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Tuesday, July 29, 2025

“Draw Near to Me, Friend” — A Reflection on Friendship, Loneliness, and the Nearness of Christ - July 29, 2025

πŸ•Š️ Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus

We were made for friendship.
Not just handshakes or polite small talk.
But the kind of love that notices. That stays.

Today, loneliness runs deep.
You can be surrounded by people and still feel unseen.
There’s a quiet ache—at kitchen tables, in hospital rooms, on Sunday mornings.
It’s the ache of wanting someone to say, “I see you. I care. I’m here.”

And God does.

Scripture reminds us:

“In many and various ways, God spoke to our ancestors…” (Hebrews 1:1)
And He still speaks.
He still draws near.

From the tent of meeting to the tomb of Lazarus, God has always wanted relationship.
In Jesus, that relationship becomes flesh.

πŸ’” He weeps with Martha and Mary.
πŸ’‰ He walks the hospital hallways.
πŸ›‘ He sits with the abandoned and the afraid.
🌍 He enters the sorrow of this world—not to fix it all at once, but to love it through.

Jesus doesn’t stand back. He comes close. He stays.
And His friendship transforms us.

So here’s the challenge I offer you:

  • Who in your life needs someone to draw near?

  • Is there a person who feels forgotten—a call you’ve been meaning to make, a door you could knock on, a pew you could linger by?

  • Could you be the friend who shows up, like Jesus does?

Loneliness doesn’t disappear with one kind word—but it begins to crack.
And through those cracks, light gets in.

So pause.
Notice.
Reach out.

And as you do, let your kindness become resurrection.
Because nothing stays dead when Jesus is near.
And nothing stays the same when we choose love.

πŸ™ A Closing Prayer: Friendship That Heals

Lord Jesus,
You did not wait for perfection.
You drew near in our grief, our doubts, our ordinary days.

You wept.
You walked.
You stayed.

So today, as I carry my own aches and notice the loneliness around me,
give me the grace to draw near—to You, and to others.

Make me a friend who listens.
A presence who stays.
A soul who reflects Your mercy in every quiet act of love.

Amen.


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