What Does It Really Mean to Be a Friend?

By Shannon Perry

Friendship is one of those words that everyone uses, yet few people stop long enough to consider what it actually means.

Ask ten different people to define friendship and you will likely receive ten different answers. For some, friendship means loyalty. For others, it means acceptance. Some define friendship by shared experiences, common interests, or simply the amount of time spent together.

Yet when we compare many of our modern ideas of friendship to what Scripture reveals, we quickly discover that the two are often very different.

Somewhere along the way, many people began equating friendship with agreement. If someone supports our decisions, affirms our choices, and tells us what we want to hear, we view them as a good friend. If they challenge us, question us, or confront us when we are wrong, we often become defensive and wonder whether they truly care about us at all.

But Scripture paints a very different picture.

One of the greatest deceptions operating within our culture today is the belief that love requires affirmation and that disagreement is somehow evidence of rejection. This mindset has influenced not only the world but, unfortunately, much of the church as well.

As a result, many people have become more concerned with protecting feelings than protecting souls.

The problem is that feelings can be deceptive.

There have been many times throughout my life when what I felt and what was true were not the same thing. Emotions have a way of influencing our perspective, especially when pride, fear, offense, disappointment, or insecurity become involved. That is why Elohim never instructed His people to build their lives upon feelings. He instructed us to build our lives upon truth.

Truth does not change because our emotions change.

Truth does not shift because circumstances shift.

Truth remains truth whether we embrace it or resist it.

That reality creates a challenge because genuine friendship cannot exist apart from truth.

A relationship built upon deception may survive for a season, but it cannot produce the kind of growth, maturity, and spiritual health that Elohim desires for His people.

As I was praying about this subject, I found myself thinking about something that happened years ago when I was still a fairly new believer.

Looking back now, I can laugh about it.

At the time, however, it was far less amusing.

For reasons that made perfect sense to me in that moment, I decided to cut my own hair.

The outcome was exactly what you might expect.

What followed was not a stylish new look, nor was it a minor mistake that could be easily overlooked. It was an absolute disaster.

I knew it looked bad.

Not bad in the sense that I was being overly critical of myself.

Not bad in the sense that I was looking for reassurance.

I mean genuinely bad.

There was no confusion about the situation. I knew I was going to have to find someone who could somehow repair the damage I had done.

Later that day, I met with a preacher's wife at a restaurant. The moment she saw me, she smiled and immediately began complimenting my hair.

"Oh, it's so cute."

I remember sitting there thinking, "Why would you say that?"

Now, this article is not about her.

I have no reason to believe she was trying to be malicious. She may have genuinely thought she was being encouraging. She may have believed she was helping me feel better.

What stayed with me all these years was not her intention.

It was the principle.

I knew what my hair looked like.

Her compliment did not suddenly transform a bad haircut into a good one.

What struck me was how quickly truth had been exchanged for what many people would call kindness.

The wiser I have become, the more I have realized that many people confuse kindness with niceness, yet the two are not always the same thing.

In fact, some of the greatest damage done within relationships occurs because people mistake one for the other.

We live in a culture that places tremendous value on being nice. We are taught to avoid uncomfortable conversations, avoid conflict, avoid disagreement, and avoid anything that might make another person feel uneasy. While there is certainly wisdom in being gentle and considerate, there is a point where the desire to remain pleasant begins to compete with the responsibility to remain truthful.

That is where problems begin.

Because truth and deception are not determined by how something makes us feel.

They are determined by whether or not something is true.

Many years after that conversation, I began noticing the same pattern in countless situations. People would watch loved ones make destructive decisions and remain silent. Friends would see compromise developing and say nothing. Believers would observe someone drifting from truth and convince themselves that remaining quiet was somehow the loving response.

Yet Scripture repeatedly presents a different standard.

The writer of Proverbs tells us:

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend; But the kisses of an enemy are profuse." (Proverbs 27:6 ASV)

That verse completely challenges the way most people think.

Our natural tendency is to assume that wounds are harmful and kisses are beneficial. Yet Solomon presents the possibility that what appears painful may actually be an expression of love, while what appears pleasant may ultimately prove destructive.

