Lord, where are your friends?

Divide and conquer. It's a first strategy of the Enemy. Separate them, confuse them, cloud them over with a fog until they wander from each other in search of a clearing; or better, pummel them, blast them with cannons of fire so dense they hunker to the ground in defense, slowly losing heart as the shadows of fear or indifference have advanced upon them like an invading army.

I've felt this today. It starts subtle, but the lie goes along these lines, "You are alone. Look around you; no one 'lives from the heart' or seeks God or desires Life or loves or lives in the Reality. Just give in. Just take it easy and let loose your guard. Hakuna matata. No worries."

In the only way I know how, I'm coming against that lie. Like Elijah, I need to remember my allies... my friends and His. I’m so grateful for those I’ve been given to journey with who answer the following questions with a resounding, “Here I am.” Their response is a signal flare on the battlefield telling their position, giving me courage to remember in whose company I battle and journey.


Lord, where are your Friends?

Where are those girding themselves with the armor forged in the fires of passion to fit Your waist, Your breast, Your arms, Lord?

Where are those who have yet to beat their swords into plowshares, and whose weapons are crimson with the blood of war?

Where are the crying, the wailing, the sick and broken pouring out tears of rage against the accuser for their own?

Where are the mourning and rejoicing travelers to the heavenly kingdom who pause long enough to help those too tired to walk?

Where are those thirsty, hungry, desirous and sensuous men and women who are preparing to take their place as the Bride in the eyes of her Lover,

And those who have made their beds, never to lie in them again until the return of their Groom?

Where are the seeing who know they're still blind and the wise who know they've understood so little?

Where are the weak and rejected, the poor among us longing for a better Home?

Where are those who have felt the heat of the Fire and who have crossed over the line to jump into the burning flames?

Where are the wobbly-kneed who have felt the earth give way beneath them and know it is passing so soon?

Where are those who have heard the Summons and are removing their sandals with the thought ringing in their minds, “In light of this, what else could I do?”

Where are those faces set link flint, whose unblinking bleary eyes are ready, waiting?

Where are the passionate, the consecrated, the holy lovers that have gone down to the village to meet with the one for whom their hearts were made?

Where are those searching their hearts for the answer to the question, “What is it you want?”

Where are the brave and foolish that have tasted and are wasted now for Life?

Are they doing their day-to-day duties, alone, under the scorching midday sun – carrying water home to one of their many bedfellows?

Are they peering from their view in the fork of a tree through the crowds, stretching to hear, pressing in to catch a glimpse?

Do they scream in the streets for knowledge of Who it is among them?

Do they clamor and tear without caution at the roof to find an opening so they can be near, and so their own friends might live?

Do they walk up, wet with weeping, to the feet of the Fearer to tell of their dying daughter, remembering with what authority He came?

Do they sing? Do they know their breaths are the exhalations of the One so close, of the One within?

Do they peer now, with hearts laid waste by Love, into the souls of those near them, just for the joy of knowing the greatest of all creation and the beauty placed their by the Master?

Are they alive? Do they work and journey and fight with conviction and compassion because of some deep joy set before them?

Lord, where are your Friends?
©2005, Brian Fidler