Lit by Other Lights

"In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out.  By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets.  Now that Charles [Williams] is dead, I shall never again see Ronald’s [Tolkien's] reaction to a specifically Charles joke.  Far from having more of Ronald, having him “to myself” now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald . . .  For every soul, seeing Him in her own way, doubtless communicates that unique vision to all the rest... The more we thus share the Heavenly Bread between us, the more we shall have."

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

I live with my wife in Memphis, in a little neighborhood called Binghampton, on a street called Malcomb, in a little old house with a married couple called the Pates and single brother named Jason. We sit together around the table to a home-cooked meal every Monday night and get up early every Thursday morning to read the Bible, sing, and pray together. Sometimes we write songs, record them, ride around and sing them in people's homes, read books like the Hobbit out loud in the living room, or watch our favorite movies (lately: The Secret of Kells, and Of Gods and Men). 

This week our dear friend Brian Mulder (who makes the best cajon drums) is in town for a visit. I was homeless in Harwich, England for a night waiting for a ferry to Holland with Brian, we've written songs and recorded music together (see "Somewhere we're shining") and we get to visit occasionally. It's always a treat to have him in town with us. We'll be writing and recording a bit this week. 

I realized yesterday as we were having a big spontaneous sing-along in the living room that there is some part of me that wakes up and comes to life only when Brian is around. He brings some kind of particular alive-ness out in me. I felt it so strongly that I was compelled to tell him so. I had a hard time putting it into words until I remembered the quote above that I had read in C.S. Lewis last Fall. 

I sat next to another dear friend, Philip Walkley several days ago in a little acoustic worship service here in Memphis. We sang old, old words together and I listened as he drew out harmonies that would never occur to me. To sit and sing together before the Lord, to hear each other's voices brought out a joy in me that is particular to our unique friendship. 

Rich Mullins sang, "If I can't give myself away, I'm the only one that loses".  We do cheat ourselves when we choose escapism from the work of relationship, others miss out too though. There would be a part of me that would never be called into participation in life if Brian weren't my friend, if Philip hadn't sat by me and sang last week. Some joke, some expression, some lyric, some conviction that would never surface if not drawn out by these others that I've given myself to know.