Our theme for this Winter season edition of Madonna is ‘Servants of God’. To serve others is what we are about in life, but if we are not careful this rich concept can become tired with over-use at times such as Jubilee years and need to be rehabilitated. Those masters of the weary cliché, sports commentators, remind us of this in the media every day. They are not alone, however. Some of our own church language in official documents, homilies and newsletters can be criticised for the same deficiency.
Timothy Radcliffe, former Master General of the Dominican order and splendid author, has written in his book What is the point of being a Christian?: ‘If we cherish the Word of God, then we should reverence all words, knowing their power to hurt or heal . . . So, Christians should be recognisable in how we use words, attentive to their exact meaning, careful with them because they can be like knives that cut.’ It is little wonder, therefore, that St Augustine could say that words are ‘precious cups of meaning’.
GIFT OF FRIENDSHIP
In that wonderful chapter 15 of St John’s Gospel, Jesus is farewelling his disciples with the words: ‘I shall not call you servants anymore, because a servant does not know his master’s business: I call you friends, because I have made known to you everything I have learnt from my Father.’ Perhaps the best way to serve others is through the gift of friendship?
In his book Forgotten Among the Lilies, Ronald Rolheiser OMI reflects on the sadness of men and women coming to him with the confession: ‘It is so much easier to find a lover than a friend.’ Irish singer Mary O’Hara makes the same point in Celebration of Love: ‘Friendship or the capacity for it is a gift. I often think that relationships break up, not for lack of love, but for lack of friendship. In a society that is obsessed with the instant . . . friendships and personal loyalties which need time to mature . . . quickly become casualties.’
When we think about it, all of life is a journey into friendship – with oneself, with others, with our planet in need of healing, and most especially with God. It is very important to learn to be a good friend to ourselves. Irish writer John O’Donohue encapsulates this beautifully in Anam Cara, ‘Soul Friend: You can never love another person unless you are equally involved in the beautiful but difficult spiritual work of learning to love yourself.’
A FINE BALANCE
Putting this another way, we need to maintain a fine balance in our souls between being both generous givers and receivers of friendship. In short, it is necessary for us to be generous to ourselves if we are to receive the love that surrounds us. Those people who love us release the best in us. As Joan Chittister says so well: ‘They show us the face of our creating, caring God on earth.’
Such was the friendship I shared with a wonderful American Ignatian educator, Jim Skerl. During the first three months of 1986, I was given the opportunity to visit and teach at St Ignatius High School in Cleveland, Ohio, during their centenary year. It was a rich time for me personally – teaching English and theology with wonderfully committed lay colleagues and Jesuits. Jim Skerl was the lay head of the theology department at that time, and we became firm friends. I marvelled at his teaching ability to inspire his students, his palpably deep spirituality, and his passion for a faith that speaks justice.
Although the mighty City of Cleveland is a good day’s flying time from the east coast of Australia, Jim and I had occasion to nurture our friendship over the years. He was an exchange teacher at Xavier College in 1990 and took the place by storm.
COMMITMENT TO JUSTICE
During a visit to Cleveland in 2012, I stayed with him and his lovely wife Kym, and Jim’s commitment to justice was evident at every turn. One Sunday night I joined him and about 20 students as they prepared food and drink to take to the homeless around Cleveland. Before our buses left the school, we went to the beautiful school chapel to pray and commend ourselves to the patronage of St Benedict Labre, the patron saint of the homeless. It was a routine that Jim followed every Sunday night, and the prayer service was characteristically an essential ingredient in the program. As we threaded our way under bridges, around rough paths and lonely streets, it was inspiring to meet these homeless people and see their affection for Jim. He was living out the Ignatian passion for a faith that does justice.
Jim wrote to me a year later to say that he had contracted pancreatic cancer and was receiving treatment. It was a shock to hear that someone so athletic and robust in health should be afflicted with such a virulent disease. Nonetheless, he had temporary recovery from surgery and did not miss a teaching class during the next 12 months.
SMALL GIFT
In August 2014, about two months before he died, Jim wrote to me with a small gift but with a strong message of hope. ‘My beautiful wife Kym and I want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your friendship and support this past year (and more). The most recent chapter in our lives has been (and remains to be) a journey of faith that has proven to be best undertaken with others. As good as medicine can be for the body, prayer has been even more healing for our souls.
‘As a token of our deep appreciation, we would like to share with you the enclosed wristband. Because of your faithful support the past 18 months, Trust & Hope have permeated our lives. In addition, we have been greatly consoled by the words in the Book of Joshua: “Do not be afraid or discouraged, for I, the Lord your God, am with you wherever you go.” (1:9) If you feel up to wearing the wristband, know that its purple hue is the symbolic colour of pancreatic cancer research.’
It is more than 10 years since Jim Skerl passed away and the wristband inscribed with the words Trust & Hope has never left my wrist.
Although he would shy away from any praise, I believe Jim was one of those people described by Irish President Mary McAleese as ‘not necessarily beatified and canonised saints but the kind of people in whose presence we intuit the nearness of God because they bring their best friend everywhere with them.’
Not only does that wristband help me relive with gratitude a fond friendship, but it keeps playing for me the music of hope in this Jubilee year. Indeed, it was Irish poet William Butler Yeats who captured this link between service and friendship so well: ‘Think where men’s glory begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.’
