True friends
Bognor Regis. I know. Despite its regal title, it’s never going to make the top exotic locations in the world list. Any readers who are residents or who love the place, look away now, or forgive me, but here’s the truth - glorious white sand is in rather short supply, the beach instead a mass of unyielding pebbles; barefoot bathers wince as they pick their way across those stones. There’s a broken pier, shattered by a series of devastating storms and fires. Once the home of a fabulous 1400 seat theatre, long gone now, the pier is now a sad, short iron stump jutting out into the grey sea, the home of a tired amusement arcade, with intermittent flashing neon lights and the smell of damp and seaweed heavy in the air. But Bognor holds a special place in my heart.
It was there that my brand-new bride and I went to church, the Sunday morning after our Saturday wedding. Discovering that we were newlyweds, the minister asked me to ‘give a word of testimony’ about my most recent blessings. This being the morning after our wedding night. I blushed crimson red. Awkward.
But as a young lad, I spent some marvellous summers messing around on Bognor’s hardcore beach. Those were days when a twelve year old was allowed to travel alone on a bus. My grandparents lived just a few miles from the coast, and I had made friends with Ian, whose family made their home in Bognor. Every summer, I would board the bus, just a few shillings in my pocket for the fare, and make my way to Ian’s home, just a hundred meters or so from the promenade. I was always given a warm welcome, even though I had not seen my friend for a whole year. We spent long, wonderful days, tanned deep brown by the salty sun, our tired limbs restored by delicious suppers served by Ian’s Mum at the end of the afternoon. For a London boy, those days by the sea were heavenly.
Until it happened. It was the beginning of another long, lazy summer. Excited and eager to begin another few weeks of fun, I leapt off the bus and ran towards the street where Ian lived, I turned the corner, and my dream summer turned to winter in an instant. Ian’s house had disappeared, vanished into thin air. Gone. How could this be? Who stole….a house?
Actually, the entire street had been swept away, all houses demolished, to make room for a new municipal car park. As for Ian and his family, I had no idea where they had gone, no way to make contact.
That was that. I never saw him again.
Fifty years later, today, I thought of Ian, and my soul sank. I would love to know what happened to him, how life turned out. How delightful it would be to meet up, to remember those carefree days that we shared.
And that got me thinking, which can be dangerous. I pondered friendships that I’ve enjoyed through the years, and lamented the fact that some that I thought would always be there are nowhere to be seen. Some close ties came undone due to conflict and misunderstanding. The flame of friendship faded with others because our bond couldn’t stretch across the geographical distance between us. And then function catalyses friendship; when a season of working together ends, the friendships we made in that shared space sometimes ends too. I just thought that our friendship ties would endure once our season of working together was over. Perhaps I was unrealistic, and should have known that relationships that are seasonal are no less meaningful.
Sometimes there’s a sudden ending. Jesus knew that pain of disappearing friendship. Mark’s gospel gives a stark indictment about his band of brothers: ‘then everyone deserted him, and fled’. They vanished into thin air. Gone. I’ve had a few of those.
And I am sure that I have been a less than perfect friend. There were times when crisis hit others and I was not there for them; other situations when I spoke words that I regret and wish I could take back. As a friend, mine is a far from perfect record.
Friends make us better. We drink deep from joy’s well when laughter is shared. A fabulous experience is so much better when we can turn to a friend and say, ‘Isn’t this great?’
But this much is true - friends tell us what we don’t know, and if their friendship is deep, they’ll tell us what we really don’t want to know - when those planks appear in our eyes. They shape us even as they disappoint, because there’s no perfect fit in friendship, and to think otherwise is naive. Friendship comforts, but also confronts our selfishness too. And friendship calls us to faithfulness, to hang in there, and stick close, whether we feel like it or not. We need to love our friends for who they are, and not spend our days wishing that they’d be different.
So today, phone or email a friend, because a true friend is a treasure, and loneliness is literally punishing. Ironically, it took social distancing to teach us the value of togetherness.
And speaking of phone calls, there’s one I’d especially welcome.
Ian, if by some small chance you’re reading this, do me a huge favour.
Go ahead. Give me a call.