Friendship is an Oasis
Life is a…what? What metaphor is best for life? It’s a highway, according to Tom Cochrane; it’s a box of chocolates, according to Forrest Gump; and it’s a theater, according to Shakespeare. It’s a symphony, a garden, a road, a piece of art, a journey. The one I come back to the most, though, is a desert. Actually, it’s a journey through a desert. It’s hot, hard work; the landscape changes regularly; if you don’t keep moving, you could die of exposure; some parts are beautiful and cool and wonderful but others are dry, dusty, and hot; there are rattle snakes and scorpions to watch out for, but there is also intense beauty. I imagine it a bit like Moses roaming the desert looking for the Promised Land. That’s our job, to cross the desert of life to get to the Promised Land, and it is indeed hot, dusty work that sometimes has more suffering than solace, more dust storms than oases. But those oases are out there, and they can either help us along our way or distract and disorient us.
I grew up in the Sonoran Desert, so I’m willing to bet that my vision of a desert is different from other people’s. While many people imagine sand dunes and camels, intense heat and a sun that shines oppressively, that’s only true of some deserts. Others, like the Sonoran, are full of plants and life as well as bright sun and dry heat. We wander through both types of desert as we make our way to the Promised Land, some eras of life being little more than grueling marches among the dunes while others are more pleasant walks among the cactus and brush with lovely flowers and birds chirping. In any type of desert, though, finding water is key to survival, and the oases where water is abundant are a crucial part of the journey.
The Sonora Desert
“Your friendship is an oasis in the crazy of this world,” a friend once told me. I was touched, but also taken by the metaphor. The more I thought about it, the more I loved it.
For a while, I imagined an oasis with tiki torches, a swim up bar, music that makes you want to sing along, and people playing in the water or lounging on chairs, enjoying one another’s company in this little oasis of joy and camaraderie despite whatever is going on outside of it. It sounds lovely, really: one big pool party with your favorite people, the drinks and the water cool and the sun warm with palm trees offering shade and a view. But then I read Death Comes for the Archbishop again, and the image shifted a little.
I love Death Comes for the Archbishop. I’ve read it several times in the last fifteen years, and every time I appreciate something different. First it was Cather’s description of the desert that won me over because I was homesick for the Sonoran Desert after relocating to the Midwest, which is practically another country. Then I was wowed by the faith of the characters, then it was the beauty of their friendship. This last time, though, what spoke to me most was how Bishop Latour and Fr. Joseph were willing to let each other go.
Bishop Latour and Fr. Joseph, friends since seminary, had traveled from France to America with missionary zeal where Latour was made bishop of the new diocese of Santa Fe. Fr. Joseph was his vicar, his right hand, and his friend as he worked to establish order and to bring stability to the Church in New Mexico. Together they worked in the vineyard of the Lord, albeit a hot and dry vineyard, and built a church nearly from scratch. They worked together, complimenting one another’s personalities and skills, connecting with the faithful and building not only a physical church but a Church, building up the people into the Body of Christ, fervent and faithful. Year after year, these two worked tirelessly to connect people to Christ, and once in a while found time to connect with one another, too.
The diocese of Santa Fe was, at the time, enormous. It stretched across New Mexico into Arizona, containing most of the Southwest. Although more priests were added to their ranks over time, because the diocese was so vast, Latour and Joseph spent much of their time apart, traveling to the far corners of the diocese in pastoral love to care for their flock. Santa Fe remained a homebase, particularly for Latour, who was bound by his office to stay close. The tireless and passionate Fr. Joseph, with a true missionary heart, was drawn to places like Tucson where the people were hungry for the Faith but where there were few, if any, priests to satisfy that hunger. He felt called to tend the flock in these far reaches of the diocese with the urgency and tenderness of a father needing to care for his children.
After returning from Arizona sick and frail, Fr. Joseph spent some time in Santa Fe with Bishop Latour to recover. It was the first spring they had both been in Santa Fe in many years, and Bishop Latour was eager to share the beauty of the garden with his dearest friend after having worked so long apart. That time was priceless, and after so many months of loneliness while Fr. Joseph was away, the bishop was grateful and happy to be with his friend again.
When Fr. Jospeh expressed his fervent need to return to his flock in Tucson, the bishop was taken aback. In the depths of his heart, he wanted to keep Fr. Joseph in New Mexico. After all, there was work there to be done as well, and as his superior, he had every right to order Fr. Joseph to stay. The wrestling match that took place in his heart must have been fierce, but love of his friend and of his people won out. “Your feeling must be your guide in this matter, Joseph. . .you must follow the duty that calls loudest,” said the bishop, giving part of his own heart away in giving Fr. Joseph the freedom to do what his heart dictated.
