When friendships die

I had a friend. He was handsome and smart. He had a great smile, an infectious laugh, and the ability to make others comfortable around him, even if they didn’t understand the situation as well as he seemed to. He didn’t put others down. He never belittled, and in spite of his superior processing abilities, I never felt inferior to him. He helped me pass some difficult classes in high school, in particular, and I’ve never forgotten his patience with me when I struggled to understand concepts and procedures. 

I had a friend. We attended the same church, went to Bible conference together, talked the weighty matters of God and faith. He seemed to be firmly held by his walk with the Lord, and I admired him for it. We ended up at different high schools after freshman year and began to drift apart, but I still had that friend. Church, Bible camp, and youth group kept us together. 

I had a friend. His family moved down South. It was hard to see them go; I was friends with his brothers, too, but he was my age. A few years passed, and my friend came to Maine and introduced me to his fiancée. She seemed very pleasant. He was as handsome and dashing as ever, still the great smile. However, something had changed in him, and we no longer saw eye-to-eye. Hints of conversation displayed seams of disagreement that I hadn’t observed before. Biblical orthodoxy was no longer preeminent for him. Right and wrong had become a matter of choice rather than measured by the standard of God’s Word. 

I had a friend. We lost touch for many years. He married and had children, I knew, but I had followed little else. Just a few years ago, I received the sad news that his older brother had died of a heart attack while on the job as a police officer. My friend and I reconnected; he sent me livestream video of the funeral and the tribute parade. A few months later, he called me to reveal deeply personal news of his own. By the end of the conversation, I inquired what name and pronoun my friend preferred. She told me. In the course of the conversation, I had learned that she had left her professed Christian faith many years before and had a humanistic worldview. She knew I would not agree nor affirm her new beliefs and lifestyle, but she hoped I would not judge her. I told her God is the judge, not me. I would do my best to honor our friendship. 

I had a friend. For three years I have tried to honor our lifelong friendship in spite of the radical changes that have occurred in it. However, the man that had never belittled, never put down, always had kind words for others to build them up has been replaced by a woman that often berates, often belittles, rarely has encouraging words for my other friends and me, and that is not friendship. It is poisonous toxicity. The winning smile is gone, replaced by frowns of displeasure. The friendship has died.

I had a friend.