The Insider, the Outsider, and the One Thing
Preacher: The Rev. Dr Benjamin R. Doolittle, MD MDIV, Professor, Internal Medicine and Pediatrics, Yale University
Readings: Mark 10:35-45; Isaiah 53:4-12
The Gift of Anam Cara
Greetings to you all from Pilgrim Congregational Church, the congregation which I serve on the banks of Long Island Sound, in the state of Connecticut, United States of America.
Greetings to you from Yale University, where I am delighted to serve as a professor of Internal Medicine and Pediatrics at Yale Medical School. Yes, I am Dr. Doolittle. (Thank you for laughing, I wasn’t sure if the reference was going to make it across the pond). I am also Professor of Religion and Health at Yale Divinity School.
I am honored and delighted to be worshipping with you all, because in truth, I am not really sure why I am here. You see, I am not one of those famous professors from Yale. My scholarship is probably middle of the pack for Yale professors. If you asked the good folks of Pilgrim Church, they might say that they prefer my sermons to be shorter. The residents and students whom I teach – the finest, most gifted people I know – might scratch their heads for most have never seen me in a preaching robe. “I was just in the hospital with him. What is Dr. Doolittle doing up there?”
I am not here because of anything that I have done. There is a very, very important reason why I am here, which is really the whole point of why I am here.
I am here not because of what I have done, but because of something that you have done – which has everything to do with the Gospel. This is what you have done: you welcomed me. Many of you welcomed me: John, Chris, Morven, Emily, Bill, Samantha, Donald…and many others.
I was here one year ago on a sabbatical leave. I was working on a book. You welcomed me. You took me out to lunch, coffee, tea, and the other amber substance that is so common here. I had a Cri pie at the Criterion. I am still working on the book. You welcomed me into this space. I was overjoyed with Donald sent the invitation for me to join you again.
If St. Andrews is anything like Yale, and I suspect it is, the economy is driven by how smart you are, how accomplished you are, your grades, your publications, your research grants…. And maybe even who you know and how good-looking you are. If St. Andrews is anything like Yale, there is always someone more than you… more smart, more accomplished.
In these rarified spaces of intellectual power and social prestige, we tend to emphasize our resume virtues – our accmplishments – rather than our eulogy virtues – what we want people to say at our eulogies. “He was a good dad, a good friend.” There are others who have articulated this better than me – David Brooks and Rabbi Soleveitchik – but we live it, don’t we? Resume virtues vs eulogy virtues. In America, we call this “imposter syndrome” which is the idea that you are not good enough to be here. You are not smart enough, rich enough, good-looking enough…. You are just not enough to be here.
Our one consolation is that even the disciples were concerned about their resume virtues. There are James and John, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.” (We want to be the top disciples)
38 “You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?”
39 “We can,” they answered. (We are the top disciples)
The other disciples are indignant. They are part of that resume economy too.
Jesus finally says, “You need a new economy. You need a new way of looking at the world.” Jesus says, “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. 45 For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve.”
This is hard to do, to live as a servant, to humble oneself, when the world is so quick to judge and slow to forgive.
Before I came to St. Andrews, I took a plane to Glasgow, and then a train to Oban, and then a boat to the Island of Mull, and then another ferry to the Island of Iona. I wanted to make a pilgrimage to the ancient monastery founded in the 6th century by Columba. They say that the Island of Iona is a “thin place” where the boundary between heaven and earth is translucent. You can make out what heaven might be like.
There are two things that struck me. The first is that inside the Abbey, which has been rebuilt again and again over the centuries, growing from the old stone, are these rich, luscious ferns. To me that is the power of God’s love, that even the stones of the church blossom with life.
The second is the gift of anam cara. Anam cara is an old Gaelic term meaning “soul friend,” and it refers to the deep, spiritual friendship that the monks would share. I like to think of anam cara as “Holy Spirit friendship.” With your anam cara, you could be open, honest, vulnerable, and your anam cara would always accept you, welcome you, encourage you.
There are many ways to know God – scripture, revelation, nature – but sometimes those things can be so opaque, so difficult to discern. But if you have the gift of a soul friend, how could you not know the love of God? The seed of friendship makes even the stones burst forth with life.
When I meet a stranger and I say that I am from Yale, sometimes I sense that there is a little pause, as if the person says, “Really, he doesn’t seem so smart.” I suspect that same pause happens when you say that you are from St. Andrews. “She must be so smart. He must be so talented.” Would it not be amazing if that person also said, “St. Andrews? She must be a really good friend. He must be a really good friend.”
St. Andrews, you are a vibrant community of brilliant, accomplished people. You do make and will make many contributions to the world. I do hope that in your time here, you discover, nurture, and cultivate this gift of Holy Spirit friendship.
… and that is how I came to be here – the gift of anam cara. Thank you for being my friend. And all God’s people said, Amen.