Sixth Sunday of Easter

What is a friend? Is it someone you can count on? Someone who’s always there for you? Someone who’s got your back? Is a friend someone with whom you share a certain intimacy? Is it someone you trust to keep your secrets? Is it someone who has your best interests at heart? Someone who’d do almost anything for you? I suppose so. I think any of us would feel privileged to have someone with those characteristics in our lives. However, when we consider the disciples to whom Jesus addressed the words reported by Saint John in today’s gospel, none of them would have lived up to that definition. And yet, he said to them, “I no longer call you slaves…[but] friends.” Why did he say that to them? Surely, he knew what kind of people he was speaking to. After all, they had been living with him already for several years.

They were his disciples. When they asked him, “Teacher, where do you live?” he answered them, “Come and see.” The relationship between a Rabbi or a Master or a Guru and a disciple is a very special one. It’s not at all like our current teacher-student relationships. Helping the disciple learn and explaining things they don’t understand is the very least of a true Master’s functions. Of course, Jesus taught his disciples using parables (in the same way a Zen Master teaches his disciples using koans like “the sound of one hand clapping”). This kind of teaching challenges disciples to use all of  their faculties, to go deeper, and to embrace a kind of learning that has nothing to do with facts and figures. Instead, this kind of teaching provides a pathway to wisdom.

A true disciple goes much farther than even this depth of teaching. The disciple becomes involved in the Master’s life. A disciple wants to emulate the master, to do what the Master does. Asking questions and receiving answers explaining why the Master does what he or she does cannot go deep enough. The real reasons behind every action only become clear when the disciple does it him- or herself. It’s so much more than just learning how to do something. It’s actually entering into a context and environment that defines a life. In other words, if you want to learn to do the things I do, then you must do the things I do.

In the spiritual life, neophytes are given menial tasks. This is not, as some people believe, to break the novice’s spirit. Instead, it’s an introduction to a new and different way of doing things, a new and different way of thinking, a new way of life. But taking on a new way of life doesn’t happen overnight. It takes months and years of service before the novice can build enough trust to be able to let go of old ideas and accept a wholly new perspective. In Hebrew, a prophet was called the אבך־יהוה (ebed-Yahweh) the Servant of God. In Greek, this servant was called a δουλος (doulos). Our translation uses the word “slave,” but the idea is not slavery, it’s service.  

Let me give you an example of what it means to be this servant, this δουλος. Over thirty years ago, I started into a 12-step recovery program. It was suggested that I attend some meetings and listen. That I did, and I was inspired by what I heard. But I was equally inspired by what they did. They took care of one another. At the end of each meeting, people very quietly and cheerfully cleaned everything up and put the room back in order. Nobody was in charge. Nobody asked anybody to do anything. Yet, it all got done. And I watched them. In a short time, I felt as though I was missing out on something. So, after the next meeting, I started collecting and emptying the ashtrays – stinky, dirty ashtrays. But it was something. It was a contribution, and I felt like I was starting to belong – to be part of something bigger than myself. So, I collected and emptied out the ashtrays for many months thereafter. Even today, I look for an opportunity to do little things like collect and put away the folding chairs. I became a douloV to lean important lessons of recovery that could not be acquired any other way.

In today’s gospel, Jesus says to his disciples, “I no longer call you slaves (δουλος)…I have called you friends.” In other words, Jesus is proclaiming that their apprenticeship is at an end. And he gives them a new title and a new position. In Greek, the word the Gospel uses is φιλος (philos), which can mean ‘dear,’ or ‘beloved,’ or even ‘friend.’ It is closely related to the Greek word, φιλια (philia) meaning ‘love’ or ‘affection.’ Jesus goes on to say, “I have called you φιλος because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father.” The “telling” and “hearing” he’s talking about has nothing to do with mouth or ears. The experience that Jesus imparted to his disciples was nothing less than the experience of the loving Presence of God himself.

Consider this: the disciples did not earn friendship with Jesus. On the contrary. He says, “It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.” The love of the Father is thus incarnate in the Son and love of the Son is incarnate in his disciples-friends, and their love is incarnate in us: you and me.

So, in light of the way Jesus lifted his disciples from δουλος to φιλος – from servants to friends, what, then, is a “friend,” anyway? A friend is far from what I described at the beginning of this homily. Friends are not those who prove themselves worthy of our affection by what they can do for us. Remember: they don’t choose us, we choose them. Friends are those to whom we choose to give our love – our filia – and who, in turn, choose to accept it and value it. Love cannot be earned, but must be freely given, and, as Christians, we have an obligation to give it generously. In this way, we fulfill the words of our Savior: “This I command you: love one another.”