“Good relationships keep us happier and healthier.

Period.”

Those words from Harvard professor of psychiatry

Robert Waldinger summarize eighty years of research

and the most extensive longitudinal survey of human

flourishing ever conducted. The Grant Study has

followed hundreds of Harvard graduates and innercity Boston youth since the late 1930s, keeping tabs

on everything from their career trajectories to their

physical health to their family structures. And of the

dozens of factors that they have studied, the one that

most clearly correlates with happiness and health is,

yes, good relationships. Friendship is at the core of

human flourishing. Nothing measured matters more.

Now, likely this will not come as a surprise to you,

but as with most virtues, knowing its importance

does not guarantee the regular practice of friendship

among us. On the contrary. Statistics bear this out as

well: we are in the midst of what some sociologists

call an epidemic of loneliness. Fully half of Americans

report that they do not have meaningful social

interactions on a daily basis. One half. And the

numbers are highest among the young and the old,

who are most likely to report suffering the harmful

effects of social isolation. This reality has contributed

to alarming increases in what are described as

diseases and deaths of despair. Drug overdose,

alcoholism, and suicide. My own experience as a

pastor confirms in practice this data through painful

personal stories.

The opposite of isolation is connection. The cure

to an epidemic of loneliness is the creation of

communities of belonging. And here’s the good news

in the Church: that is precisely what we are called to

do and be together. Earlier in John’s Gospel, Jesus

declares his God-given purpose this way: “I have

come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

People of faith are called to receive, embrace,

and extend the gift of abundant life beyond mere

existence, breathing in and breathing out. We are

called to lives of meaning and purpose, of joy and

gratitude. We simply cannot do this in isolation.

Aristotle, in his work on ethics, dwells at length

on friendship, describing it as “the virtue most

necessary for life.” Why, then, is it so difficult for us

to practice?

As with any widespread social ill, the causes of

our isolation are legion. I’ve lamented before the

lack of embodied encounters and the inaccuracy

of referring to our social media contacts as our

“friends.” I think we can add to that the forces of

polarization and ideological sorting that mistake

friendship with lockstep agreement on contentious

issues. It is not the same thing. And of course, there

is the unceasing pace of life in our time, the drive

toward ever-greater productivity and material gain

that can make cultivating relationships feel like a

waste of precious time.

The witness of our scripture consistently challenges

these misplaced priorities. From Genesis and the

story of creation itself, we learn that God does not

intend for the human creature to live in isolation.

Through both testaments of our scriptures, the

locus of the Spirit of God is in the midst of human

community. God’s presence travels with Israelites

wandering through the wilderness, dwells among

the people in the Promised Land, calls groups of

disciples and congregations of believers. Not in

isolation, but together. And the end of our scripture

is like the beginning. In the Book of Revelation, the

voice of the Spirit declares, “See the home of God is

among mortals.” For Christians, even the identity of

God exhibits the gifts of community. One God in three

persons. It is not good to live in isolation.

Jesus knew this. His life and his ministry testify

to it. If you turn back in John’s Gospel, you will

find that before the first chapter ends, he has

gathered strangers to join him on the journey with a

captivating invitation. Jesus turns to these strangers,

and he says, “Come and see.” Come and see. Over

the course of time, this community grows in breadth

and in depth so that in this morning’s encounter, as

he prepares his disciples for his departure, Jesus

speaks to them with tenderness. He speaks to them

with love. He gives them a new name. Friend. I call

you friend.

I love this beautiful definition of friendship: It is “the

discovery that I don’t want to tell my story—that I

can’t tell my story—without your story.” i

So, imagine this. Imagine that Jesus does not want to

tell his story without our stories, and we cannot tell

ours without his. Because of this, his story and our

stories are woven together in ways that bring life in

abundance. You did not choose me, but I chose you.

This is my commandment, that you love one another.

A few weeks ago, I had a night out with our nineyear-old son Samuel. It was one of those rare

occasions where it was just the two of us for the

whole evening. Sam is a sensitive kid, often wiser

than his years, and I think he sensed that evening

that there was something that I wanted to talk about.