That is because biblical friendship has never been primarily concerned with comfort.

It has always been concerned with truth.

As I continued studying Scripture, I began asking myself a question I had never really considered before.

Where does the Bible tell us to be nice?

At first, it almost seemed like a strange question. After all, "be nice" has become one of the defining values of our culture. Parents teach their children to be nice. Schools encourage students to be nice. Society praises those who are nice. Even within many churches, niceness has quietly become the standard by which spirituality is often measured.

Yet the more I searched the Scriptures, the more I realized I could not find a single place where Elohim commands His people to be nice.

What I did find was something far greater.

Paul writes in Galatians 5:22-23,

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, self-control; against such there is no law." (ASV)

Notice what is listed among the fruit of the Ruach HaKodesh.

Kindness.

Not niceness.

That caused me to stop and ask another question.

If the Ruach HaKodesh produces kindness, what exactly is biblical kindness?

The Greek word translated kindness is chrēstotēs. It carries the idea of moral goodness, integrity, usefulness toward others, and a gracious disposition that actively seeks another person's well-being. It is not merely being pleasant. It is goodness in action. It is love expressing itself in ways that genuinely benefit another person.

That is very different from what our culture often calls nice.

Niceness has become largely concerned with keeping everyone comfortable. It avoids difficult conversations, softens hard truths, and often remains silent when wisdom should speak. Kindness, however, asks a different question. Rather than asking, "What will make this person happy in this moment?" kindness asks, "What will genuinely benefit this person according to the Word of Elohim?"

Those are not always the same answer.

The writer of Proverbs understood this distinction long before our generation struggled with it.

"Faithful are the wounds of a friend; But the kisses of an enemy are profuse." (Proverbs 27:6 ASV)

At first glance, that proverb almost seems backwards. We naturally associate wounds with harm and kisses with affection. Yet Solomon reveals that appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes the one willing to wound our pride is actually protecting our future, while the one constantly flattering us is quietly helping us remain comfortable in deception.

That proverb forces us to reconsider what love actually looks like.

Some of the most loving people Elohim has placed in my life have also been the people willing to tell me the truth when I needed to hear it. At the time, I did not always appreciate what they had to say. Sometimes conviction is uncomfortable. Sometimes correction exposes areas of our lives we would rather leave hidden. Pride rarely enjoys being confronted.

Yet looking back, I can also say that some of the greatest seasons of growth in my life began with someone who loved me enough to speak honestly.

The opposite has been true as well.

I have watched people remain silent when they should have spoken. I have seen compromise ignored because someone feared damaging a relationship. I have watched believers encourage decisions they knew were contrary to Scripture, convincing themselves they were simply being supportive. In reality, they were confusing acceptance with love.

Love and agreement are not synonymous.

Yeshua never agreed with sin, yet no one has ever loved more perfectly than He did.

Throughout the Gospels, we find Yeshua extending compassion to the broken, the outcast, the forgotten, and the repentant, but His compassion never came at the expense of truth. To the woman caught in adultery, He first silenced her accusers, demonstrating mercy that none of them possessed. Yet after they had all departed, His final words to her were, "Neither do I condemn thee: go thy way; from henceforth sin no more" (John 8:11 ASV).

Notice the balance.

He refused to condemn her.

He also refused to affirm the very thing that was destroying her.

Mercy and truth walked hand in hand.

I sometimes wonder how differently that account might be handled today.

Some would have focused only on the first half of His statement: "Neither do I condemn thee."

Others would have focused only on the second: "Sin no more."

Yeshua separated neither.

He offered mercy while still calling her to holiness because genuine love always desires restoration.

That same pattern appears throughout His ministry.

When Peter attempted to discourage Him from going to the cross, Yeshua did not remain silent simply to preserve Peter's feelings. He rebuked him because Peter's words, though perhaps well-intended, were not aligned with the purposes of Elohim. In Matthew 16:23 ASV, Yeshua responded, "Get thee behind me, satan: thou art a stumblingblock unto me..."

