Sometimes in the church we are quick to emphasize the particularly intimate friendships that grow in small groups, mentoring relationships, or accountability partnerships. These are vital connections indeed. But it would be a mistake to also conclude that just because a relationship isn’t close it isn’t important.

I have a friend at church whom I’ll call Lynn. Before the pandemic, we’d talk for a few minutes nearly every Sunday. I’d run in to her at the restroom sink or our paths would cross in the hallway. She’d give me a hug, and we’d swap details about the events of our week. Lynn and I have very different personalities and life circumstances; I think that’s part of why we enjoy talking together.

But I haven’t chatted with Lynn in months. I see her across the room at church occasionally, but we don’t run into each other anymore. The pandemic limits the number of people in the restrooms and expands the distance between us in the hallways. Our church decided to abolish the coffee break between services, and our New England winter curtails most parking-lot interactions.

I miss talking to Lynn. Although we’ve had lunch together a few times in the past years, regular phone calls or meet-ups just aren’t characteristic of our relationship. When we were each selecting the members of our pandemic pods, we didn’t make each other’s cut. We’re not best friends; we’re friends who talk at church.

Except we don’t, anymore. 

My sadness about Lynn is just one instance of my pandemic grief for small talk, especially at church. I may be an introvert, but I miss talking to the little kids who used to swarm my pew after the service and now worship with their parents in a kid-friendly overflow room and leave by a separate door. I miss joking with the teens in their pre-pandemic back-row huddle. I miss the dozens of casual relationships that were refreshed, five minutes at a time, over coffee in the pink-carpeted fellowship hall.

In hindsight, these small—and sometimes awkward—conversations don’t seem particularly significant. So why do I miss them so much?

Categories of Friendship

In a recent article for The Atlantic, Amanda Mull lamented the disappearance of peripheral relationships:

Understandably, much of the energy directed toward the problems of pandemic social life has been spent on keeping people tied to their families and closest friends. . . . The pandemic has evaporated entire categories of friendship, and by doing so, depleted the joys that make up a human life—and buoy human health.

Social science identifies various categories of friendship and affirms that even our casual relationships play an important role in our well-being. These weak ties, middle-ring relationships, or lighter relationships contribute to our sense of belonging, strengthen our communities, and increase our psychological happiness. These categories also describe many of our regular interactions, including some of our friendships in the church.

Thousands of years before the birth of modern psychology, Jesus and Paul both knew the joys of various categories of friendship. In his earthly ministry, Jesus had a particular love for one (John), a close friendship with three (Peter, James, John), a deep commitment to 12, and a special relationship with 72.

Paul, too, had a dear companion (Timothy), a few co-laborers (Timothy, Silvanus, Epaphras), many beloved friends (Aquila and Prisca, Euodia, and Syntyche), and countless committed supporters.

It might be impossible to imagine Jesus without his beloved disciple John, or Paul without his beloved son Timothy, but it would also be wrong to think of them without the dozens of looser bonds that supported their ministries and refreshed their hearts.

Sometimes in the church we are quick to emphasize the particularly intimate friendships that grow in small groups, mentoring relationships, or accountability partnerships. These are vital connections indeed. But it would be a mistake to also conclude that just because a relationship isn’t close it isn’t important.

Greet the Friends, Each by Name

John’s final epistle ends with an incidental-sounding command: “Greet the friends, each by name” (3 John 15b). As the conclusion to a letter that gives instructions for sending missionaries and practicing church discipline, it seems a bit anti-climactic. And after John said he had “much to write” that he couldn’t include (v. 13), this exhortation—say hello to each other—may seem like a waste of parchment.

But the practice of saying hello in the church is more important than we might suspect. First, we greet “the friends.” With a simple smile and a word of welcome (or a handshake in better days), we affirm that we all belong together. Any friend of Christ’s is a friend of mine, we say.

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