This is no small feat. The conquering of self for the good of another is a sacrifice many never learn to make.
In any true friendship, there is an exchange of hearts. It’s different than marriage where one gives his heart away in hopes of not having it returned and different than parenthood where one’s heart is permanently outside of his body, residing forevermore in his child. It’s more like people coming together, exchanging pieces of their hearts but keeping their own heart. It’s like exchanging pieces of puzzles that are similar enough to fit each other’s puzzle. The puzzle still belongs to each person, but because of that exchange, it will never look the same as it did before.
Like anyone, I have had made and lost friends. It’s a natural part of life. We all forge friendships based on who, what, and where we are in the present, and that changes with time so it’s natural that friendships change, too. Friendships that can stand those changes survive, and those that can’t be flexible tend to wither and die. This is one of the beautiful but also scary things about friendship that is so very different from marriage or parenthood: in friendship, one is free to change, to stay, to come, and then to go. You can gather with friends, connect, join hearts and minds for a while, and then continue on your journey, enriched by your friendships but not bound by them. Marriage is wonderful and parenthood is amazing, but both are permanent. Spouses are bound to one another, their futures connected just as their present is connected, come hell or high water. There’s stability and freedom and security in this bond, and it’s a great gift, but the freedom of movement that comes with friendship is also a gift. It allows us to connect and grow while still maintaining individuality and focus on our own personal journey to Heaven.
It was going through a loss that I stopped seeing friendship as one big oasis party. I had been imagining that my friends and I were at this party, where we always had what we needed and never needed to leave the sanctuary of that particular oasis until I realized how very confining and prison-like that is. It wasn’t until I felt that prison, where nothing could change, not even me, that I realized that friendship isn’t supposed to be a destination. It is an oasis, but not one that we’re supposed to stay in forever. It’s an oasis we can visit to gather strength and energy before continuing the journey toward the Promised Land.
What a shift in mentality! It was liberating and empowering to realize I didn’t have to stay in one place forever, but also to realize that people will come to the oasis and leave again, refreshed, and that their leaving isn’t indicative of a problem. On the contrary, it’s quite healthy for friends to visit the oasis of their relationship and then go on with their individual work. When people are free to do what they’re called to do, they can be at their best, which often means they’re able to give their best. If, however, someone feels like they have to stay put for the sake of a friend’s happiness, there are a number of potential unsavory consequences.
Had Bishop Latour kept Fr. Joseph in Santa Fe, their friendship would have suffered. While weighing the decision, the Bishop said, “you must realize that I have need of you here, Fr. Joseph. My duties are too many for one man.” In truth, he would have been justified in asserting his own will. He did need Fr. Joseph’s help. “But you don’t need me so much as they do!” replied Fr. Joseph, his heart full of the people in Arizona waiting for his return. This was also true. Their need of him was indeed greater, and in allowing Fr. Joseph to “follow the duty that calls loudest,” the Bishop allowed Fr. Joseph to not only do what he knew in his heart he was called to do but also to be fully himself. Had the bishop required Joseph to stay, Joseph would have obeyed but may have been embittered by the bishop’s selfishness.
In reality, that’s what an order to stay would have been: selfishness. Instead, the bishop sacrificed his own heart, liberating Fr. Joseph not just to follow his own will but to do and be what God made him to be. Though it was difficult to be so far apart, their work could not have been done any other way.
As a wife and mother, I see this scenario play out often on a small scale. My friends who are also mothers have their own families to care for, and that means going in their own direction because what works for me and my family is what works for us. That could mean someone who was homeschooling chooses to send their kids to school, switching schools, moving to a new city or finding a different job, finding a different parish, or letting go of the activity we had in common, like baseball or dance classes. It could also be something bigger, like someone going back to school or getting married or starting a new career. Most of these are relatively small in the grand scheme of things, but even small changes can feel huge when it means someone you love won’t be part of your normal life anymore.
The things that aren’t easy to see can be the hardest to accept. When someone’s interests or ideas or beliefs change or mature, when his purpose in life or personal goals change, it can be heart breaking. Two people who were aligned in their approach to life can struggle when one feels called toward a different path, but holding someone back from the life they are called to is detrimental to both.