And so, in the car on the way to dinner, he seized the

moment before I had a chance to speak: “Dad, I don’t

want to move again.” I was taken aback. Making this

move five years ago was a challenge for a kid who

loved life in Atlanta and a kid who values security and

consistency. Curious, I asked him if he could explain

why. “That’s easy, Dad. All my friends are here.”

Children know this, that abundant life is life lived in

community. That like anything worth doing, like any

virtue worth cultivating, the gift of friendship requires

time and effort, dedication and commitment. For we

find ourselves deeply, and permanently, changed by

the company we choose to keep. So, we ought to

take the choice of that company seriously.

Aristotle describes friendship as a training in

the virtues. (I love that.) That we hold a light for

one another. That we become over time what we

practice in community. Stanley Hauerwas writes:

“Friendship is not just a relationship; it is a moral

enterprise. People spend their lives together doing

good because that is what they see their lives to

be.” Reflected in the friendships that shape their

understanding of themselves. Abundant life. Life with

purpose and meaning. Life lived in community.

Of course, this does not mean that friendship leads

to lives of uninterrupted joy or unlimited pleasure.

Genuine friendship means pushing and being

pushed. It means holding accountable and being held

accountable. Sometimes, friendship means the hard

work of staying present in the midst of pain.

Last month, the New York Times columnist David

Brooks published an essay that took my breath

away. The title is a question that prepares readers

for what was to come, “How Do You Serve a Friend

in Despair?” Brooks described his friendship with

Peter Marks, a friendship that began at age eleven

in summer camp and lasted for five decades. Their

relationship reminded me of the one described in

First Samuel between David and Jonathan. It was

a soul-level friendship, an unlikely combination

that just by God’s grace worked. Brooks narrates

how, over time, a deep depression overwhelmed

his friend. How at first, he tried to cheer Peter up,

offering advice and what psychologists call “positive

reframing.” In time, David learned, in his words, “that

a friend’s job is not to cheer the person up. It is to

acknowledge the reality of the situation; to hear,

respect, and love the person; it is to show that you

haven’t given up on him or her; it is to show that you

haven’t walked away.”

That is friendship. Sadly, Peter’s illness was too

great, and ultimately, he took his own life. A death

of despair. Brooks writes powerfully, testifying to

the depth of friendship and the reality of grief. He

writes, “Pete’s death has been a cause of great

disorientation. He’d been a presence for practically

my whole life, and now that steady friendship I took

for granted is gone. It is as if I went to Montana and

suddenly the mountains had disappeared.”

The cost of love is grief. But the grief we experience

is yet another way of bearing witness to abundant

life. The promise of faith is that relationships last.

That connection matters. And here is how I know that

is true: because my vocation involves walking with

families through the process of planning memorial

services to celebrate lives and comfort the grieving.

And without exception, there is something holy that

happens when the stories shared and the memories

preserved are about human connection and

relationship—about friendship.

We do not dwell on professional accolades, or

possessions acquired, or success achieved. We do

not emphasize positions or perspectives held. What

we do is tell stories about time shared with those

we love. We bear witness to the gift of community.

It comes down to friendship. Always friendship.

Abundant life. Life that lasts. Life worth living.

So, this week, make a phone call. Call a friend you’ve

been missing. Do not let the distance of time or space

hold you back. Do not let the sting of unresolved

disagreement or past disappointment hold you back.

Do not wait to pursue the life of abundance, the

virtue of friendship.

In the middle of Lent every year, I remember as a kid

sitting in the sanctuary of Unity Presbyterian Church

and singing these words that always felt haunting

to me: “Jesus walked this lonesome valley. He had

to walk it by himself. Nobody else could walk it for

him. He had to walk it by himself.” The Gospel bears

witness that the life of Jesus ends in the despair of

isolation and the pain of abandonment. He suffers the

depth of human grief and loss. All by himself.

And yet, as he approaches that end, Jesus gathers

his disciples. He speaks tenderly. He calls them

friend. He promises to return to them. His story

will not be complete without them. Ours will not

be complete without him. And, because of this, we

belong to each other. It is the path of friendship. It is

the way to life abundant. Amen.