A Pandemic of Loneliness

I am lonely.

As I write this, it's Sunday morning, the 15th of November, in the year 2020, the loneliest of years. 

As of today it's been 36 Sundays since my wife and I went TO church. It's kind of lonely sitting in my basement, watching on my computer screen as the "assembly of the saints" assembles on the other side of town.

We've been able to continue meeting with our small group, or Life Group, on Monday nights, via Zoom. In fact, we've had significantly fewer cancellations since we began meeting online than we did when we were gathering at our house. Our group has actually thrived during this time, like never before. I think it's because we're all a bit lonely, and we crave the virtual togetherness. We've opened our hearts and souls to one another on Monday nights, sharing our trials and frustrations, our emotional swings, our loneliness.

And I have been lonely. In March I left my office at the university for the last time, moving my laptop, it's dock, three screens, keyboard, mouse, speakers -- the whole setup - to my basement. What I didn't move to my home were my office mate and all the other people I used to see every day at work. There have been some lonely and difficult days, working at home.

And then, in August, my job left me. I was one of many who have been laid off. After 41 straight years of working full time, settled into the routine of going TO work every day, I no longer even had that. It's a whole new level of isolation. And loneliness.

There's a particular depth of loneliness that comes when you begin to suspect you've been caught out, finally exposed as a fraud. 

The thing is, there has been an incredible upside to being at home these past eight months. For the first time in 42 years of marriage, my wife and I have been together at home nearly all day every day. 

It's good. We talk more often. We talk longer. Our individual lives have adjusted to one another's schedule and rhythm. It's very good.

And yet, still, even as we are together more than ever, it's still true that we are lonely.

But we know we're no different than nearly everyone else, especially during this year, during this Covditide.

We're all experiencing a  Pandemic of Loneliness.

I know there are others, including friends in my own home church, who have also been sent home from their workplace, either to remote in from home or to not work at all (except for the never ending task of competing with all the other lonely people who are trying to find a job).

There are other people, moms and dads, who have had to quit working or remote from home or make drastic adjustments to their work schedule so they can be at home with their children who can no longer go TO school. All these parents sincerely want to be there for their children, but there is still a guilty loneliness that comes with such a drastic change.

And let's not forget the kids themselves. They're still able to DO school, with the help of a computer or tablet. But they're not IN school, not physically WITH their classmates and teachers. Karen is teaching piano lessons by way of Zoom, and she hears the loneliness in their voices when she asks them how school is going.

On the other end of the age spectrum are the senior citizens. The grandmas and grandpas and others who are at highest risk from this virus, but are physically isolated from the very people who could be their emotional support - their families and friends. I've only been in the physical presence of my son. Cody, twice in these 8 months. It's lonely.

People will say, At least you know that God is always with you. And this is true. But just knowing that doesn't really make me feel any less lonely.

This may sound like a strange thing to suggest, but I think Jesus was sometimes lonely. If he went through everything we go through, he surely must have had his lonely times.

Throughout this time I've been drawn again and again to the biblical record of Jesus going to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray.

There in the Garden, on that last night, Jesus went with his disciples to the Mount of Olives. He left most of the followers behind and took just his closest friends farther in with him. And then, it says in Luke 22:41, he went even farther, about a stone's throw beyond them, and knelt down and prayed.

It's so often true that, even in our loneliness, we just need to withdraw from people. Even Jesus, on the loneliest night of his life, felt the need to talk and pray with his closest friends, but then felt the urge to take those extra steps to be even more alone with his loneliness.

Why did he do this? Because it was his habit. 

In Luke 5:16 we're told that when the crowds were pressing in on him, Jesus would escape not only the crowds but also his friends. It says he "often withdrew to lonely places and prayed."

Jesus knew the truth that just assuming God's presence isn't the same as intentionally dwelling in his presence. He knew that the best answer to loneliness is to embrace that aloneness by finding a lonely place, and to intentionally spend a significant amount of time dwelling in the presence of the Father.

And that's what he chose to do on the night when he was about to be betrayed. 

What could be more lonely than to be betrayed? 

To be honest, I feel betrayed by the people who laid me off. The very people who so often told me how important I was to the work we were doing, they kicked me to the curb and I haven't heard from them since. 

Betrayal and loneliness go hand in hand.

Jesus was so lonely, he begged the Father to find another way. "If possible, let this cup pass from me!"

Later, on the cross, he would cry out to the Father again in agonizing loneliness: "My God, my God, Why have YOU forsaken me?"

I know very well that some of the anger, the sense of betrayal that I have struggled with during this time is, deep down, my anger at God. Sometimes it feels like He is the one who has betrayed me.

When Jesus went back to his disciples, his closest friends, they were asleep. He asks them, "Couldn't you men keep watch with me for one hour?" That's the agony of loneliness in his voice. 

Loneliness craves people who care. Anyone who cares. 

The next time you share in the communion cup and bread, meditate on Jesus' loneliness on that last night. And then think about the people you know who are probably lonely and plan how you can intentionally encourage them. Also, make a plan for how you can intentionally seek out a lonely place in the midst of your own loneliness, and go deeper than you ever have in your study and prayer to become closer to God.

My Father,

If it is possible, may this cup of loneliness be taken from me. And may it also be taken from my friends here at Blue Ridge, and from the many millions who are in agony during this Pandemic of Loneliness.

Thank you, Jesus, for walking the lonely path to the cross. Thank you for your lonely sacrifice.