Let’s imagine Bishop Latour had told Fr. Joseph to stay in Santa Fe. I’m confident Fr. Joseph would have obeyed and I even think he would have found joy in obedience and in doing the job before him in the belief that his bishop’s order is coming from God. But I also think over time, he would have felt like he was being kept in Santa Fe primarily for the bishop’s sake, and I think he would have grown to resent that, at least to some degree.
I imagine if you reflected on your life, you could probably point at such scenarios. I certainly can. As I have grown and matured, I have found myself feeling confined by the walls of friendships that didn’t allow for such change. I was ready to explore the world beyond the comfort of that oasis, to develop new interests and try new things and to be more than I had been, and when I was required to be the same person I always had been, to not grow beyond the comfortable boundary of the oasis and to not stray further than the other person could go, the friendship fell apart. Even an oasis can be a prison if you’re never allowed to leave. Eventually I got tired of feeling like a prisoner.
Eventually, the bishop’s need for Fr. Joseph’s assistance and company overtook him and he did recall him from Tucson. Fr. Joseph came in obedience, not understanding what was so important that he must leave what he felt was the most important work of his life to return to Santa Fe. No answer presented itself until a letter arrived from the bishop of Leavenworth asking Bishop Latour for help. Gold had been discovered at Pike’s Peak, and the bishop was asking for a priest to be sent to Colorado as soon as possible to tend to the souls of the many minors flooding the area.
Have you ever had a sudden, sharp feeling that God just revealed part of His plan to you? Something happens. Maybe someone says something, maybe you received a letter, maybe there was an acceptance or maybe you met someone, but in an instant you know exactly what it is you’re supposed to be doing with your life. Such moments aren’t exactly common. They don’t happen often, but it can be a bit like lightning flashing across the dark sky; suddenly, you can see clearly for a second, which can be just long enough to get you on the right path.
I think Fr. Joseph experienced this when the bishop read the letter from Leavenworth aloud. He knew immediately that this was why God had called him back from Tucson. He knew this would be his life’s work. Bishop Latour himself didn’t know why he had called Fr. Joseph back, but God did. He had a plan. At that moment, though, God’s plan hinged upon Bishop Latour; he had the power to say no.
Instead, the good bishop bowed his head to the will of God and said, “‘You have been complaining of inactivity, Father Joseph; here is your opportunity.’”
What’s amazing is that in all of this, Bishop Latour had his own spark of divine intuition. “He seemed to know, as if it had been revealed to him,” begins Cather, “that this was a final break; that their lives would part here, and that they would never work together again.” It’s just a sentence with simple words, and yet it is an earthquake. It’s like hearing the simple sentences “he is dying,” “I’m pregnant,” or “hoc est enim Corpus Meum.” Lives are altered in just a few words.
They would indeed part there and though they would remain friends the remainder of their lives, they would never work again and their relationship, therefore, would never be the same. They would never again be connected by a united goal or even call the same state home. Considering their many years of friendship and cooperation, that’s an earthquake of significant proportion.
Both Father Joseph and Bishop Latour lost much in their parting. They lost security, the comfort of camaraderie and of being known by someone, and the joy of working with someone amazing. However, there was much to be gained. Father Joseph went on to become a bishop himself, bringing Jesus to a people that may not have sought Him out on their own and building a church where there was none. He followed God’s call, becoming the person God wanted him to be, and in so doing, he changed the world and the people around him. Bishop Latour continued his own work, and the loss of his friend required that he learn to work with and trust others. Ultimately, he built not just a home and a village church but a cathedral and a whole community, a feat that may have been more difficult to accomplish if he had not learned to thrive without his dear friend. Neither man could have accomplished what they did if they had not given each other the freedom to go where God called.
I could not have imagined how much my life would parallel this story the first time I read it.
I’ll offer a modification to one of my husband’s favorite jokes. “A priest, a monk, a nun, and a husband and wife walk into a bar. The bartender looks up and says, ‘what is this, a joke?’”
Nope. It’s just Catholic life.
Somehow, and much to my surprise, I have found myself in the peculiar but also peculiarly beautiful position of having three of my husband’s and my dearest friends be a priest, a monk, and a nun. I’m not sure how that happened. One moment my mothering heart was wanting to take care of them, cooking and baking for them and opening my home to them and in this whirlwind of time, campfires, music, friendship, singing, and laughter, the next moment the priest, the nun, my husband, and I were saying farewell to the monk as he left for his monastery. Just a moment and a few adventures later and the nun and I were in the desert sharing one last tearful hug as we went our separate ways, she to her family in a layover before the convent and me to my family’s home and normal life.