Those are not the words of someone trying to be nice.

They are the words of Someone who understood that eternal truth carries greater weight than temporary comfort.

This is one of the reasons I believe we must be careful not to redefine love according to the standards of our culture. The world often measures love by how accepted we feel. Scripture measures love by whether it draws us closer to Elohim.

There is another passage that I believe speaks directly to this issue.

Paul writes in Ephesians 4:15 ASV that we are to be "speaking truth in love."

Notice that he does not separate the two.

Truth without love can become harsh, self-righteous, and condemning.

Love without truth becomes sentimental, enabling, and powerless to transform.

Biblical love refuses both extremes.

The Greek word translated "truthing" or "speaking truth" is alētheuō. It means more than simply stating facts. It carries the idea of being truthful, living truthfully, and dealing honestly with one another. In other words, truth is not merely something we say; it is something we practice.

Likewise, the Greek word for love in this passage is agapē, the selfless, sacrificial love that seeks another person's highest good rather than personal comfort or advantage.

When those two words are brought together, Paul paints a beautiful picture of biblical friendship.

A true friend does not weaponize truth to wound another person.

Neither do they abandon truth in an effort to appear loving.

Instead, they allow love to govern how truth is spoken and allow truth to govern how love is expressed.

That balance is only possible when we ourselves are walking in submission to the Ruach HaKodesh.

Left to ourselves, we tend to drift toward one extreme or the other. Some people enjoy correcting others but struggle to demonstrate compassion. Others overflow with compassion but hesitate to confront anything that might create discomfort. Neither reflects the fullness of Messiah.

As followers of Yeshua, we are called to something higher.

We are called to love people enough to tell the truth, and to tell the truth with enough humility that the other person sees the heart behind our words.

That is not always easy.

In fact, it often requires more courage than remaining silent.

But perhaps that is one of the clearest marks of genuine friendship.

If kindness and niceness are not the same thing, then another question naturally follows.

How did we get here?

How did something never commanded in Scripture quietly become one of the highest virtues in our culture and, sadly, within much of the church?

I believe the answer is found in something much deeper than personality.

It is found in fear.

The writer of Proverbs tells us,

"The fear of man bringeth a snare; But whoso putteth his trust in Jehovah shall be safe." (Proverbs 29:25 ASV)

For years, I read that verse without giving much thought to the word snare. I understood what it was saying in a general sense, but I had never stopped to ask what a snare actually is.

A snare is a hidden trap.

Unlike a cage, where you can clearly see the bars standing in front of you, a snare is designed to go unnoticed. It is carefully concealed until the moment someone steps into it. By the time they realize what has happened, they are already entangled.

Isn't that exactly how the fear of man operates?

Very few people wake up one morning and decide they are going to fear other people's opinions more than they fear Elohim.

It happens gradually.

Quietly.

Almost imperceptibly.

We begin weighing every conversation against how someone might respond. We rehearse difficult discussions in our minds before they ever happen. We imagine how another person may react, whether they will become offended, whether they will misunderstand our intentions, or perhaps even walk away from the relationship altogether.

Without realizing it, their response begins carrying more weight than our obedience.

That is the snare.

The trap is not simply fear itself.

The trap is allowing the fear of another person's reaction to become greater than our desire to honor Elohim.

How many times have we remained silent, not because we lacked wisdom, but because we feared the outcome?

How many times have we convinced ourselves we were protecting someone else's feelings when, in reality, we were protecting ourselves from an uncomfortable conversation?

How many opportunities for restoration have been lost because fear disguised itself as kindness?

Fear has a remarkable ability to masquerade as wisdom.

It tells us we are preserving peace, when in reality we may simply be avoiding obedience.

It tells us we are protecting the relationship, while the relationship is quietly being built upon avoidance instead of truth.

It tells us we are showing compassion, while a brother or sister continues walking deeper into bondage.

That is why Solomon calls it a snare.

A snare always promises safety.

Yet its true purpose is captivity.

