From Loneliness to Solitude 2 - a reflection by Fr. Simon

These days of isolation and uncertainty may have caused us to reflect prayerfully upon the nature of our relationships and friendships. Such reflecting is a way of deepening and affirming the affection we have for others. Good can, indeed, come from bad because God works in extraordinary ways. Perhaps we see evidence of this in the world around us just now?

Oddly, we sometimes feel closer to loved ones and friends when we are apart from them, as the mountain is clearer to the climber from the plain. Perhaps this is partly because words have their limitations. Unlike gestures, words are more prone to belie the emotions we are feeling. Ironically, they can get in the way of good communication. However, when we are with people we love, we cannot help but communicate in words. The result is that relationships can be hindered during verbal exchanges. We might have memories of times we’ve put our head in our hands following bruising encounters, after which both sides wish they had said things differently. 

When we are apart from others, words are less likely to get in the way. Perhaps this is why ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’?  I remember one Christmas being away from home on a ship in the Gulf of Arabia. There was a palpable sadness amongst the ship's company as they took the chance to speak to those at home on the ship's satellite phone system. The distance between them and their families certainly clarified their mind in terms of how much they loved them.

When we are apart from others, past disputes may be brought into clearer perspective and the picture we have of a family member or friend can become more positive as a result. In a strange way when we are unable to speak with others, healing can begin to take place. Shakespeare understood the limitation of language. He said ‘words are shabby tools, always deteriorating.’

The ultimate realisation of how much someone means to us comes with their death. Then, it seems, we focus with laser quality on who they were and how much they meant to us, often in ways that we didn't, for some reason, when they were alive. This realisation is part of the journey of grief. We know, through faith, that we will one day be reunited and that all will be made new and we should take great comfort from this. Nevertheless, in grief we are often remorseful about the things we did or didn’t say, the way we did or didn’t behave when we had the chance.

The current, unprecedented period of isolation which, for many, will contain elements of grieving, might move us to a greater insight and bring us to appreciate in a more profound way the goodness of those with whom we share our lives. Surely one aim of living a spiritual life should be that of being as ‘present’ to the world and to our loved ones as we can possibly be?  Not waiting for that clarity of sight to come only with the parting brought about by death. 

To continue the theme from the first reflection on solitude, we are all in search of a community which can offer us a sense of belonging and security. We find it in different ways in a spouse, a family, a good friend, a conducive workplace or in the life of our parish. This sense of community gives rise to feelings of inner security which are enlivened by a phone call, a letter or email, a visit or gathering.  

How do we cope, though, when someone is genuinely occupied elsewhere and cannot live up to our expectations of communication? Does an unanswered letter, email or phone call waken within us a dissatisfaction which cries out for more attention, perhaps, than the other can give? If so, maybe we can begin to identify in prayerful solitude those facets of our personality which have a corrosive effect on our friendships and relationships, and then do something about them.

Henri Nouwen sees the journey from loneliness to solitude as key to being able to deal with the imperfections in us which lead to broken relationships. Loneliness, he says, makes us ‘reactionary’. It causes us to behave impulsively to the ever-changing demands of life around us. Whereas in restful solitude we give more time to weighing up the situation, are able to add in the factor of the unknown and acknowledge more carefully the needs and anxieties of others - things we may have ignored so far. This leads us away from a reaction rooted in anxiety. Instead, we find ourselves able to work towards a loving, measured response which is given form in prayerful reflection. Such a response emanates, then, not from our sense of insecurity but rather from the depths of a wholesome and generous heart.

The current atmosphere of uncertainty and fear caused by the pandemic can be heightened by a media which often acts irresponsibly towards the mental wellbeing of the population it serves. A constant diet of news stories about death and illness, interspersed with interminable discussions by reporters, politicians and experts can increase anxiety. Yet we have a responsibility in these times to keep informed of the current situation and do what we can to help. So, it’s natural that we crave information which will help us to determine how serious things are. Knowing the plight of others can also help us to keep them in our prayers. That said, each of us must find the right balance. We must remain informed in order to be of assistance, if only in prayer, but in a way that does not needlessly increase the fear we may already have inside of us.

Nouwen’s advice is to acknowledge the history of the world which is unique to our own lifespan. Some alive today might remember the great depression, the 2nd World War, the Suez crisis, the 2nd Vatican Council, Vietnam, JFK and Martin Luther King. Others may not remember these things but have memories of the moon landings, powercuts and strikes, the Falklands Conflict, the break up of the Soviet Union, 9/11 and the rise of fundamentalist terrorism. 

Nouwen counsels us not to ignore the world’s events out of a fear that they will increase our insecurities but to view such events as a continuing call to adapt our hearts and minds to the changing needs of the world around us. From a position of solitude, he says, we are able to resist the trap of joining in when society becomes polarised and, instead, engage intelligently and in meaningful ways, always maintaining a sense of integrity. 

Nouwen gives an interesting perspective on interruptions. Sometimes we might feel that the plans and projects of our lives are constantly interrupted by unforeseen circumstances. The current crisis encircling the globe is a supreme example. Indeed, it has interrupted the lives of our entire country and those of people in nations across the world. The longer we live, the more interruptions we encounter. As they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans! If we view such interruptions simply as nuisances which upset the course of our plans then it’s no wonder that growing old can become synonymous with growing bitter.  

From a position of solitude, however, Nouwen suggests that we can come to view interruptions as opportunities – unexpected events through which we can grow. And so we are encouraged to allow the events of our history, our timeline upon this earth, to mould us as a sculptor moulds clay. 

In an astonishing news report recently we learned that traces of the lead pollution resulting from an increase in the  building of monasteries in England 800 years ago has been found in a core of ice extracted from the Alps. It's incredible to think that a building programme  initiated all those years ago by the English king, after the murder of Thomas Beckett, is discernible in the snows of the Alps. When we are presented to God in all His glory, perhaps in a similar way He will be able to discern the effects world events had on our own life during our time upon this earth. He might be able to further discern from these effects our attitudes to the sufferings of others, our contribution to the efforts being made to prevent such suffering.

Nouwen lays tremendous importance upon feeling the pain of others, of not looking the other way and ignoring their plight. He sees the birth of healing as taking place within the solidarity of pain. After all, the God that we worship communicated most deeply to us by sharing the pain and intense suffering of a human life. 

Perhaps we might see such solidarity of pain in the neighbourliness which is being displayed around us, in the renewed appreciation for the medical professions, in the closeness of families caring for each other and in the many selfless gestures of individuals which go such a long way to cancelling out the supermarket stampedes and the panic buying which characterised the early days of this crisis.

So we might begin to see the movement towards solitude not as withdrawing from society but rather as moving towards a deeper engagement with the burning issues of our time. 

The next step after moving from loneliness to solitude is to begin the trek from hostility to hospitality. A thought for another time...