The beauty of forced friends

Allyson first introduced me to the term. “Forced friends, that’s all we have right now.” I had recently arrived in Montpellier, France, for the semester, along with Allyson and 30-odd other students from about 12 American colleges. Instantly we banded together to tackle challenges like buying a cell phone, navigating the tramway system, and deciphering our courses at the local university – all in French. We had to ignore major differences, because we needed each other for moral support. As time progressed, we split off into cliques based on similar interests and personalities, and integrated new acquaintances into our groups. But in those first few weeks, all we had were thirty strangers, and Allyson was tired of pretending to be friends with each of them.

I’ve often thought back to that phrase since moving to Cambodia. In France, I soon spoke French well enough to chat with local students, attend a French church, and occasionally hold deep conversations with my host family. In Cambodia, I arrived knowing four words: “yes,” “please,” “thank you,” and “white person.” Plus, I worked about 75 hours a week my first year, which has since decreased to 55 or 60. My 40-odd colleagues have been the primary people with whom I’ve lived, eaten, hung out, cried, laughed, planned, and prayed. Besides my students, my co-workers have comprised nearly my entire social circle here…not for five months, but for three years and counting.

That’s been difficult at times. In college, where I could choose from thousands of potential friends, I’m not sure I would have been especially drawn to many of my current or past housemates or colleagues. There’s too much diversity in our roots, our theology, our assumptions, our habits, our preferences. In fact, I always kind of thought I was too nice to hurt anyone’s feelings until I moved to Cambodia and offended a number of Logos people: not usually Cambodians, but fellow Westerners.  My conflicts have been fairly minor, but for many others, they run too deep to fix with a "sorry:" I've heard numerous times that the #1 reason missionaries leave the field is due to conflicts with teammates.  I haven't personally encountered that, but it's a sobering reality that I understand much better since moving here.

When you’re stuck together, there’s no room for seething below the surface. It bubbles up too quickly. And while in France, I needed buddies to help me brave shopping and studying, here I depend on these “forced friends” for my emotional and spiritual survival. We couldn’t just ignore our conflict, and I couldn’t just live alongside of them with an occasional smile or “how’s it going.” I’ve had to learn to communicate better, to practice respecting others, to live out genuine concern for others’ needs – even when in my books, they were in the wrong. I’d hear marriage advice and think, “Hey, that sounds like what I have to do…with people not of my choosing.” I’ve realized that sometimes, “neutral” is “negative:” I need to be intentional about encouraging and supporting those around me. I've realized how insufficient my natural sympathy and good-will are when others need real love, day in and day out. I'm working on letting Jesus love through me. It's gonna be a loooong process.

Already, it’s been well worth the effort. Many of those friendships that at one time felt “forced” have grown into deep, rich sources of community and joy in my life. Many people who I once had trouble respecting have gone on to teach me invaluable lessons, and to contribute to the Logos community in ways I never could have. I’d be losing out if I traded these friendships for easier, more convenient ones. I’ve learned now to be less shocked and dismayed when conflicts arise, to pray harder about them, and to hold out more confidence that God can reunite us and change hearts…mine as much as anyone’s.

Yesterday in Bible study, we looked at John 17, just before Jesus was arrested and crucified. Jesus spent his last peaceful moments praying for those who would believe in Him: “that all of them may be one,” just as the Trinity is one. He explains why: “to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” Getting along and caring about each other – not superficially, but at a heart level – often speaks louder to those outside the church than words ever could.

Someone at Bible study commented on the unity she sees among Christian organizations working in Cambodia. In contrast to other countries, where missions teams may be deeply entrenched and isolated from others after decades or centuries of work, Christian expats here largely get along with and respect other Christian organizations. It’s partly because the Christian presence in Cambodia was wiped out by the Khmer Rouge and only began to rebuild itself in 1992, when Christians were first allowed back in.  The government told the first Christian foreigners, “You can come, and you can meet for worship, but you all have to meet in the same room at the same time.”

Catholics, Pentecostals, Seventh-Day Adventists, Southern Baptists – they were all stuck together and forced to overcome their divisions. It necessitated that everyone “major on the majors” – focus on the most important issues (Jesus, the Bible, loving others) and ignore their often-insignificant theological quibbles.  Though that policy ended long ago, its positive legacy continues.  This month, Christians of all backgrounds gathered in that one room to celebrate the 20-year anniversary of their “forced friendship,” which grew into an ecumenical Cambodian Bible Society united around a common goal: Christ glorified in Cambodia. God has embedded bits of His image into each of us, in all our quirks and differences. Growing in unity is a messy and difficult process, but it’s the only way we can fully embody the beauty of our God.