The enemy has no objection to believers being nice if niceness keeps us from speaking truth. He has no problem with pleasant conversations if they prevent restoration. He is perfectly content for us to protect temporary comfort while ignoring the spiritual condition of someone Elohim has placed in our lives.

But biblical love has never been governed by fear.

John writes,

"There is no fear in love: but perfect love casteth out fear, because fear hath punishment; and he that feareth is not made perfect in love." (1 John 4:18 ASV)

The more we mature in the love of Messiah, the less we become controlled by the fear of people's reactions.

Instead, we begin asking a different question.

Not, "How will they respond to me?"

But, "What response would most honor Elohim?"

This is precisely why Paul gives such careful instruction when speaking about restoring another believer.

He writes,

"Brethren, even if a man be overtaken in any trespass, ye who are spiritual, restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness; looking to thyself, lest thou also be tempted." (Galatians 6:1 ASV)

There is a tendency to read that verse quickly and assume Paul is simply telling believers to be gentle.

He is certainly saying that, but there is much more taking place.

The Greek meaning of the English word restore is katartizō. It was commonly used to describe setting a broken bone, mending a torn fishing net, repairing something that had been damaged, or bringing something back into its proper condition.

Think about that for a moment.

If someone breaks a bone, a physician does not pretend nothing has happened.

Neither does he look at the injury and shame the patient for getting hurt.

He examines the damage.

He identifies the problem.

He carefully sets the bone back into its proper place.

It is rarely comfortable.

In fact, it can be quite painful.

Yet the temporary pain of resetting the bone is what allows healing to begin.

Leaving it untouched may spare a person discomfort for a moment, but it almost guarantees greater pain later.

How different is that from the way we often handle spiritual wounds?

We see bitterness beginning to take root.

We notice unforgiveness quietly hardening someone's heart.

We recognize pride, deception, or compromise beginning to influence their thinking.

Yet instead of lovingly helping reset what has become spiritually dislocated, we often convince ourselves that saying nothing is the kinder response.

But Paul never instructed the church to ignore brokenness.

He instructed us to participate in restoration.

There is a world of difference between exposing someone and restoring someone.

One is motivated by pride.

The other is motivated by love.

One desires to embarrass.

The other desires to heal.

One points out what is broken and walks away.

The other remains long enough to help bring healing.

I sometimes wonder if this is why so many believers have become uncomfortable with correction.

Some have only experienced correction from people who were more interested in proving themselves right than helping someone become whole. Others have experienced the opposite. They have spent years surrounded by people who refused to address the very issues that were slowly keeping them in bondage.

Neither reflects the heart of Messiah.

Yeshua never ignored sin.

Neither did He delight in exposing it.

Every correction He gave had a purpose.

Every rebuke carried an invitation.

Every difficult conversation was leading someone toward repentance, freedom, and restoration.

That is the model He has left for us.

Perhaps one of the clearest examples of this principle is found in the life of King David.

After David committed adultery with Bathsheba and arranged for Uriah's death, it would have been easy for those around him to remain silent. David was the king. He possessed authority, influence, and power. Challenging him carried tremendous risk.

Yet Elohim sent Nathan.

Notice that Nathan did not begin by publicly humiliating David.

He told him a story.

He appealed to David's own sense of justice.

He allowed David's heart to become engaged before revealing the truth with the words, "Thou art the man." (2 Samuel 12:7 ASV)

Those four words changed everything.

They were not spoken to shame David.

They were spoken to awaken him.

Nathan's obedience accomplished what months of silence never could.

It opened the door to repentance.

I have often wondered what might have happened if Nathan had chosen to be nice.

What if he had convinced himself that confronting the king was too risky?

What if he had decided that maintaining peace was more important than speaking truth?

David's comfort may have been preserved for a season.

But his soul would have remained in danger.

Nathan understood something every believer must eventually learn.

Sometimes the most loving words we ever speak are also the hardest words to say.

Not because we enjoy difficult conversations.

But because we love the person enough to desire their restoration more than their temporary approval.

There is another part of this account that deserves our attention.

Nathan's courage is certainly admirable, but David's response is equally remarkable.

