On Friendship

A situation today gave me reason to ponder the meaning of friendship.  We use that word a lot, but what are its real implications?

A national pastor’s wife and I were in the store shopping.  As is part of her custom, she gestured to carry the shopping basket for me.  Though being uncomfortable with this practice, I have come to realize that for the sake of this lady’s honor, I must subdue my pride and allow her to do this for me.  I have resisted this from others in the past, only to be chided inwardly by their deflated countenance upon my rejection.            

You must understand that the African culture is very respectful of pastors, elders, and those they hold in high esteem.  Their means of expression for this is to render to one so honored, acts of service.  This is very refreshing and humbling and appreciated all at the same time – and certainly an element of courtesy that is lacking in my culture.

So why do I struggle with it.  Simply put – it is because I am white.  If I enter a store with another white person, and she gestures to carry my basket, I am not as hesitant.  But if I enter a store with a national, and she gestures to carry my basket, I pause.  Why?  Because as a white person, I do not want to propagate the attitude of supremacy on my part or servitude on hers.  I want to reciprocate the honor due my friend.  I want to maintain my self-reliance and independence and afford her the same.

So when we got in the car, I broached this subject. In sharing with her how very grateful I was for her act of kindness, I also shared with her how it made me feel.  She began to smile as she responded. 
“That is very interesting that you should say that,” she said.  “A gentleman in the store asked me if I work for you.  I told him, ‘No.’  He then asked what I was doing with you, and I told him that you are my friend.  His response: ‘Your friend?  Can a black person and a white person be friends?’”
There it was again – white.  That statement served as an exclamation point to my feelings.  Because the color of my skin is white, and the color of hers is not, the assumption by many is that we cannot be friends.
How can that be?  When I am laughing with a friend at a silly happening, celebrating the wedding of a friend on her special day, rejoicing with a friend at the birth of her child, embracing a friend who has just lost a loved one, receiving news of a terminal illness with a friend, laboring together with a friend to develop ministries to impact her community, or praying with a friend for a miracle that only God can perform – am I then white, while she is not?  At those moments and almost every other, I don’t see skin color.  I don’t pause to wonder if our differences dictate our level of relationship.  I simply choose to be a friend, and she likewise.
I suppose that for many, skin color will always be a barrier to true friendship.  I suppose there will always be those who resist the notion that who we are on the inside, is who we really are. 
Perhaps my view that we can be friends is slanted by the fact that my older brother was a Jewish carpenter, my other brothers and sisters are multi-ethnic, and I am not even sure that my Father bears any racial affiliation.  We are the family of God, and that alone affords us the luxury of friendships based on love, not skin pigmentation.  How I wish that all could see that.