Last week, I flew to Indiana to participate in a board meeting for a non-profit organization based here. I agreed to serve on this board mostly because it gave me an opportunity to see some treasured friends, although I appreciated the compliment of being asked to give wisdom and direction to the organization.

It is the power of the friendship that strikes me. The names of these treasured friends are Greg and Sara. I first met Greg twenty years ago when we both entered seminary at the same time and began our studies with an intensive summer course in biblical Greek. Greg is deaf, and an expert at reading lips, but could not take notes and read lips at the same time. His deafness also caused some social isolation, although he is a very gregarious and outgoing person. I was the only woman in my class, and was also isolated—in fact, Greg became one of the few who would take a seat near me when I began my studies I think Greg didn’t know that he was supposed to shun me, a woman with the hubris to think she could learn the holy languages of Scripture.

Two people, each profoundly different from the “normal” students. Each of us very alone in our own ways. And in our aloneness, a friendship began to form. I offered my notes to Greg after each class. In time, he and I along with one brave “normal” person formed a study group and saw each other through three years of Greek and two of Hebrew. Over the course of those years, I was given the privilege of getting to know Sara, Greg’s wife. Within moments of our introduction to each other, Sara and I knew that we were friends for life—our souls bonded, much as the well-known story of Jonathan and David in the Bible.

We had not seen each other in five years before this trip north. No casual lunches or church picnics or just hanging out time, as one usually does with good friends. No phone conversations of course. Greg’s deafness makes those challenging even with current technology, and I’m not much of a telephone person anyway. We made no attempt to attend the weddings of our children, or even send gifts. No mention of birthdays or other special occasions. Just the occasional e-mail, and a periodic interaction over some theological issue where Greg and I enjoy differing mightily with one another.

But the affection and friendship stay strong. It is this type of friendship that gives me another glimpse into the place called “the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus frequently told his followers that the kingdom of heaven was all around them. They were just blind to it. I think he was asking them—and us today—to open our eyes to the grace moments of life. Open our eyes and learn about the nature of God from them. Open our eyes and savor the treasures we have, rather than wishing for treasures we don’t have. Open our eyes and see the face of Jesus in every stranger we meet, in the faces of the people we most love and in the faces of the people we may have the hardest time being around. Open our eyes and especially rejoice in the gift of friendship. For of such is the kingdom of heaven.