Skip to main content

No Greater Love

A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.--Sirach 6:14

I'm not one to write on matters of faith. To me, faith is a personal matter between you and your God. I'm not a Biblical scholar. Nor am I well-versed in Church doctrine. To claim to be as much would make me a hypocrite. Tonight, though, during the Stations of the Cross, these words from the Book of Sirach were recited, and for once, I heard them. Now, I've heard this verse many times before. It tends to come up several times a year in readings. These words are not new to me. But let me say once more--tonight I heard them.

And I got it.

Each year, we relive the message of the Passion of Christ. We are reminded of how He died for our sins. We are reminded of the greatest sacrifice in the history of sacrifices. But perhaps we should consider another fact. He laid down his life for his friends. And as we are reminded, there is no greater love than to lay down one's life for a friend.

Reflecting on these words, I was suddenly distracted by visions of all the moments in my life when people manifested themselves as my friends. The shoulder next to mine as I succumbed to grief. The hand bearing mine allowing me to be forgiven. The silent presence, just being, because we both knew that words were unnecessary. The laughing before a word was spoken. The voice on the other end of the line admitting that she just felt she had to call on that day, at that moment, because she sensed I needed a friend. The unsolicited email pleading with me to not be sad on one of the saddest days for me each year. And yes, the lips on mine reminding me of a promise made and a promise kept.


Tonight, for the first time, I realized that truer words have not been spoken.  

There is no greater love. 

 

There is only hope that we give what has been given.

 

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Antisociality of Social Media: Spies Like Us?

BREAKING: MEDIA NEWS: Millions outraged by reports of a massive spying by the National Security Agency have taken to social media to share the intimate details of their lives in protest. Mary Jean Andreson of Cornerville, WI posted this on Facebook in response to the NSA scandal: "Why the heck does the NSA care that my husband is a no good, lazy crumb who never takes the trash out?" Kevin Treadway of Penooka, MO also expressed his outrage by sharing the details of his dating life on Facebook: "Dumped again. Girls suck. So what if I chew my food with my mouth open and talk while drinking? You've never seen beer trickle down someone's chin? Come on! I'm never asking anyone out again. EVER!!!! Got that, NSA????????? Susan Leapletter of Turnbridge County, TX, who was --feeling crappy, was even more irate with her status update: "My boss and coworkers are such a losers! Who cares if I took extra office supplies home. Doesn't EVERYONE?!?!?!? Why do I...

The Antisociality of Social Media Part 11: Just Give Us Picture Books Already

Social media has done it again.  From the ambiguous and uninterpretable meaning of likes to the destruction of civilized language though an overpopulation of 3-4 letter acronyms, punctuation marks and emoticons, we have run the gamut of sorry excuses for words. Or so I thought. Allow me to introduce you, dear reader, to the Facebook Sticker. What is a sticker you might ask? It is a quick and dirty mechanism to scare the crap out of the BFF who is on the receiving end of your impersonal, remote, online dialogue, that's what.  Let me illustrate by defining these new "you can't see me so I am going to try to tell you how I am feeling through creepy cartoonish faces" word stand-ins. Enjoy. Or not.

Turning Off, Tuning Out and Dropping the Baggage

Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking Can't we give ourselves one more chance --Under Pressure Queen, David Bowie I got my first taste of the news when I was a young sap, watching the great Walter Jacobson with my Dad. It was pretty much an evening ritual--newspaper, Wally, and maybe a little Dan Rather. Somewhere in there, Dad managed to eat dinner. I just can't remember the order of events. What I do remember is that this pretty much sums it up. There was no gluing of eyes to the tube watching talking head after talking head report the same exact story over and over, but with a different touch of flair. There was no getting up early in the morning to share your coffee with two spiffy gents and the token female who should really rethink the amount of time she spends in tanning beds. Reading prepared remarks from a teleprompter or repeating what the producer says in your earpiece is hardly what I would call "analysis," but somehow it passes as ...