The last meal we ever shared

Friendship break-ups and the power of the table

I can still feel the awkward tension in my body. At times, I wonder if it will ever leave me. The friendship had ended far before this meal, ages before, and a series of random circumstances found us together again at the table. Small talk, small talk, family memories, dodging questions, mirroring questions, anything to keep from vulnerable offerings. Her desire to be honest sat just beneath the surface of forced smiles and shallow shares but I knew by now she would not do it, would not say what was wrong, would not name her pain. The one-sided relationships are irresistible to my unhealed self, but I’ve done enough healing now to know that it is not my job to coax grown folks to use their words.

I reached for a tortilla chip and resisted my need for closure, my desire for confrontation, because there are times when the truth is not reciprocal; I am weary of relationships where I am forced to be the only one who will raise the thing sitting silently between us. We settled the bill and I walked away thinking, that’s it; it’s finished. And we slowly just stopped talking.

Some friendships end more dramatically. You discover your church friend is a racist; a business partner turned Q Anon; there’s a big fight with a few petty follow-ups; someone does something unforgivable to a person they once cared about.

But most friendship endings are just a drift, a slow tide wafting out to sea, the distance growing, the connection ending. The closure never coming.

The lack of direct communication creates stress and walking on egg shells, pretending and performing to keep the peace is no longer tenable. I hear from many of you that this is a special kind of pain. An unhealed wound that won’t close. A relationship you miss but a loss that brings relief.

You are not alone.

Today is Maundy Thursday, my favorite day of Holy Week, mostly because it involves food, and my other favorite F-word, forgiveness. (Stay with me, I promise I’m going somewhere on this friendship thing.) If I lost all access to the Bible, save one passage of my choice, I’d choose John 13-17 to live by forever. I love that the stories kick off with Jesus wanting to wash his friend’s feet and Peter saying, under no circumstances sir, and Jesus saying, well forget about being mine then, and Peter saying, well go on then, wash me from head to toe! I’m so convicted every time because I struggle to let people do anything for me. My husband, Mom, and a few close friends are the only ones I trust with that level of intimacy. The story of Peter helped me name my pride and stop resisting the fact that everyone has needs, including me.

Next, the drama heats up when Jesus is like, one of y’all ‘bout to betray me. Watch this, it’s the homey to whom I give this bread. And then, like an episode of Days of Our Lives in the 80s, Judas takes that bread and the good book said Satan himself entered him like a hostile demonic takeover. He gets up like the traitor he is and turns Jesus over to the religious leaders but after he’s gone, the drama dies down and there’s a long session of explanations, loving instruction, and encouragement from the one who loves them the most.

This friendship circle is about to enter one of the most confusing, explosive, and hostile times in their community’s history. I’m sure there were a million ways Jesus could have prepared them but I love that he washed feet, poured the wine, and set the table.

“When Jesus himself wanted to explain to his disciples what his forthcoming death was all about, he didn’t give them a theory, he gave them a meal.” N.T. Wright

He doesn’t tell them everything is going to be alright, that they’ll be fine, that all is well. Jesus tells them to: love each other like he’s loved them; stay close; some things will get cut back; some folks will hate you; there will be an advocate; you might get kicked out of faith communities; take courage — there will be trouble; your grief will become joy. And then he prays for them to become one, restored to Christ, reconciled to God, and to each other.

I love that the last bit is a prayer, not a reality.

Maybe during Holy Week you need the comfort of knowing that some relationships may never be reconciled or restored. It does not make you less of a person, less deserving of grace, less capable of unity, or less filled with faith. While anything is possible, few things are probable. It’s okay to free yourself. If you’ve done your best, let it go. Yes, it may feel confusing and unclear but if that’s outside of your control, then it’s okay to let go.

Maundy Thursday is a reminder to let our confusion and grief rest at the table with Christ. To dine, encourage, listen, instruct. To gain courage for the days ahead. To let people go, let people come, let people stay. To forgive yourself, forgive others, for being broken, for being in the process. To trust that death leads to resurrection.

As lovers of God, we keep setting the table.

Because friends are the midwives to our dreams. Friendship is the steel rod down our back when we lack courage and can’t see a way forward. We make each other feel seen, understood, heard, loved. So, regardless of our losses, when our world gets turned upside down, call a friend, pour a glass, set the table.

Since we’re so very human, when you catch yourself ruminating on how the drift happened, what went wrong, why you’re pissed/sad/happy about it all, consider reflecting on the people you still have, not only the ones you’ve lost. I like to start mentally listing my friends — what I love about them, how they let me show up for them, how they show up for me, the years and ways we’ve loved each other.

Another practice when I’ve lost a friend to the drift is to say out loud:

“Thank you for the time we did have. I learned so much. I let go of what I hoped for to embrace what is true: We are no longer friends and that’s okay. They’re okay and I’m okay. Thank you for the good days.”

At the beginning of this year, I set an intention to leave some things in the past that cause me pain in the present. It’s been enough time, enough energy, enough mental real estate spent licking the wound. The grace of God to provide me with closure in the first part of the year has been mind blowing. I’m not all done; I’m still in pain but I’m on my way and very, very grateful.

Today is also an opportunity to embrace the real ones, to thank them, love them and care for them. And to remind each other that we are not forgotten, and we are never alone.

Happy Holy Week. You are so loved.

In this with you,

Ashley