
Can you think of a name?
I think of Virginia.
As far as I can remember, we met thirty-seven years ago. It was a presbytery meeting
in the western Catskill Mountains. I was there to testify that I had heard God
calling me toward ministry. About a hundred people sat on hard wooden pews and
listened to my story. God’s voice had spoken in a whisper, and I did what I
could to amplify what I had heard.
The church people
were either bemused or astonished enough to allow me to explore all of this
further. But from the vantage point of decades of Christian experience, the
most important moment was when a thin lady with brown hair and glasses
sauntered up and introduced herself. She was a couple years older than me. She
was already a student at the seminary to which I planned to apply. And she said
she was serving as an intern in a church not far from where I grew up; if I had
any questions about what lay ahead, I could ask. We smiled quietly at one
another, stood awkwardly for another minute, and that was that.
Little did I know
that God would keep putting her in my life for the next thirty-seven years. I
finished college, was accepted at the seminary, and began to study. One day at
the beginning of my senior year, Virginia reappeared. The two year internship
was over, and she was returning with the great wisdom of parish life, which she
would apply to her remaining academic studies. This continued to be a theme for
our friendship; whenever one of us read a book or got a half-cocked idea, the
other one of us was there to yank the hot air balloon back down to earth. If
the truth be told, she was usually the one yanking the chain.
We had a lot in
common: both of us were first-born children, always assuming others were lining
up behind us. Both of us were raised by smart parents in small towns who pushed
us to reach beyond our upbringings. Both of us grew up in Sunday Schools and sanctuaries,
and both of our families were the last to leave coffee hour in our churches. Both
of us believed that, even though congregations have the potential to drive us
crazy, they really are the focal points for living out the Christian life. For us, “solitary Christian” is a
contradiction in terms.
It was a strange and
wonderful friendship that we have shared. It wasn't constant or invasive. There
have been occasional gaps. Yet we were seatmates in airplanes and automobiles,
logging thousands of miles in travel to church meetings and groups. Sometimes
we talked the whole way, and sometimes we were mute for long stretches - - either
way we put in a lot of miles.
As with any good
friendship, we endured one another’s suffering – she journeyed through breast
cancer, while I am a divorce survivor. We gasped at one other’s pain, but
neither of us ever intruded or hovered. Each of us emerged through the
necessary therapies. We wept, laughed, and even yelled at one another. We shared
struggles, rolled our eyeballs at our foibles, offered the occasional corrective
word, and mutually agreed on how much we would suffer fools. At the heart of it
all was a profound mutual respect.
At points, we have
found ourselves under one another’s leadership. When I was elected to the board
of a national conference center, they asked, "Do you know any female
clergy with a passion for justice and peace issues?" Well, who else but
Virginia? She resisted and said, “I’m getting chemotherapy,” to which I
retorted, “I will hold the bucket.” It stopped her short and she agreed to
serve, which she did with distinction.
When I asked her
church’s organist to marry me, we naturally asked Virginia to conduct the
wedding, although that meant I had to endure her premarital counseling and
grant her the creative control over the marriage service.
Of course, I had my way
to get even. One Sunday when I was on vacation, I sneaked onto her organ bench
and improvised a jazz prelude. And then I sat with a cup of coffee and tried to
read a book during her sermon; dang, if she didn’t keep interrupting me with
her good words!
Here’s the thing: neither
of us ever to be so close. Early on, we might have voted one another, “Least
Likely to Ever Be My Friend.” She had plenty of occasions to vote me off the
island - - but God kept us in a friendship which grew for nearly forty years. I
almost can’t imagine living my Christian faith without her companionship,
except that I’m sure I will continue to hear her voice. How good it is…
“How very good and
pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!”
I know what the
Psalmist is singing about, don’t you? There are people that God puts into our
lives as a sheer gift. Their presence is a deep blessing. They enrich us. They
call our attention to matters otherwise neglected. They raise our sights toward
visions too great for our imagination.
And they make clear
two truths about the Christian life. First, that our faith in Jesus is not a
bunch of abstract ideas but a reality that is always embodied: the Word takes
flesh in our commitments, in the ways we spend our time, money, and talents.
And second, our life-in-Christ is best lived out in the company of friends.
They are witnesses to what is true and eternal.
Virginia and I
shared a favorite novel, John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. The one
thing I did that she never forgave is that I skipped ahead to read the ending,
which, if you read the book, is a really good ending. (What can I say? I got
bored.)
But it’s the
beginning of the book that I hold in my heart. That’s where the narrator says,
I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice – not because of his
voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew . . . but because he
is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany… I skip
a Sunday service now and then; I make no claims to be especially pious; I have
a church rummage faith – the kind that needs patching up every weekend. What
faith I have I owe to Owen Meany, a boy I grew up with. It is Owen who made me
a believer.[4]
How good it is to
have a kindred companion like that! Can you think of a face? Can you find the
margin of your worship bulletin and write down a name? No matter what happens,
hold on to that name. That person has revealed Christ to you.
Do you know what I’m
going to write? “I am a Christian because of Virginia Miner.” How about you?
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[1] Stephen Mitchell, A Book
of Psalms: Selected and Adapted from the Hebrew (New York: HarperCollins,
Publishers, 1993) 73.
[2] Frederick Buechner, The
Sacred Journey (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1982) 70.
[3] C. S. Lewis, The Four
Loves (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1960) 96.
[4] John Irving, A Prayer
for Owen Meany (New York: Ballantine Books, 1990) 3.
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