When Nathan declared, "Thou art the man," David could have responded in any number of ways.

He could have reminded Nathan that he was the king.

He could have questioned Nathan's motives.

He could have accused him of being judgmental.

He could have become offended and surrounded himself with people who would simply tell him what he wanted to hear.

Instead, David said,

"I have sinned against Jehovah." (2 Samuel 12:13 ASV)

There is no record of excuses.

No attempt to justify his actions.

No effort to shift the blame.

No argument.

Simply repentance.

I sometimes wonder if we have become so accustomed to protecting our feelings that we no longer know how to receive loving correction.

Perhaps one of the greatest evidences of spiritual maturity is not simply our willingness to speak the truth, but our willingness to receive it.

That is a much harder question.

Most of us like to think we would be Nathan.

Few of us stop to consider whether we would respond like David.

Would we humble ourselves before Elohim?

Would we allow the Ruach HaKodesh to expose what needs to change?

Or would we spend our energy defending ourselves instead of examining ourselves?

These are uncomfortable questions, but they are necessary.

None of us sees ourselves perfectly.

Jeremiah reminds us,

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and it is exceedingly corrupt: who can know it?" (Jeremiah 17:9 ASV)

Our own hearts have an amazing ability to justify what Elohim is trying to correct.

That is one of the reasons He so often uses other people in our lives.

Not because they are perfect.

Not because they never make mistakes.

But because there are times they can see what we cannot.

Ecclesiastes tells us,

"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow..." (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 ASV)

Notice that Scripture does not merely celebrate companionship.

It celebrates accountability.

The picture Solomon paints is not two people walking side by side while pretending everything is fine.

It is one person helping another get back up after they have fallen.

That is what biblical friendship does.

It lifts.

It strengthens.

It restores.

It reminds us of truth when our own hearts become clouded by pain, fear, pride, or deception.

Perhaps this is why Proverbs also tells us,

"Iron sharpeneth iron; So a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." (Proverbs 27:17 ASV)

Iron does not sharpen iron by avoiding contact.

It sharpens through friction.

The process is not always comfortable, but without that friction the blade remains dull.

Could it be that some of the very conversations we spend our lives trying to avoid are the conversations Elohim desires to use to sharpen us?

If that is true, then perhaps we should stop viewing every uncomfortable conversation as an attack.

Perhaps some of them are gifts.

Not every critic speaks for Elohim.

Not every correction is wise.

Scripture warns us about that as well.

Yet neither should we reject every difficult word simply because it challenges us.

Wisdom has a way of listening before responding.

Humility has a way of asking, "Elohim, is there any truth in what I am hearing?"

David did.

And because he did, restoration followed repentance.

That has always been the heart of Elohim.

He does not expose in order to discard.

He exposes in order to redeem.

He convicts because He loves.

He corrects because He desires restoration.

Should our friendships reflect anything less?

As I was finishing this article, another thought continued to press upon my heart.

Perhaps one of the greatest tests of friendship is not whether we are willing to tell the truth.

Perhaps it is whether we are willing to receive it.

Most of us readily agree that we want faithful friends in our lives.

We want people who will encourage us, pray for us, strengthen us, and walk beside us through difficult seasons.

But do we truly want someone who loves us enough to confront us when we are wrong?

That is an entirely different question.

The truth is, every one of us has blind spots.

No matter how long we have walked with Elohim, no matter how much Scripture we know, no matter how mature we believe ourselves to be, there are still areas of our lives that we do not always see clearly.

That is one of the reasons biblical community is so important.

Elohim often uses the people around us to reveal what we cannot yet recognize ourselves.

Of course, not every criticism is from Elohim.

Some criticism is rooted in offense.

Some comes from jealousy.

Some comes from misunderstanding.

Some is simply wrong.

That is why every word we receive must be tested against the Word of Elohim.

But neither should every difficult word be immediately dismissed simply because it makes us uncomfortable.

David gives us a beautiful example of this heart in Psalm 141:5.