It almost doesn’t seem real.
And yet, it happened. We came together, built an oasis of friendship that is one amazing place, and then we each have continued on our journeys through the desert toward God and eternity. When we started building, we had much in common. We attended the same events, had some of the same interests and shared a passion for the Mass and for the traditional practice of our Faith, and had a love of good music, a good fire, and a good time. Those things haven’t changed.
As we each have grown and developed, however, our goals and purpose and mission have changed. I’m still a mom with a husband and kids at home who need me. My husband is still a working guy doing his best to support his family. The priest is still a priest who must be a shepherd to his flock. The monk is now a hermit whose life requires solitude as he devotes himself entirely to God and the nun is in a convent, free to devote herself entirely to God in a way she could not while still in the world. The oasis may have changed as the needs of each of us have shifted, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just has different boundaries and walls than it did before, but they remain even more open than they ever were, and that’s precisely why it still thrives.
Had any of us refused to give the priest the time and space he needed to fulfill the duties of his vocation, had we not given the monk the freedom he needed to find his way to the monastery, or had we refused to give the nun the freedom she needed to hear God’s call and to follow where He has led her, some or all of us would likely have felt fettered and our friendship would have suffered for the imprisonment. Even worse and almost unthinkable is what may have been had any of us refused to follow God’s voice into the wilderness for fear of leaving the oasis. In such a case, more than just our friendship would have suffered. It would have been detrimental to our respective communities, past, present, and future, not to mention to ourselves.
While I’ll admit that part of me selfishly wishes I could have this group of friends together for an in-person visit to the oasis together, I would never want to prevent them from realizing God’s plans for them. The reality is that none of us can fully give ourselves to the work God has for us if we are shutting ourselves up within walls of our own making, even if those walls are comfortable and lovely.
While I miss the monk and the nun every day, there is also a profound joy that comes with knowing they are where they’re supposed to be, as am I. There is even great happiness in knowing that they are happy because they’re doing what God made them to do. When someone is living the life God made them for, it’s tangible. Maybe not every moment of every day, but on the whole, you can see and feel joy and love radiating from them. What you’re perceiving isn’t just “I love what I’m doing,” it’s love for God and the love of God coming through them because when someone is doing God’s will, they are open to His grace and love in a way that just isn’t possible when you’re fighting His will. Only then, only when an individual is doing what God made him to do, can he be truly free to not only really be himself but to be his best self, and that’s who makes the best friends.
Each of us needs the freedom to pursue God’s will for our lives, and we need people around us who will encourage us to do just that. Those friendships that are based on mutual love not only for one another but first and foremost for God to such a degree that each person is willing to sacrifice his own desires for the good of his friend are the best friendships. The oasis that develops in such a case is going to be the most nurturing and refreshing, which is precisely what friendship should be. It should be a safe place where friends can come together, offer an opportunity for rest and camaraderie, refresh one another in spirit and embolden one another to continue his or her journey, and then let each other move on. Maybe they can walk side by side for a while, but most often, the road that will lead one person to God is different than the one that will lead another, so it just has to be trod alone.
The great thing about the oasis of friendship, however, is that it doesn’t stay in one place. You can meet there from anywhere. The priest, monk, nun, my husband, and I will not likely every be all together again in this life, but we will always be able to stop in at our little oasis through prayer for one another. Our oasis doesn’t just disappear because we’re in different places. It doesn’t look anything like a party. There are no tiki torches, there’s no swim up bar, and there’s more silence than music, but our fraternal care for one another and the prayers we say for one another keep us connected. This is one of the most beautiful aspects of the Catholic Faith and the Communion of Saints: we are connected to one another not only through the Body of Christ that is the Church but also through His literal Body, which is the oasis for us all. It is the oasis we need in the crazy of this world.
One evening the priest, the monk, the nun, my husband, and I sat on my front porch, drinks in hand, music playing, talking, laughing, and singing. We had come to the oasis for refreshment. While talking about a friend considering a vocation, the monk said, “sometimes you have to let go of something good for the sake of something better.” I knew he was also talking about himself and the nun, not just this other friend.
The monk and the nun eventually found that they needed to let go of the good they had found here for the sake of something better, just like Fr. Joseph. We, too, had to let go of something good as well, just like Bishop Latour, for the sake of something better. Life was never the same for the Bishop and his friend, and their friendship changed as well, but it survived because in giving each other room to grow and change and mature, they gave their friendship room to grow and change as well. Maybe our oasis will never quite be the same, but neither will we.