People Who Need People 8-29-9

Anderson, South Carolina

In 1964 a song written by Jule Styne and Bob Merrill, ultimately included in the Broadway musical “Funny Girl”, proclaimed that “people, people who need people are the luckiest people in the world.” Are they? The haunting version of this song I listened to repeatedly reached deep into a place in my soul that still itches, sometimes to a tormenting degree. For those of us who never had a father and had only a custodial mother who’s emotional presence was stolen from us by the ravages of drug and alcoholic addiction, our relational neediness was often unchecked and unbounded. We launched ourselves on a search for the Holy Grail that contains the elixir that promises self-confidence, esteem, purpose, and a sense of belonging; things in short supply for those of us who aren’t sure of where we came from.

The need for children to receive copious amounts of emotional attentiveness from their primary caregivers has been the substance of uncounted academic articles, monographs, and discussions. Experts intrigued with the developmental challenges of those of us not growing up in nice happy houses shaded by maple trees have filled many hours of airtime on afternoon talk shows. Psycho-pathology sells lots of soap. Perhaps there is a lot of identification going on here.

As I wander around our grand world, it is so easy to believe that somewhere I am going to find the perfect salve to stop the torment of my affective itch. Perhaps up one of those intriguing narrow medieval staircases in Tallinn I will find a sense of place and belonging a thousand years old. Perhaps a great sage living on the expansive steppes of Borodin’s Asia will give me a life changing ah ha moment that turbo-charges me with a sense of purpose and single-mindedness. New Zealand may offer the grand hospitality and sense of safety that can only be found in an unsullied paradise.

A recent experience suggests to me that my need for people is still often unbounded and in need of further attention. We are not talking about the open easy need of people that causes us to delight in gatherings of happy people, holding people with an easy open hand; the magic of true romance that gives inspiration to a million song writers; rather, the kind of need that has us leaving finger prints on the necks of those who innocently offer us a cup of cold water.

I recently returned from a retreat center in another state where I thought I had found everything that couldn’t be found in Tallinn, Asia, and New Zealand. When one comes off the torrid desert for a long-overdue draught of cold water, one is not necessarily minding one’s table manners; instead grabbing for the cup with desperation, even spilling some of the precious drops into the parched sands under our burned soles. It seems I once again grabbed for that cup with too much vigor and the bearer has said - no more.

Years ago I was in England in a very dark space as a result of a disruption of an important relationship. A dear friend on the continent offered me his cup of spacious hospitality and friendship. I couldn’t get on the next plane fast enough. My spirits ascended and I had one of the most glorious months possible. I was living in the fine happy house with shade provided by maple trees. Alas, I spilled the water repeatedly during that month and our friendship has never been the same since. Even when things are carefully glued back together, fine hairline cracks are still evident.

Henri Nouwen entered the darkest season in his life, becoming almost suicidal, because he had severely damaged an important relationship with his neediness. As Nouwen found out and I am finding out, people do not like fingerprints left on their necks. These dear friends, Nouwen’s and mine, had to withdraw to protect themselves from being washed away by our sea of neediness.

Paradoxically, when we no longer desperately need people, we are then free to need them as the song writers Styne and Merrill intended. We are no longer cut off emotionally from others and are free to embrace them - easily. As I progress in learning to be comfortable in my own skin and finding my own good company, I can then with grace receive your hospitality … with hospitality instead of hostility driven by unfulfilled neediness. As I progress from loneliness to a comfortable solitude and from frenzied hostility to easy hospitality, I can receive your cup of cold water without spilling it on both of us … and remember to thank you for it.

Jesus told the story of ten men who received an immensely valuable life changing gift - healing from a disease that made the stigma of AIDS seem almost trivial. Ten lepers were healed and only one of them could be bothered to stop and offer thanks for this incredible pardon from an inevitable life of social ostracism and progressive disability ending in a lonely death in the wilderness. Jesus wondered out loud about the nine who simply took the goods and ran. It would seem that gratitude didn’t happen in 90% of the cases.

Compelling as miraculous physical healing is, even more significant is the healing of our spirits that come from finding refuge and completion in the sanctuary of the divine. I recall once going into the cool interior of a beautiful church on a torrid summer day after being in the unrelenting heat of August for hours. The relief and serenity that flooded over me was life-giving. Gratitude for His sanctuary was next for me. As I find my beginning and end in the Alpha and Omega of my Creator, I can actually expect my table manners to improve, and I will be less likely to spill on the table cloth. I might even get invited back.

“And He who sits on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’ And He said, ‘Write for these words are faithful and true.’ And He said to me, ‘It is done. I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give to the one who thirsts from the spring of the water of life at no cost.’”