"Let the righteous smite me, it shall be a kindness; And let him reprove me, it shall be as oil upon the head; Let not my head refuse it..." (Psalm 141:5 ASV)

Think about what David is saying.

He does not pray, "Elohim, surround me with people who always agree with me."

He does not ask for friends who protect his feelings.

He asks for righteous people who will lovingly correct him when correction is needed.

Then he makes an even more remarkable statement.

He says that correction from the righteous is kindness.

Not rejection.

Not condemnation.

Kindness.

How different that is from the mindset we often see today.

We have become so accustomed to equating correction with rejection that we sometimes resist the very thing Elohim desires to use for our growth.

Pride has a remarkable way of convincing us that anyone who disagrees with us must be against us.

Humility asks a different question.

"Elohim, is there something You are trying to teach me?"

I have learned that one of the healthiest prayers we can pray is not, "Elohim, prove me right."

It is, "Elohim, search me."

David prayed,

"Search me, O God, and know my heart: Try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, And lead me in the way everlasting." (Psalm 139:23-24 ASV)

Notice that David invited examination.

He welcomed it.

He understood something every mature believer must eventually learn.

The goal is not to protect our pride.

The goal is to become more like Messiah.

If that means allowing the Ruach HaKodesh to use a faithful friend to expose something in me that needs to change, then that friend has given me one of the greatest gifts they could ever offer.

Not because correction feels good.

But because freedom is always worth the discomfort that truth sometimes brings.

As I bring this article to a close, I would be less than honest if I did not tell you that I have lived this.

Since Elohim called me into this ministry, I have purposed in my heart that if I am going to speak, I will speak the truth of His Word. Not my opinions. Not my emotions. Not what people want to hear. His truth.

Have I always done it perfectly?

No.

Like every believer, I am continually being shaped by the Ruach HaKodesh.

But one thing I have settled in my heart is that I refuse to compromise truth in order to gain acceptance.

Operating in righteous judgment while remaining led by the fruit of the Ruach HaKodesh is not always easy. In fact, it is often painful.

The truth has cost me friendships.

It has caused people to misunderstand my heart.

I have been called judgmental, hateful, self-righteous, legalistic, and far worse. I have been lied about, slandered, and gossiped about by people I genuinely loved and prayed for.

There have been moments when remaining silent would have been much easier.

Moments when I could have simply smiled, nodded my head, and allowed people to continue believing whatever they wanted to believe.

From the outside, that probably would have looked much nicer.

But it would not have been kind.

Because kindness is not measured by how comfortable I make someone feel today.

Kindness is measured by whether I love them enough to point them toward the truth that can set them free.

Yeshua said,

"If ye abide in my word, then are ye truly my disciples; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." (John 8:31-32 ASV)

Notice that He did not say comfort would make us free.

He said truth would.

As watchmen, we must settle this issue in our own hearts long before we ever stand on the wall.

Ezekiel records Elohim saying,

"So thou, son of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me." (Ezekiel 33:7 ASV)

A watchman who remains silent because he fears the people's response is no watchman at all.

His responsibility was never to determine whether the people would listen.

His responsibility was to faithfully sound the warning.

The response belonged to the people.

The obedience belonged to the watchman.

That calling has not changed.

Whether you stand behind a pulpit, write articles, lead a Bible study, raise children, disciple new believers, or simply walk with a close friend, the question remains the same.

Will you love people enough to tell them the truth?

Not with arrogance.

Not with self-righteousness.

Not with a desire to win an argument or prove yourself right.

But with tears in your eyes, humility in your heart, and the fruit of the Ruach HaKodesh evident in your life.

Will you remain silent while the wall begins to crumble around those you love?

Or will you faithfully sound the trumpet, trusting Elohim with the outcome?

That choice may cost you.

It may cost relationships.

It may cost your reputation.

It may cost your comfort.

But if the truth leads even one person to repentance, one marriage to restoration, one prodigal back to the Father, or one soul away from deception and toward Yeshua, then every uncomfortable conversation will have been worth it.

Because that is what a true friend does.

A true friend loves too deeply to remain silent.